part 2 to tsuki fic perchance? ur writing is peak
this may be reallyy bad cause i didn’t really know how to continue ittt but idkk👀.
the walk to tsukishima’s house is quiet but heavy. every step feels charged. his fingers stay laced with yours the whole way, grip firm like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go even for a second. the night air is cool against your flushed skin, but it does nothing to calm the slick mess between your thighs or the way your heart keeps hammering from everything that happened in the gym. when you finally reach his front door he doesn’t say a word — just unlocks it, pulls you inside, and kicks it shut behind you with his heel.
the house is dark and silent downstairs. his parents are already asleep upstairs. the only light is the faint orange glow from the streetlamp outside filtering through the curtains. before you can even take off your shoes properly he’s on you again, crowding you back against the wall in the genkan. his mouth crashes into yours — hungry, rough, like the kiss in the gym was only the beginning. one large hand slides up under your blouse, palm hot against your ribs, thumb brushing the underside of your bra. the other grips your hip hard, fingers digging in exactly where the bruises from earlier are already forming.
you moan softly into his mouth and he swallows the sound, tongue sliding against yours possessively. when he finally pulls back just enough to breathe his voice is low and rough.
he doesn’t wait for an answer. he takes your hand again and pulls you up the stairs, your rumpled skirt brushing against your thighs with every step. the second his bedroom door clicks shut behind you he spins you around and walks you backward until your knees hit the edge of his bed. you sit down automatically. he towers over you, glasses still slightly fogged from earlier, blond hair messy, practice shirt clinging to his chest.
“strip,” he says simply. “leave the skirt on.”
you do it slowly on purpose — unbuttoning your blouse one button at a time, letting it slide off your shoulders, then reaching back to unhook your bra and toss it aside. when your hands move to your skirt he stops you with a firm grip on your wrist.
he sheds his own clothes faster — yanking his shirt over his head, shoving his pants and boxers down in one motion. when he’s completely naked he climbs over you, caging you in with his long arms. his mouth finds your neck immediately, sucking a dark mark right where your collar will hide it tomorrow. then lower — lips closing around one nipple, tongue flicking while his hand palms the other breast. you arch into him, fingers threading into his hair.
he doesn’t tease for long. one hand slides down between your legs, fingers spreading the slick mess from earlier. two long fingers push inside you without warning, curling deep. you gasp, thighs twitching.
“still so wet,” he mutters against your skin, voice mean but breathless.
“you really spent all day working yourself up just so i’d fuck you like this, didn’t you?”
you bite your lip, hips rolling down onto his fingers. “kei…”
he slaps your pussy lightly — the wet sound loud in the quiet room. you jolt.
“i told you to shut up earlier.” he does it again, firmer, then starts fucking you with his fingers — deep, fast, angry strokes that make your back bow off the bed. his thumb presses hard circles on your clit at the same time. the stretch, the pace, the wet obscene sounds — it’s too much and not enough all at once.
when you’re right on the edge, thighs shaking, he pulls his fingers out completely.
“not yet,” he says, eyes dark behind his glasses. he spreads your legs wider, lines himself up, and pushes in with one slow, deep thrust. the stretch is intense — thicker and longer than his fingers. you feel every inch as he bottoms out. a broken moan escapes you. he groans low in his throat, forehead dropping to your shoulder for a second like he’s trying to keep control.
then he starts moving — hard, deep, punishing strokes that make the bed creak under you. one hand pins your hip down so you can’t squirm away. the other braces beside your head. every thrust hits that perfect spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes.
“fuck,” he breathes, voice strained. “you feel even better than i imagined… so tight around me… taking me so well after all that teasing.”
you wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him deeper. tears prick at the corners of your eyes again — the pleasure is overwhelming, months of tension finally breaking. he notices immediately.
“crying?” he mutters, but the usual sharpness is softer now. he slows his thrusts just a little, leaning down to kiss the tears off your cheeks. “too much?”
you shake your head quickly, fingers digging into his back. “don’t stop… please don’t stop, kei.”
he kisses you properly then — deep and slow while his hips keep snapping forward. the roughness never fully leaves, but something warmer slips in between every thrust. his hand slides down to rub tight circles on your clit again. when you finally come it hits you hard — walls clenching around him, back arching, a choked cry of his name leaving your lips as pleasure crashes through you.
he follows right after — burying himself deep with a low, broken groan, hips stuttering as he fills you up. for a long minute he stays there, breathing hard against your neck, body trembling slightly from the intensity.
eventually he pulls out slowly, collapses beside you, and tugs you against his chest without saying anything. his arm wraps around your waist, fingers tracing lazy circles on your bare back under the rumpled skirt. you can feel his cum slowly leaking down your thigh, but neither of you moves to clean up yet.
after a while his voice comes quiet in the dark.
“…you’re impossible, you know that?”
you smile against his skin, still catching your breath. “you love it.”
he exhales softly. his arm tightens around you. “yeah… i do.”
you fall asleep like that — skirt still hiked up, his heartbeat steady under your ear, the weight of months of tension finally settled into something warmer and heavier.
the next morning his alarm goes off way too early. you wake up to the feeling of his long fingers gently tracing the marks he left on your hip and thigh last night. he’s already awake, glasses on, blond hair messy from sleep, watching you with that half-lidded look that used to be pure salt and now feels like something much softer.
“morning,” you murmur, voice still raspy.
he leans down and kisses you — slow, lazy, deep. no rush this time. when he pulls back his ears are faintly pink.
“you’re staying for breakfast,” he says, tone leaving no room for argument. “my parents are downstairs. act normal.”
you raise an eyebrow, smirking. “normal? after last night?”
he pinches your hip lightly. “don’t start. or i’ll bend you over my desk before we leave for school.”
you both get dressed quietly. you steal one of his spare hoodies because your blouse is too wrinkled from being thrown on the floor. downstairs his mom is making rice and miso soup; his dad is reading the newspaper. they greet you politely like you’re just the team manager who sometimes comes over to talk about schedules. tsukishima sits right next to you at the table. under the table his leg presses against yours the entire time. every few minutes his fingers find your thigh under the hoodie, squeezing once — a silent reminder that last night was real.
breakfast feels strangely domestic. boring small talk about the weather and school. but the entire time you can feel the new tension humming between you — the secret that now feels a little less secret.
later that day at school the dynamic has already started to shift.
in the hallway between classes he walks closer than usual. when you pass him the notes you took for the team his fingers brush yours and linger. in class you sit two rows behind him again, but this time when you drop your pen “accidentally” he picks it up himself and hands it back with a look that says don’t even think about it.
practice is where it really shows.
you’re still the strict head manager — clipboard in hand, voice sharp as you call out timing on blocks and tell hinata to stop jumping early. the team listens like always. but every time tsukishima glances your way there’s heat behind his eyes now. when you bend to pick up a ball you feel his stare like a physical touch. when you hand him water during a break your fingers brush on purpose and he holds on half a second too long, thumb stroking once across your wrist.
tanaka elbows him again with a grin. “tsukki you’re still killing it today. manager-san got you extra motivated or something?”
tsukishima just takes the bottle and mutters “something like that” before jogging back onto the court. but when he passes you he leans down just enough to speak low in your ear, voice only for you.
“keep bending over like that and i’m dragging you into the club room the second practice ends.”
you look up at him, small smirk on your lips. “promise?”
his ears go pink. he doesn’t answer out loud — just squeezes your wrist once and walks away. but you catch the tiny, satisfied smirk on his face when he thinks no one is looking.
practice ends. the gym empties slower than usual today — everyone chatting and laughing. you do your usual sweep, but this time tsukishima stays behind without being asked. the second the last person leaves he locks the door, walks straight over, and backs you against the same bench from yesterday.
“you’ve been teasing me again all day,” he says, voice low. one hand slides up your thigh under your skirt, fingers finding you already wet. “thought last night would’ve fixed that attitude of yours.”
you tilt your head, lips brushing his jaw. “maybe i like when you fix it for me.”
he exhales sharply, then kisses you hard the same rough, possessive way, but now mixed with something warmer, something that feels like relief. his hand slips between your legs again, fingers pushing inside you easily.
“impossible,” he mutters against your mouth.
you just smile and pull him closer.
the slow burn that lasted months is finally over.
now it’s just the two of you — secret for now, sharp as ever, and undeniably real.
the next few days blur together in the best kind of way.
at school everything looks normal on the surface. you’re still the strict head manager — clipboard always in hand, voice cutting through the gym when hinata drifts or kageyama’s sets float too high. the team respects it. ukai still grunts approval after practice. but underneath it all, something has shifted between you and tsukishima. every hallway glance lasts half a second too long. every time you hand him water your fingers brush deliberately and he squeezes once before letting go. when you bend to pick up a ball you feel his eyes on the hem of your skirt like a physical touch, and later in the club room he’ll mutter low enough only you can hear, “you’re doing that on purpose again.”
you always answer the same way: small smirk, quiet “maybe i am.”
he never fails to pull you into the storage corner afterward, hand sliding up your thigh under the skirt, fingers teasing until you’re biting your lip to stay quiet. “brat,” he’ll whisper against your neck, but his touch has gotten gentler less pure punishment, more like he can’t stop himself from wanting to feel you.
one afternoon after practice you’re both the last ones left again. the gym lights are dimming as he locks the door and walks straight over to you. instead of pushing you against the bench like usual, he sits down first and pulls you into his lap so you’re straddling him. his hands settle on your hips under the skirt, thumbs stroking slow circles on bare skin.
“you’ve been good today,” he says quietly, almost surprised at himself. “no excessive bending. no extra teasing in front of the team.”
you lean in, lips brushing his jaw. “disappointed?”
he scoffs, but his ears are pink. “no. just… weird.” his grip tightens. “i keep waiting for you to push me again so i have an excuse to drag you somewhere and remind you who you belong to.”
you smile against his skin. “you don’t need an excuse anymore, kei.”
he exhales sharply, then kisses you slower than usual, deeper, like he’s still getting used to the fact that he can do this without months of built-up frustration behind every touch. his hands slide higher under your skirt, fingers brushing where you’re already wet for him. when he pushes two fingers inside you this time it’s not angry it’s deliberate, curling just right while his thumb rubs lazy circles on your clit. you rock against his hand, forehead pressed to his, breathing the same air.
“look at me,” he murmurs when you close your eyes.
you do. his golden eyes are dark but soft behind his glasses. when you come quietly on his fingers, clenching around him with a soft whimper, he watches every second like he’s memorizing it. then he pulls his hand away, wipes his fingers on your inner thigh again that same claiming move and kisses you until your legs stop shaking.
“we should go,” he says eventually, voice hoarse. “before someone comes back for a forgotten bag.”
you nod, but neither of you moves right away. he keeps you in his lap a little longer, arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. it’s the softest he’s ever been with you, and it makes something warm bloom in your chest.
the weekend comes faster than expected.
his parents are out of town for a family thing, so his house is empty. you tell your own parents you’re staying late for “manager paperwork” and head straight there after school on friday. the second you walk through the door he’s on you but this time it’s different. less frantic, more intentional.
he walks you backward into his room without breaking the kiss, hands sliding under your hoodie (still his) to palm your waist. when the back of your knees hit the bed he lays you down gently, then climbs over you, caging you in but not crushing.
“been thinking about this all week,” he admits quietly, pushing your skirt up slowly. “not just the gym. not just quick stuff. all of it.”
he takes his time tonight. kisses down your neck, your chest, your stomach. when he reaches between your legs he uses his mouth — tongue slow and thorough, two fingers curling inside you while he sucks on your clit until your thighs are trembling around his head and you’re whispering his name like a prayer. he doesn’t stop until you come twice, the second one leaving you teary-eyed and gasping.
only then does he finally push inside you — deep, steady thrusts that make the bed creak softly. this time there’s no anger, just raw need mixed with something gentler. he keeps his forehead pressed to yours, glasses fogged, breathing the same shaky breaths.
“you’re mine,” he mutters against your lips between thrusts. “been mine for months. even when we were pretending we weren’t.”
you nod, fingers digging into his back. “yours, kei.”
he comes with a low groan, burying himself deep, and afterward he doesn’t pull out right away. he stays inside you, holding you close, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. when he finally does pull out he cleans you up carefully with a warm cloth, then tugs you against his chest under the blankets.
“stay the night,” he says. it’s not a question.
you do. you fall asleep with his arm around you and his heartbeat under your ear, the slow burn that started months ago now feeling like something steady and real.
monday at school the secret feels a little harder to keep.
in the morning hallway yamaguchi notices something is different. he keeps glancing between the two of you while tsukishima grabs books from his locker.
“tsukki… you okay? you look less… salty than usual.”
tsukishima shuts the locker a little harder than necessary. “mind your own business.”
you’re leaning against the wall nearby, arms crossed, small smirk on your lips. when yamaguchi leaves you step closer and murmur, “he’s not wrong. you’ve been almost nice lately.”
tsukishima glares down at you, but there’s no real heat. “keep talking and i’ll make sure you’re not walking straight after practice.”
you just tilt your head innocently. “promise?”
his ears go red. he walks away muttering “impossible” under his breath, but you catch the tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
practice that afternoon is the real test.
you’re back to being strict manager — calling out sloppy receives, making sure the water bottles are perfectly lined up. but when tsukishima makes a particularly clean block you can’t help the soft “good job” that slips out. he glances at you across the net, eyes dark with something only you understand.
during the water break he pulls you aside behind the bleachers for thirty seconds — just long enough to kiss you hard, hand sliding up your thigh under your skirt, fingers teasing until you’re gripping his jersey.
“behave,” he whispers against your lips before letting go and jogging back like nothing happened.
you’re still catching your breath when tanaka yells across the gym, “manager-san! you good? your face is all red!”
“just hot in here,” you call back, voice steady even though your thighs are trembling.
tsukishima doesn’t look at you for the rest of practice, but every time he serves or blocks you feel his focus like a brand.
after everyone leaves he locks the door again. this time he doesn’t bother with the bench — he lifts you onto the scoring table, pushes your skirt up, and drops to his knees. his mouth is on you before you can say anything — tongue and fingers working together until you’re biting your own wrist to stay quiet, coming hard with his name muffled against your skin.
when he stands up his glasses are fogged and his lips are shiny. he kisses you slow, letting you taste yourself, then rests his forehead against yours.
“we’re not hiding this forever,” he says quietly. “just… not yet.”
you nod, fingers tracing his jaw. “not yet.”
he walks you home that night like always, hand in yours the second you’re off school grounds. the slow burn is gone. what’s left is something steadier — secret touches, stolen kisses, sharp words that now carry affection underneath, and the quiet knowledge that you’re his and he’s yours.
the line wasn’t just crossed.
it disappeared completely.
and neither of you is looking back.
