The sad thing about Teru is that he does have free time, he could go to the park and the karaoke and night clubs, no one would forbid him after his work is done: He isn't a child anymore, nor does he have present parents to question why he came home late.
This picture always fuck me up, cause it feels like his attempt to do just that.
He is in his work uniform but his sword is bagged, he doesn't have to go anywhere. He even have a can of coffee so the plan is to stay awake after work, but despite probably craving to play in the swings for a while he doesn't look happy in the slightest: A swing isn't fun if you are too big to sit on it and there is no one to swing with.
It's just miserable compared to how fun normal kids playing on the swings must look:
His problem is that he tend to have free time when everyone is asleep.
It's one of the biggest reasons why despite the awkward vibes, and the inconvinient time, he tries to invite Aoi to hang out.
And there is no rush when he does eventually get her to play with him.
This time he isn't alone though, so he can have fun sleepily making candies in the dead of the night with Aoi.
Considering all this, it makes sense that on his free day, his first action wasn't to go to the arcade, it was to fetch people to go to the arcade with him.
This boy is so unbelivably lonely, he is starved for quality time.
For @furiitao's event - Day twelve: Recreate an edit you made in the past
Golden Angel - Minamoto Teru (TBHK) Graphic
Real ones will remember this was my very first edit in early May... didn't wanna lose the original concept (Angel Teru), just added some blue to the gold for a constellations theme, so basically I threw paint at the wall lol. I do like the color scheme though... This was also an excuse to use the PSD I requested again
F2U w/o credits unless reposting, it's still clunkily unusable as ever lmao. Gold heart divider, PSD by @/pawfectiion. No F/O or kin/id/me tags unl moots.
My eyes linger on you and yet my mind wonders what we could possibly be..? if I wasn’t as stupid and dumb. it’s a hopeless fantasy I’m aware, and yet I still hold on to this sliver of hope that one day your eyes will somehow find mine in the same way I linger on yours
Analytic I was always analytic. I love puzzles but there was this puzzle that I couldn’t solve not because it was quiet, not because it was hard because it was out of reach like a painting I could never touch. a life I could never disturb. A stranger I used to know
You were never mine You were never meant to be, and yet my eyes lingered on you a little too long a little too long for comfort and a little too long for you to notice and yet you ignore my gaze like you would ignore the sun on a sunny day and yet my devotion lingers a little longer like quiet purposeful intense never moving, never faltering just quiet, waiting, waiting for something that will never happen
— no, kei doesn’t hate you. he even has a “marry me” broadcast going through his head.
tsukishima kei x telepath!f!reader
i’m experiencing a mid-life crisis right now. was supposed to upload this awhile ago but someone decided that i’m dumb for having emotions.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you woke up with what could only be described as “death by headache.” not the normal kind. not the “i didn’t drink enough water yesterday” kind. not even the “i studied until 3 a.m. and now my body is revolting” kind.
this was cosmic. biblical. the kind of migraine that probably meant you were about to die or be chosen as a prophet.
and honestly? dying sounded preferable to going to karasuno high first thing on a monday.
you stumbled into your seat beside yamaguchi tadashi, who was muttering about history notes, and—without warning—you heard it. clear as day.
‘i hope tsukki didn’t forget his math homework. he always remembers but what if today’s the day. maybe i should have reminded him. oh crap, did i feed the class rabbit—’
your head shot up. yamaguchi’s lips weren’t moving. he was staring at his notebook, silent.
holy shit.
you could hear thoughts.
you spent the next five minutes spiraling. yamaguchi’s brain was a polite drizzle. a stream of anxieties, reminders, the occasional “i wonder if they’ll serve nikuman at lunch.” manageable.
but then—then—your gaze shifted across the room.
tsukishima kei.
the bane of your existence. the human embodiment of an eye roll. the boy who had mastered the art of making a simple “hello” sound like an insult. for weeks you had tried being nice to him—sitting near him, sharing snacks, cheering a little louder when he blocked during practice—and every time you were met with his signature brand of withering sarcasm.
you were sure he couldn’t stand you.
and then his thoughts slammed into your brain like a truck.
‘don’t. don’t do it. don’t look at her. oh fuck she’s looking. abort. holy shit she’s so pretty. oh my god i want to eat the pen she’s chewing on. is that normal? that’s not normal. stop staring, kei. roll your eyes. act annoyed. perfect. flawless cover. she’ll never know i’d let her step on me. god, her hands. imagine holding them. no, don’t imagine that, you’ll start drooling. fuck. fuck. FUCK.’
your pen clattered to the floor.
“what?” tsukishima deadpanned, flicking his gaze at you with all the warmth of a glacier.
‘did i just say fuck too loud in my head? can she hear me? no, impossible. god, she looks cute even when she’s confused. she’s confused a lot. i’d tutor her. i’d tutor her so hard. wait, that sounds dirty. fuck. pretend to hate her again. safe ground.’
“…do you mind not staring?” he added, bored.
you gripped your desk like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality.
no. way.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
it only got worse from there.
lunchtime, for instance. you plopped down next to him just to test the waters. yamaguchi had gone to buy bread, leaving you alone with the beanpole. tsukishima didn’t even glance at you.
“wow,” he muttered, cracking his chopsticks, “guess you don’t have any other friends.”
inside his skull, however—
‘holy shit she chose to sit here. NEXT TO ME. this is it. this is the peak of my life. everything is downhill from here. our knees are so close. if i just—no. NO. don’t you dare, kei. stop shaking. she smells like strawberries. is that shampoo? body wash? do they make air fresheners in her scent? don’t sniff her hair, freak. don’t sniff. fuck, i want to sniff. smile at her. no, don’t. smile later. wait, she’s smiling first. oh god. she’s so cute. i’m going to combust.’
“nah,” you said cheerfully, “you’re my favorite.”
tsukishima dropped a piece of karaage back into his bento like you’d just proposed marriage.
“…you need better taste,” he said flatly.
‘favorite??? FAVORITE??? holy fuck holy shit marry me on the spot i’ll buy the rings right now i’ll sell yamaguchi’s bike if i have to—’
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the gym was even better.
you sat on the sidelines, cheering during practice, and every time tsukishima went up for a block, his brain went feral.
‘if i block this, she’ll smile at me. no, don’t think that. jinxing it. oh shit she’s already smiling. i can’t breathe. did she just wave? holy mother of god. that’s it. i’m dedicating my life to this girl. i’ll become the best blocker in japan just for her. fuck, i missed. wait—she’s still smiling. she has no standards. i love her.’
“tsk,” he hissed when hinata scored past him. “so annoying.”
‘if hinata makes her smile one more time i’ll spike the ball at his stupid head. no, wait. calm down. breathe. oh my god, she’s clapping. she’s clapping for ME. i’d commit crimes for that clap. i’d—’
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
by the end of the week you had collected an entire encyclopedia of tsukishima kei’s tragic brain.
when you dropped your eraser: ‘pick it up for her. no, that’s too obvious. but what if she thinks i’m rude? fuck. fuck. just pick it up and throw it at her. yeah. flawless.’
when you yawned in class: ‘she’s tired. oh my god, she’s tired. what if she’s not sleeping well? she should nap on my shoulder. no, wait, not here. at my house. in my bed. oh god. stop.’
when yamaguchi made you laugh: ‘how dare he. how DARE he. that’s MY laugh. mine. i’m going to kill him after school. gently. maybe.’
the wildest part? he thought he was subtle. genuinely believed his eye-roll act was foolproof, like you weren’t hearing every single desperate thought.
and you?
you were in trouble. because your little crush—the harmless flutter you’d tried to bury—was ballooning. rapidly. monstrously. how could it not, when the boy who called you “annoying” out loud was secretly writing poetry about your smile in his head?
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
walking home together one day was the final straw.
he acted like you were dragging him against his will. “you walk so slow,” he complained.
‘if a car even looked at her funny i’d kick it. i’d kick a whole car. i’d launch it into the stratosphere. walk slower. please. i want this to last forever.’
“you’re seriously hopeless,” he added, shoving his hands in his pockets.
‘i’d carry her bag. i’d carry HER. bridal style. piggyback. whatever she wants. god, i’m disgusting. i’d get on my knees right here if she asked.’
you laughed, bumping his shoulder. “you’re not as bad as you act, tsukki.”
his ears turned bright red. “shut up.”
‘don’t shut up. never shut up. talk forever. let me drown in your voice. fuck, she’s smiling again. i’m ruined. i’m actually ruined. yamaguchi, start planning the funeral.’
and honestly? maybe you were ruined, too.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
tsukishima didn’t let go of your hand the entire walk home.
not because he wanted to, of course. oh no, he was far too proud for that. he scowled the whole time, eyes fixed straight ahead, muttering under his breath about how sweaty your palms were.
but in his head?
‘don’t let go. never let go. if she tries to pull away i’ll throw myself into traffic. i’ll hold her hand until we’re eighty. my palm is sweaty because my entire nervous system has collapsed. god, she’s so small next to me. her hand fits perfectly. what the fuck. did god make her just to ruin me?’
you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.
by the time you reached your street, you expected him to snatch his hand back, shove it in his pocket, and pretend none of it had happened. instead, he hesitated. shifted on his feet. adjusted his glasses.
“you live here, right?” he said gruffly.
you arched a brow. “you already know that.”
he bristled. “…don’t flatter yourself. yamaguchi told me.”
‘i memorized the exact number of steps from my house to hers. if i leave school at 3:47 i’ll catch her halfway home. fuck, she looks cute when she’s teasing me. wait, she knows i know, doesn’t she? oh my god, i’m pathetic.’
“hm,” you hummed, squeezing his hand before finally letting go.
he twitched at the loss of contact. ‘don’t leave me. come back. oh god, say something. say something normal. don’t beg her like a loser. oh my god i want to beg her. i’d get on my knees right now if she asked. STOP.’
“see you tomorrow, tsukki,” you said, waving.
he turned on his heel so fast you thought he might trip. “…yeah. whatever.”
‘sleep well. dream of me. oh god, what if she does. what if she doesn’t. holy shit. i’m so screwed.’
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the days that followed were torture—for him, mostly.
he couldn’t look at you without thinking louder than ever, and you made a game of pretending not to notice.
in class, when you leaned over to borrow an eraser, he shoved it at you with a scoff. “you’re hopeless.”
‘take my eraser. take all my stationery. take my life. i’ll carve my initials into your pencil case if you let me. holy shit, she’s so close. she smells like strawberries again. don’t inhale like a creep. oh my god, i just inhaled like a creep. she heard that. i should die.’
during lunch, when yamaguchi teased him for being less grumpy around you, tsukishima snapped, “shut up, tadashi.”
‘he knows. he KNOWS. play it cool. don’t blush. oh god i’m blushing. she’s watching. is she laughing at me? holy shit she’s laughing. she’s so pretty. i’ll kill tadashi later.’
after practice, when you handed him a water bottle, he muttered, “what, you think i can’t get one myself?”
‘she gave me her water bottle. indirect kiss. holy shit indirect kiss. i’m never washing my mouth again. what if she thinks that’s gross. no. it’s romantic. it’s fate. i’m insane. lock me up.’ say less blondie.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you let it drag out for a week.
partly because you wanted to see how far he’d go before combusting, partly because hearing him call you “annoying” out loud while mentally whispering ‘i love you i love you i love you’ was… addictive.
but eventually, even you couldn’t take it anymore.
because tsukishima kei, for all his height and sarcasm, was fragile. and the longer you listened, the clearer it became: he wasn’t just crushing. he was wrecked. consumed. desperately, terrifyingly yours.
and he had no idea what to do with it.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
it happened again after practice. yamaguchi had gone ahead, leaving just you and tsukishima to lock up the gym.
he grumbled the whole time about carrying volleyballs back into the storage room, but inside—
‘this is nice. just us. just her. i could do this forever. does that sound creepy? that sounds creepy. shit. i’d build her a gym if she wanted. i’d build her a whole school. don’t say that out loud. she’ll call the cops.’
when you finally stepped out into the evening air, he lingered at the door, scratching the back of his neck.
“…you’re annoying,” he muttered.
you turned, smiling. “you’ve told me that a hundred times this week.”
‘because if i say anything else i’ll explode. because what i really want to say is marry me. because you make me so stupid i can’t breathe. because i love you more than i love oxygen. oh my god, stop, stop, STOP.’
you crossed your arms, tilting your head. “then maybe it’s time to say something else.”
his brain tripped. ‘she knows. she KNOWS. she’s calling me out. abort. fake a fire alarm. throw yourself in the river. wait, she looks serious. holy shit, she looks serious.’
you stepped closer, close enough to see his ears turning red. “kei.”
he flinched.
‘she said my name. my first name. i’m done. i’m actually done. call the morgue. i’ll walk into the crematorium myself. fuck.’
you smiled softly. “just admit it.”
he froze. “…admit what?”
‘that i’m in love with you. that i’ve been in love with you forever. that i’m obsessed, ruined, deranged. that i want to hold your hand every day until i die. holy god, don’t make me say it. i’ll combust. i’ll—’
“that you like me,” you said.
he blinked. opened his mouth. shut it again. adjusted his glasses with shaking fingers.
“…you’re… irritating.”
you laughed. “and?”
“…and—” he stopped, clenched his fists, stared at the ground like it might swallow him whole.
‘say it. SAY IT. do it. coward. loser. she’s looking at you like you’re the only person on earth. she already knows. just say it. just—’
and finally, finally, out loud:
“i like you.”
he said it like it hurt. like ripping out a tooth. like if he didn’t get it out right now, he’d suffocate.
and inside his brain?
‘oh my god oh my god i said it i said it i SAID IT she’s going to laugh she’s going to reject me i’ll throw myself off the roof she’s smiling holy shit she’s smiling holy FUCK she likes me back i’m saved i’m doomed i’m—’
you reached up, tugged gently at his sleeve, and kissed him. just a quick, soft press of lips.
tsukishima forgot how to function.
‘she kissed me she kissed me she kissed me—’
his hands hovered in the air like he didn’t know what to do with them. then, slowly, like it took every ounce of courage in his body, he cupped your face and kissed you back.
it was clumsy. awkward. a little too much teeth. but it was also sweet. real. desperate.
when you pulled away, he was pink from his neck to his ears.
“…you’re so annoying,” he whispered hoarsely.
‘be mine. forever. please.’
and you laughed, because at least now, you didn’t have to read his mind to know what he meant.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a/n: someone hold me back before i choke my bf to death.
Thinking about a doujin artist!reader whose art is a little too detailed to be entirely fictional...
Masterlist
It's not as if you're the only artist in the Japanese Professional Volleyball fandom, but you’re by far the most popular. Your page has everything from the most popular players like Oikawa Tooru and Ushijima Wakatoshi to the more niche ones from lower divisions like Tsukishima Kei and Shibayama Yuki. You even have works involving the Olympic team’s staff, Kuroo Tetsuro and Iwaizumi Hajime.
It seems like you have a new piece coming out every other day, and your followers aren’t sure how you have time to do anything except draw with how much content you put out a week.
user milkbreadhole commented: omg that kageyama/reader/oikawa piece yesterday? perfection. I was creaming more than tooru was in that last scene.
user bokeballs commented: msby/schweiden adlers crossover piece please! I need reader-chan to get railed from both ends by our favorite volleyboys.
user nuffnuffnice commented: all of the setters have such pretty hands. OP must have been up close and personal with them to catch all that detail.
That last one has become kind of a running joke in your fanbase. It’s true that the detail in your comics is immaculate: your portrayals of them are correct down to the most trivial things. Favorite foods are mentioned, graduation years are on point, even the relationships between the players involve interactions that mirror their real-life counterparts.
Some details are so accurate to the point of being uncanny, such as when a livestream done from Bokuto’s home revealed the trophy shelf above his bed was set up in the exact same way as the shelf drawn in your comic.
atsumuspiggy: OP is either psychic or she was in his bed last night.
That comment garnered five thousand upvotes in a single day before it was removed. Still, no one took the accusations too seriously.
Until…
It was a force of habit. That’s the statement that Sakusa Kiyoomi gives to the MSBY Black Jackal’s PR manager when she blows up at him for the second time that day.
The team was holding a special public fundraising match against the Schweiden Adlers, and Sakusa had just scored a mean spike against Hirugami’s block. Amidst the cheers, he had lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead.
“I usually wear a compression shirt under my uniform. I guess I forgot today, and…”
An inky tattoo of a viper curving around Sakusa’s ribs, from under his left pectoral down to just above his navel. He’s been so careful to keep it covered, and no one, not even the most dedicated paparazzi, had caught a glimpse of it before.
At least, no one in real life. Every brushstroke was the same size and weight as the one featured on Sakusa’s body in your doujins.
Not even five minutes passed before your Twitter began to blow up. Dedicated readers crowing that they knew it, it’s all real, and others that are dumbfounded beyond belief. Before long, a website has been set up with a running tally of the players and their statuses. Some of them, like Sakusa and Atsumu, have been confirmed beyond a doubt. Others like Ushijima and Kageyama are still only plausible.
The only question that the fanbase has yet to answer is who are you, exactly?
