falling for a human salt shaker with a pole up his ass wasn't on your bingo card, but life is weird like that.
w/c: 3k, request, profanities, translations included
the gymnasium air in karasuno always smelled like a violent mixture of floor wax, sweaty kneepads, and the impending doom of coach ukai’s yelling. it was your favorite place on earth, mostly because it provided you with a daily stage to terrorize the resident dinosaur enthusiast.
you were loud. not just regular loud, but full-volume, hand-gesturing, laughing-with-your-whole-ribcage loud. your accent was a heavy, beautiful thing that wrapped around your vowels like a warm hug, turning sharp japanese consonants into something softer, bouncy, and undeniably rhythmic.
“hoy, payatot! look at this!” you bounced over to the bench where the blonde middle blocker was attempting to drink water in peace. (payatot - skinny)
tsukishima didn’t even look up from his bottle, though the slight twitch of his eyebrows gave away the fact that his peace was officially incinerated. “what do you want, short stack? and stop calling me that. my name isn’t ‘hoy’.”
“it means ‘hey’, sungit! and payatot means skinny. look at you, you are like a tall glass of water with no ice. eat some rice, please, i’m begging your mother through you.” you shoved your phone in his face, showing him a meme of a cat wrapped in a lumpia wrapper. (sungit - meanie)
“look! it’s you. a sad little lumpia.”
nishinoya and tanaka materialized out of thin air, drawn by the sound of your laughter like moths to a particularly chaotic flame. “y/n! teach us more bad words! we need to intimidate date tech at the next practice match!”
you grinned, a truly mischievous tilt of your lips that made tsukishima’s stomach do a weird, uncomfortable flip that he blamed on bad cafeteria yakisoba. “okay, okay. listen carefully. if kageyama hogged the ball again, you call him buwaya. it means crocodile. very greedy, very selfish!”
“bu-wa-ya!” the two second-years chanted, pumping their fists in the air like they had just been handed the nuclear launch codes.
“and if the opposite gets a point,” you continued, lowering your voice conspiratorially, “you say sayang. it means ‘what a waste’, but you have to say it with a lot of drama. like this: sayang naman!”
from the sidelines, tsukishima watched the display with a scowl that didn’t quite reach his eyes. he adjusted his glasses, his fingers brushing against the bridge of his nose to hide the faint dust of pink spreading across his cheekbones. you were an absolute hurricane of noise and unbridled energy, the exact antithesis of everything he preferred in a human being. he liked quiet libraries, strawberry shortcake, and being left alone to judge people in silence.
yet, for the past six months, his eyes had developed a traitorous habit of tracking your movements across the gym. he knew exactly how your nose wrinkled when you laughed too hard, how you unconsciously tapped your foot in a three-beat rhythm when you were bored, and the specific pitch of your voice when you were genuinely excited about something.
he wasn’t obsessed. that was a disgusting word used by stalkers and people who didn’t understand the concept of personal space. he was merely… hyper-aware. yes, hyper-aware of your existence because you were a safety hazard to the structural integrity of his calm demeanor.
“tsukki, you’re staring,” yamaguchi murmured from beside him, wearing a smile that was far too knowing for tsukishima’s comfort.
“i’m looking at the clock, tadashi. her voice is loud enough to shatter glass and i’m checking how much longer my ears have to suffer.”
“sure you are,” yamaguchi chuckled, unfazed by the venom in his best friend’s tone. “she’s teaching them ‘puta’ now. i think tanaka thinks it’s a type of pastry.” (puta - bitch)
tsukishima looked back. you were currently trying to reach up and pat tanaka’s head in approval, your face glowing with animated joy. a sharp, physical ache bloomed right in the center of his chest. it was an annoying, persistent tugging sensation that made him want to drag you away from the shouting second-years, lock you in a quiet room, and listen to you talk about absolutely nothing until his brain melted.
the problem was, tsukishima didn’t know how to handle warmth. he was a creature made of ice and sharp edges, and you were a tropical sun. if he got too close, he was terrified he’d just melt into a puddle of useless, vulnerable mush.
so, he did what any emotionally stunted teenager would do: he acted like an absolute jerk.
𓏵
the tragedy began with a notebook. a small, pocket-sized green notebook that tsukishima kept hidden in the deepest recesses of his school bag, right behind his english textbooks.
he was a top student; learning a new language shouldn’t have been this difficult. but tagalog was a complex beast filled with repeating syllables, actor-trigger verbs, and a sentence structure that made his logical brain want to riot. still, every night after finishing his actual homework, he would sit at his desk, put on his headphones to drown out the sound of his brother breathing in the next room, and write.
mahal. love.
maganda. beautiful.
marikit. gorgeous.
ikaw lang. only you.
his handwriting in the notebook was cramped and precise, filled with arrows pointing to grammatical rules and phonetic spellings. he wanted to surprise you. he had this stupid, agonizingly vivid daydream where he would casually drop a perfectly accented sentence in your native tongue, and the shocked, brilliant smile you would give him would finally make his heart stop pounding against his ribs like a caged bird.
the universe, however, possessed a deeply twisted sense of humor.
it happened on a tuesday afternoon during lunch. you were heading to the vending machine to get a melon bread, hum-singing a catchy opm song under your breath, when you spotted tsukishima and yamaguchi sitting on a bench in the courtyard.
you were about to bounce over and demand a bite of whatever tsukishima was eating, but you stopped when you heard your name.
“…and you really think this is going to work, tsukki?” yamaguchi was saying, looking over a small green notebook.
“it has to,” tsukishima’s voice was low, laced with a harshness that he usually reserved for kageyama or hinata. “it’s insane. she doesn’t stop. she talks and talks, and it’s driving me crazy. i need to get this over with so i can finally have some peace of mind.”
your heart, which had been doing its usual happy drum-roll at the sight of him, suddenly felt like it had been plunged into a bucket of ice water.
“but don’t you think she’ll be hurt?” yamaguchi asked softly. “i mean, she really likes talking to you.”
“i don’t care,” tsukishima snapped, snatching the notebook back with a jerk. “hearing those words coming out of her mouth makes me feel like my skin is getting goosebumps. nakakairita. it’s annoying. i just want to put an end to it.”
you stood frozen behind the hedge, your hand clamped over your mouth to stifle the small, wounded sound that wanted to escape your throat.
nakakairita. you knew that word. you had taught it to hinata last week when he wouldn’t stop poking your cheek. it meant annoying. irritating. bothersome.
and tsukishima had just used it to describe you. he had used a word from your language to talk about how much he hated hearing you speak.
tears, hot and furious, blurred your vision. you weren’t a crier—you were the girl who laughed off insults and turned awkwardness into a joke. but this felt different. this felt like a physical blow to the stomach. you had thought that underneath all his sarcasm and eye-rolling, there was a mutual understanding. you thought that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind your chaos as much as he pretended to.
how stupid could you be? he was tsukishima kei. he was cool, calculated, and sophisticated. of course he hated your loud voice, your thick accent, and your invasive presence. you were a nuisance he was actively studying how to eliminate.
you didn’t get your melon bread. instead, you turned on your heel and bolted back to the safety of your classroom, ignoring the way your chest felt like it was splitting wide open.
𓏵
for the next two weeks, the karasuno volleyball club experienced a phenomenon that was scarier than coach ukai’s training camps: you went completely, utterly silent around tsukishima.
it was a targeted radio silence. you still brought sliced oranges for the team, you still helped kiyoko with the clipboards, and you still taught nishinoya how to say “you’re beautiful” in tagalog (maganda ka), which he was currently screaming at random girls in the hallway.
but whenever tsukishima approached, you became a ghost.
if he sat on the bench, you stood up and walked to the other side of the gym to help yachi organize the towels. if he asked where the extra water bottles were, you would point to them without looking at him, your lips pressed in a hard, thin line. you stopped laughing at his dry remarks. you stopped shoving your phone in his face to show him ridiculous memes. you didn’t even call him payatot anymore.
the silence was deafening. and it was driving tsukishima absolutely, positively feral.
by day five, he was missing normal serves by a mile, sending balls flying into the back wall with a terrifying amount of force.
by day ten, his mood was so foul that even kageyama was avoiding him. he was snapping at everyone, his sarcasm dripping with actual venom instead of his usual bored mockery.
by day fourteen, he was a hollowed-out shell of a giant, his eyes rimmed with dark circles because he couldn’t sleep. his mind was a broken record playing the same question over and over again: what did i do?
he checked his green notebook every night, tracing the words he had painstakingly written down. had he said something wrong? had his pronunciation been offensive? he hadn’t even gotten the chance to use any of it yet.
𓏵
the breaking point came on a rainy friday evening after practice. the gym was mostly empty; only a few stragglers were left to lock up. you were in the storage room, wrestling with a heavy bag of deflated volleyballs that refused to fit on the top shelf.
“let me,” a cold, familiar voice said from behind you.
you jumped, dropping the bag. a large, pale hand reached over your shoulder, gripping the bag and effortlessly sliding it onto the shelf. you didn’t need to look up to know who it was. the scent of clean linen and ironed cotton gave him away instantly.
“thanks,” you muttered under your breath, your voice small and devoid of its usual lively melody. you immediately turned to leave, keeping your eyes trained on the scuffed wooden floor.
a hand shot out, slamming against the doorframe right next to your head and blocking your exit. you stopped dead in your tracks, your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird.
“no,” tsukishima said. his voice wasn’t bored. it wasn’t calm. it was shaking with a raw, jagged edge that you had never heard before. “you’re not walking away from me again.”
you refused to look up at him. “i need to go home, tsukishima. move your hand.”
the use of his last name felt like a slap in the face. his jaw clenched so hard you could hear his teeth grind.
“why are you doing this?” he demanded, leaning down so his face was level with yours. his golden eyes were flashing behind his glasses, filled with a desperate, agonizing frustration. “what did i do to make you look at me like i’m a piece of trash on the sidewalk? why won’t you talk to me anymore?”
“because i get it, okay!” you suddenly burst out, the dam holding back two weeks of hurt finally breaking. you looked up at him, your eyes brimming with hot tears that made his chest seize with a violent wave of guilt. “i know you hate me! i know i’m loud and annoying and that hearing me speak makes your skin crawl! you don’t have to keep reminding me with your face!”
tsukishima blinked, completely blindsided. the anger in his eyes vanished, replaced by pure, unadulterated confusion. “what are you talking about? i don’t hate you. when did i ever say that?”
“i heard you!” you wiped furiously at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. “two weeks ago at lunch. you and yamaguchi were sitting on the bench. you had that notebook and you said i was driving you crazy and that i was nakakairita! you used my own language to insult me, tsukki! that was… that was really mean.”
the realization hit tsukishima like a freight train traveling at full speed. his face went from pale to a shade of red that rivaled a ripe tomato. the notebook. the lunch conversation.
“you… you idiot,” he breathed out, his voice cracking. he dropped his hand from the doorframe and dragged it through his blonde hair, looking incredibly stressed. “you complete and utter absolute airhead.”
“don’t call me that!” you snapped, sniffing loudly. “just let me go.”
“no! listen to me!” he grabbed your shoulders, his grip firm but careful not to hurt you. he was staring at you with such intense, blazing urgency that you forgot how to breathe. “you didn’t hear the whole conversation. yamaguchi was asking me about the notebook because i was getting frustrated with the grammar. i was complaining because i couldn’t get the pronunciation right and i wanted it to be perfect for you!”
you blinked, the tears freezing on your eyelashes. “perfect for… me?”
“why would you want to be perfect for me? to taunt me? to make me feel worse than i already do?” you scoffed.
tsukishima let out a sound that was halfway between a growl and a sigh of pure desperation. he was done being cool. he was done playing the detached spectator. his pride was in absolute tatters, lying in a puddle on the storage room floor, and he didn’t care at all.
“kase mahal kita!” he shouted, the filipino words bursting from his lips with a thick, distinctly japanese accent but a mountain of raw emotion behind them.
you froze. your brain short-circuited. because i love you.
“i have been staying up until three in the morning every night trying to learn your stupidly complicated language because i am so hopelessly, pathetically in love with you that it makes me physically ill!” his voice was rising now, his chest heaving as he poured out the feelings he had kept locked behind a titanium wall for months. “i wasn’t calling you annoying, you dense girl! i was calling the language rules annoying because i was impatient! i wanted to be able to talk to you in the words that make you happiest. i wanted to be someone you could feel at home with!”
you stared at him, your mouth falling open. tsukishima was breathing hard, his glasses slightly crooked, his face a deep shade of crimson. his eyes were wide, filled with a terrifying vulnerability, searching your face for any sign of rejection.
“i’m desperate for your love, okay?” he continued, his voice dropping to a raw, aching whisper that made your knees go weak. “it’s pathetic. i can’t focus on volleyball, i can’t sleep, i can’t even eat properly because all i can think about is how much i miss the sound of your voice. i miss you making fun of my height. i miss you forcing me to try filipino snacks that are way too sweet. i miss you. and the thought that i had genuinely hurt you and made you hate me was tearing me apart. so please, don’t ever be silent around me again. scream at me, call me names, teach me more swear words, i don’t care. just… please talk to me.”
the silence that followed his outburst was thick and heavy, filled only with the sound of the rain drum-rolling on the metal roof and your own frantic heartbeats.
you stared at him for what felt like an eternity, processing the absolute masterpiece of a confession that had just been delivered by the most prideful boy in school.
and then, you did the only logical thing. you burst out laughing.
tsukishima’s heart plummeted to his shoes. he winced, his shoulders sagging as he prepared to be utterly humiliated. “fine. laugh at me. i know i sounded ridiculous. my accent is probably terrible—”
you didn’t let him finish. you launched yourself forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his chest. the impact was so sudden that he stumbled back a step, instinctively wrapping his long arms around your waist to keep both of you from toppling over.
“you’re such a giant torpe!” you muffled into his shirt, giggling through a fresh wave of happy tears.
“a what?” he asked, his voice muffled against your hair, though his arms tightened possessively around your small frame.
“a guy who is too shy to confess his feelings. a coward in love!” you pulled back just enough to look up at him, a wide, dazzling smile on your face that illuminated the dark storage room like a thousand suns. “but it was a very good confession, tsukki. your accent is actually very cute. a bit stiff, like a robot trying to be romantic, but cute.”
tsukishima looked down at you, the sheer relief flooding his system making him feel lightheaded. a slow, genuine smile—the rare kind that reached his eyes and made his whole face soften—tugged at his lips.
“shut up,” he murmured, leaning down until his forehead was resting against yours. “i was being sincere.”
“i know,” you whispered, your hands moving up to cup his face, your thumbs gently tracing his high cheekbones. “i love you too, you giant glass of water. mahal din kita.”
the effect of hearing those words directed at him was instantaneous. tsukishima’s breath hitched, and without giving himself time to overthink it and let his brain ruin the moment, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.
it was clumsy at first, born from weeks of pent-up yearning and desperate anxiety. but as your lips parted and you melted against him, pulling him closer by his collar, it turned into something incredibly sweet, deep, and impossibly soft. it was the feeling of a long-awaited rainfall after a grueling drought.
when he finally pulled away for air, his eyes were heavy-lidded and incredibly dark. his glasses were completely askew now, sitting lopsided on his nose, which made him look endearingly disheveled.
“was that okay?” he asked quietly, his thumbs tracing the curve of your waist under your jacket. the level of raw devotion in his gaze was enough to make your soul leave your body.
“it was perfect,” you beamed, standing on your tiptoes to straighten his glasses for him. “but we still need to work on your accent. you sounded a little bit like a dying microwave when you said ‘kase’.”
tsukishima groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “you’re never letting me live that down, are you?”
“never! i’m going to tell the whole team tomorrow. nishinoya will make a banner!”
“if you do that, i’m never kissing you again.”
“you’re lying,” you chirped, kissing his cheek. “you’re completely whipped for me, tsukishima kei. you said it yourself. you’re desperate.”
he didn’t even try to deny it. he just sighed, pulling you flush against his chest and resting his chin on top of your head, listening to the beautiful, chaotic rhythm of your laughter filling the quiet gym. he was hopelessly, utterly defeated by a hurricane of a girl, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t mind losing at all.
n: tsukishima kei, pregnant? no, he’s just in love.
After our homes were completely destroyed, displacement number 14 has now been made from Al-Tuffah neighborhood in northern Gaza. My family of 27 and I do not own anything due to the sudden flight from the area. We do not even have the most basic necessities of life. No food, no clothing, no drink. I was not even able to bring a tent due to the urgent evacuation request from the area. 💔
I hope you will help me and my family by donating and participating so that we can buy the basic necessities of life. My family is in dire need of your humanity. Any donation that helps, no matter how small, is greatly appreciated by us.
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Hello
Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who supports us in these very difficult circumstances.
Today, the Nazi Israeli forces shelled several journalists and civil defense personnel live on air
Today was one of the hardest day , The airstrikes hit Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis directly. The first strike tore through the fourth floor, and just minutes later while journalists and medics were trying to document and save lives ,another strike hit the same spot💔💔💔
It wasn’t just a bombing… it felt like an attempt to silence every voice, every image, every effort to show the truth from inside Gaza. Cameras were left lying on the ground, covered in dust and blood, while people around the hospital screamed, searching for signs of life.
Looking back at the images after the attack, the scene was unbearable: exhausted faces, tears, bodies pulled from the rubble. The very people who always stood behind the camera became the picture themselves today.
This hospital is not the first to be bombed, and these journalists are not the first to be targeted. But today carries a different weight: it feels like they’re not only destroying buildings, they’re trying to erase testimony, to switch off the image, to leave Gaza without witnesses.
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If you can, please help my family in Gaza survive. Every little bit makes a difference🙏🥺
Hello, my name is Anas, and I am from Gaza.Some of you may already know me from my previous fundraiser on GoFundMe. I want to explain honest
Our previous fundraiser, which was shut down, had raised $22,000 out of our $40,000 goal. With this new campaign, we are starting again from zero and our goal now is to reach $20,000. The new fundraiser accepts donations in multiple currencies, not only USD.🙏🥹
how beautiful and poetic is it that lucio katou looks at hinata, a character so often embodied by the sun and how it blazes, and is reminded of japan's winter. lucio katou looks at hinata and sees a flurry of snow even when the heat of brazil's sun and sand has dug its claws into them. lucio katou looks at hinata and is chilled by hinata's drive and passion and hunger, feels the wind nipping at his skin and the frost settling in between his bones, is blinded by the white glare of snow under which warmth still flickers like a candleflame being kept alive by cupped hands. and hinata, so used to being summer-bright and sun-strong, will learn what it means to be seared by a light that is not his own.
warnings/content. 3k+ wc | profanity | mentions of food | timeline is set before blue lock ! | reo and reader is in their sophomore year in highschool | reader is a bit mean to reo (not in an extreme way, just in a normal teenager-y way) and reo is a sore loser in love | and this is me trying the grumpy x sunshine (obv reo) trope ! | half-assed proofread btw | some parts might be ooc reo but it's fine hehe
summary: reo asks you to tutor him after failing an exam in which he oddly looks happy about
“the teacher said i need to be tutored,” a voice tinged with amusement reached your ears.
looking up, you saw reo mikage standing right in front of you, his million-dollar smile lighting up his face, as he held out a math test paper marked with a big, bleeding red ‘F.’
and for someone who had just allegedly received the lowest score possible on such an important exam, he was definitely grinning a little too much.
“and why should that concern me?” you shot back, hoping to hide your indifference.
your annoyance seeped into your words, not meant to sound rude, but you craved some peace during your lunch break. hunger gnawed at your stomach, and this interruption wasn't helping.
he shrugged casually, as if the situation were no big deal. if you had received such a grade, you would not be smiling right now, let alone treat this situation nonchalantly. “well, the teacher did mention i could ask anyone. and since you're undoubtedly one of the smartest in the class, it only makes sense to choose you, right?”
with sarcasm making its way to your tongue and translating to your voice, you retorted, “oh, is that so? do you find me worthy of your esteemed company, young master?”
as the son and sole heir of the mikage corp, reo was trained to be an exceptional conversationalist, and there had been only a few instances when he couldn't form a response right away. this one, however, might be the longest he got a cat to get his tongue. reo feels like he’s having a heartburn from your remark, it’s pathetic.
ever so impatient, you, who only wanted to get back to your lunch, beat him to a reply, saying, “what if i refuse?”
quickly recovering from the unexpected turn of events, reo let out a dramatic gasp, “do you not care about my future? what if i don't graduate on time and can't get a job?”
that must be the most bullshit reason you've ever heard from the heir of a business tycoon. you're pretty sure his future is much clearer than any blue sky. but sure, you can play along.
“fine.”
“really?”
sensing an out-of-place joy in his tone, you raised a brow. was he that thrilled to be tutored?
“i'm sure. now, can i return to my lunch?”
reo's eyes widened a bit as he realized that he was interrupting your meal. hurriedly, he bid you goodbye with a smile.
even with your sarcastic retorts, he walked away, still smiling. his grin was a telltale sign of how much trouble you had just signed up for.
stupid reo and his stupid, handsome smile.
smiling to yourself, you couldn't help but wonder how he managed to receive such a mark in the first place. you had known him since freshman year (it’s hard not to know him), and you knew that the mikage heir was a born genius. so, could this be a mishap? probably. oh well, he couldn't be so difficult to teach.
you’re wrong.
reo mikage is the worst fucking student.
not only does he seem uninterested in your explanations, completely disregarding all the equations you painstakingly lay out for him, but he also has the audacity to stare at you the entire time.
with that shit-eating grin that never leaves his face.
sure, he's cute, but right now, he's nothing more than a damn thorn in your side.
“is there something on my face that bothers you this much, or do you simply have the attention span of a goldfish?” you said, frustration evident in your tone.
“you're just a bad teacher, i think,” he quips, smugness dripping from his words.
“and you're the worst student, i'm sure,” you fire back, refusing to let him have the upper hand.
“well, how about you give me an incentive?” reo suddenly exclaims, his excitement evident in his sparkling purple eyes.
“and now you're asking for more as if you're not already taking up too much of my time?” you reply sarcastically, but your words carry no venom.
“come on! if i get a high mark on the next exam, you'll give me your number!” he eagerly proposes, his enthusiasm contagious.
do all rich kids have the tendency to want mundane things?
“what are you going to do with my number?”
“networking! it's a thing in my world. expanding social circles and all that,” he explains, trying his best to come up with excuses that sound remotely plausible.
reo, well aware of the fact that he can only fabricate bullshit excuses in your presence, hopes he's not being too obvious. unfortunately for him, you see right through it, but it doesn't bother you all that much.
“better show me that A+ then,” you challenge, your expectations clear.
oh, it’s on. he’s going to ace that exam, one way or another. not that it’s actually hard.
mikage: hello y/n!
mikage: do you have some notes from the discussion from yesterday?
mikage: hello?
so much for networking.
mikage: and they finally read my messages! the crowd cheers!
what led to this moment is, once again, reo mikage standing in front of you, grinning from ear to ear, eagerly holding out an exam paper marked with what seems to be the biggest A+ you've ever seen.
that was three days ago, and sure enough, he got the incentive he asked for. and in those days, you damn sure experienced the ‘networking’ he speaks of with how often he texts you.
you: yeah, let me just take pictures of it to send you.
mikage: NO
you: ??? are you yelling at me
mikage: i mean no, don’t take pictures of it. i’m a visual learner. i have to see your notes in person.
is he fucking serious right now?
you: and what do you suggest we do about that? it’s saturday, we won’t see each other until monday, genius.
mikage: how about i’ll come to your house?
you: how about you try asking nagi for notes instead?
after sending your last message, you put your phone down despite it continuously buzzing, signaling reo's discontent with your suggestion. you did a commendable job of ignoring him until he grew tired of sending unread messages and decided to call you instead.
“what?” you answered, picking up his persistent call.
“the probability of nagi having notes is lower than the probability of cows flying ten years from now!” he exclaimed, and begrudgingly, you admit he sure does have a point in that.
sighing into the phone, you reply, “you can't come here, it's a bit busy.”
“we'll meet up then! i can pick you up?” reo suggests eagerly. the ‘q’ in reo mikage sure does stand for ‘quitter’.
“do you text and call everyone in your networking circle this much?” you ask, slightly amused.
“what do you mean? we're friends!” he protests.
“did i miss a few pages, young master, or did you get hit in the head with a soccer ball and become a bit delusional?” you tease, unable to resist.
“how about you stop being mean to me?” you could almost hear the pout and the mock hurt in his voice.
you can't, not when you get cute reactions from him in return.
you can't help but find his cute reactions entertaining, and you smile at the phone, even though he can't see it.
“i'll think about it,” you concede.
“okay, you have enough time to think about it while i'm on my way to you! bye, see you in a bit,” he says cheerfully before hanging up.
looking at the phone, you wonder when exactly you agreed to this.
stupid reo and his stupid persistence.
reo is once again in front of you, a scene that has become quite familiar over the course of your friendship.
however, this time you find yourselves in a cozy cafe near your house instead of on the school premises. he’s sitting in front of you, skimming through your notes, probably visually learning, while you sip on the drink he insisted on ordering for you. you gave in, because reo is not a quitter of any sorts. fighting him on the bill is futile and definitely a waste of effort.
“i’ll pay you back,” you state firmly.
“i asked you here, so i should pay,” reo insists.
“i’ll feel bad.”
“if that’s the case, i guess you can treat me next time?” he suggests with a playful smile.
“you practically dragged me here, and you're already talking about a ‘next time’? you're not being slick, reo mikage,” you retort, not letting him get away with his charm.
“a man could try…” he whispers, hiding his face behind your notes, although you can see his neck turning red.
shaking your head, you shift your attention to the busy street outside the cafe. however, your ears catch the faint hum of a familiar song coming from reo. you know that song — it has been stuck in your head since a famous girl group released their album.
unable to contain your amusement, you chuckle, causing reo to look at you with curious eyes.
still smiling brightly, you remark, “didn’t know you're a fan too,” and laugh once more.
reo, on the other hand, feels starstruck.
he made you laugh for the first time, and was it the prettiest sound he ever heard? it sure is. it feels as if his heart beats in harmony with the rhythm of your laughter. it takes his breath away and brings him back to the present, all at once. it's intoxicating in the best possible way.
once he gets home, he's going to memorize the discography of this girl group. nothing will stop him. he will hum every single one of their songs in your presence.
reo would do that and even more if it means hearing you laugh again. this shouldn't be the last time he gets to experience it.
you had fun with reo last saturday.
but right now? you sure don’t.
he’s avoiding you, like a fucking plague. and much to your chagrin, you miss having him around, despite his annoying antics. all with his stupid excuses and stupid grins.
he’s physically avoiding you, but you've noticed him stealing glances at you multiple times during this boring history class, his guilty expression not going unnoticed. it's time to put an end to this charade once and for all.
as soon as the bell rings, you quickly stand up and make your way towards reo before he can leave the classroom. looking around to ensure you're alone, you confront him.
“what’s wrong with you?” you demand.
“what do you mean?” reo feigns innocence.
“you’re avoiding me. you did something, didn’t you? did you spill something on the notes i lent you and you can't bring yourself to tell me?” you accuse, trying to get to the bottom of his strange behavior.
reo wishes it was just that. but it wasn't. it was much worse, to the point that even seishiro nagi called him out on it. and seishiro nagi? a man who couldn't care less about anyone because it's a hassle, calling someone out? you know you messed up if he does.
and reo believes he did.
“you're smiling at your phone too much, ‘s creeping me out,” nagi remarked, looming over reo’s phone.
reo shrugged, trying to hide his excitement. “stop being a hater, nagi.”
curiosity piqued, nagi caught a glimpse of your contact number on the screen. “oh? you finally made a move? about time.”
“i didn’t... they're tutoring me,” reo replied, a hint of sheepishness in his voice.
nagi raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “huh? for?”
“uh, i failed a math exam.”
“you?” nagi chuckled, finding the situation rather amusing.
“okay, fine, the test paper wasn't mine or anyone’s.”
“normally, i won't give a damn, but tell me about it,” nagi said, genuinely interested.
it was an understatement to say that nagi was borderline amused after hearing reo's story, so amused that he had to unintentionally slap reo with the truth.
“basically, you tricked them. should’ve just said that.”
it's safe to assume that nagi's words had struck their way into reo's mind all throughout that day until now.
once again, and perhaps for the last time, reo stood in front of you. but this time, there was no smile on his lips nor a glint in his big purple eyes. he took a deep breath, gathering the courage to confess.
“no, i didn't spill anything on your notes. but i did something to you,” reo admitted, his voice trailing off. seeing your raised eyebrow, he continued, “i tricked you.”
“what?”
"i didn't fail any exam. i didn't need tutoring. no teacher told me to approach anyone. the test paper i showed you wasn't mine. i wasted your time, and i..." reo's voice faltered, barely above a whisper, “... tricked you, because i didn't know how to approach you after having liked you since first year.”
reo panned his eyes to the floor, unable to meet your gaze while his heart sank.
he hasn’t even started yet it's done. he should've come clean. he should've just told you he liked you since freshman year. he should've just asked for your number like a proper man. but he was so fucking shy, unbearable to think of being rejected by you. he could only think of coaxing you to talk to him.
and now his own foolishness was paying the price.
it's over. you and him are done for. he's not going to hear your laughter anymore. he won't ever receive a sarcastic retort again. all those moments of bliss, gone —
“i kinda know.”
what?
reo's eyes widened, and he lifted his gaze to meet yours. how?
“did you forget that the teacher congratulated the class for having good results on the exam you showed me? no one got a score below B+, reo. so imagine my surprise when you came, interrupting my lunch, showing me a paper with an f mark claiming you flunked it.”
god damn it, reo mikage.
it's either you're joking or reo just made the most foolish mistake known to mankind. and none of the former is evident in your face.
he should really pay attention in class, not on your side profile from where he sits across you.
a grave grave mistake. can the ground swallow him whole? or can someone shoot him —
no, actually, wait a damn minute.
it was as if all the clogs in reo's brain got a huge power-up as he realized something so spectacular.
“then why did you not say anything?”
you... from the start, could've just refused him. if you knew the entire time. so why did you agree to tutor him in the first place?
perhaps…? no, reo didn't want to get his hopes up.
he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his nervousness evident in his fidgeting. it was as if he had been caught in a whirlwind of emotions, trying to make sense of it all. the weight of anticipation hung in the air as he waited for your response, his heart pounding in his chest.
and then, you smiled.
you and your stupidly bright smile that feels like a ray of light on a freezing cold skin that reo is having right now.
he really did not want to get his hopes up, but how in the hell would he do that when you just smiled at his question?
“what does that smile mean?”
“well, it means that maybe you're not the only scheming lovesick fool here, pretty boy.”
oh.
oh.
you knew it all along that he was scheming his way into your heart.
you knew the entire time.
and you let him.
what the fuck. reo was having a heartburn, literally, figuratively, and madly so. all because of you.
reo snapped out of his thoughts when you waved a hand in his face, vying for his attention. you spoke, “is this everything you’re guilty about? i thought it was something grave. if you told me you spilled something on my notes, i would have started swinging at you, actually.” your laughter filled the room, lightening the tension.
the second time reo made you laugh was because of a scheme that he expected would end whatever beautiful thing you had between you two. not that he’s complaining.
“so you like me back?” reo finally gathered the courage to ask, his voice tinged with hope.
“if we get some food right now, i might answer that coherently. scheming or not, you really do have the habit of interrupting my lunch,” you playfully replied.
“i’d buy you the whole cafeteria if you answer me right now,” reo declared, a touch of desperation in his voice.
the ‘o’ in reo mikage sure stands for ‘overspending’, you’re convinced.
giving in to his request, you took three steps closer to him, barely a foot distance between you. softly, you declared, “yes, reo mikage, i like you too. but i must say, you, making me starve right now, is reducing your chances of being my actual boyfriend.”
“let’s get you some food.” reo said, holding your hand and leading you out of the room like he was on a mission. amused by his sudden swift pace, you let out a laugh.
and suddenly, all tension left reo’s body. his heart once again beat at a normal rhythm. that’s the third time reo made you laugh. surely, it’s one of many more to come.
a minute after walking side by side, you broke the serene silence surrounding you. “not gonna lie, the networking excuse is kind of funny.”
“but it worked. a win is a win,” reo smugly said, showing you your intertwined hands. “see? a win.”
you shook your head at his remarks. your stupid reo and his stupid scheme.
note. hello lovely ppl ! thanks for keeping up w me this far and for following me! as a thanks, here’s a reo fic since i’m missing him so much and emma has been feeding me ideas abt him <3 this is actually the longest i’ve written (i’m so normal abt reo i swear), hope you like it! (btw it goes without saying that this fic, is in fact, another TS inspired hehe love lots!)
𓆩♡𓆪 for one of the best people i met here, @saetorinrin
you accused firmly, your conviction unwavering. there was not even an ounce of doubt in your judgment. it seemed to be the only logical explanation for what was transpiring right before your eyes.
“i swear, baby, i am not,” reo pleaded, but you were having none of it. you clung to your accusation, refusing to back down.
there was simply no other way to interpret the situation.
unable to contain your incredulity any longer, you pointed directly at the perpetrator of your accusation— an unbelievably unfamiliar word that reo had placed on the scrabble board.
“phpht”, is he fucking serious? how were you supposed to even pronounce that?
scanning the jumble of letters on your own rack, you conceded defeat. “you’re cheating. i'm out,” you declared, playfully rising from your seat as if to emphasize your point.
reo stood up, facing you with protests laced with laughter, vehemently defending his outrageous choice of word. “i’m not cheating! i swear it's a real word. i'm not making it up!”
“who the hell comes up with that? phpht,” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest and arching an eyebrow. “and did i even pronounce it correctly?”
“google it, it’s a word.”
“sure it is,” you retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. “i’m done with this game.”
reo sat and leaned back to his chair, seemingly unfazed by your antics. “may i remind you, love, that this was your idea?” he teased.
the worst idea, apparently.
if you had known how insufferable your boyfriend could be when it came to board games, you would have scoured every genre available on netflix to find a movie you both could have enjoyed instead of suggesting this battle of wits that you were clearly losing.
“yeah, because i thought it would be fun,” you huffed, “but here you are, taking it so seriously as if we were in a competition for the title of best scrabble player of the year!”
reo let out a laugh at your outburst that turned into a boyish grin adorning his face, “what can i say, baby? i simply have a wide vocabulary,” he playfully boasted, clearly enjoying your annoyance. “besides, you’re into smart men. i like to remind you of that from time to time.” he even had the audacity to wink.
“show off.”
“only to you.”
“i’m still not playing this with you anymore,” you declared, rolling your eyes, yet unable to suppress the tugging smile forming on your lips.
“how about this one then?” reo proposed, placing another board game on the table, his eyes seeking your approval.
oh, hell no.
approval is the last thing he is going to receive for his choice of game.
playing monopoly with a man who religiously checked the stock market every day at 7 am like clockwork? you weren't crazily in love enough to endure that (you are, just not tonight).
“and have you criticize every property purchase i make? nope, thank you very much.”
a mischievous grin once again danced on reo's lips. “you could just admit and tell me i'm good at everything, baby.”
“good at everything, you say?” you asked, a hint of teasing in your voice. “i’m pretty sure you suck at hiding your jealousy, especially when—”
“alright, let's play snakes & ladders instead,” reo interrupted, a playful surrender evident in his tone. “i’d even let you win.”
and sure enough, you both played snakes & ladders, in which you miraculously lost twice. perhaps luck had ceased favoring you after you earned yourself a boyfriend like reo.
you couldn't bring yourself to complain about it, though. you were indeed lucky to have a man like him, even when he’s pulling up words unknown to anyone in a scrabble game.
note. just a silly drabble because i miss him and i'm having the biggest writer's block rn. also, i swear that's a word don't make me defend myself here╰（‵□′）╯
doing that silly little lipstick tiktok trend to the song “k.” by cigarettes after sex with them. when you pan the camera to him wiping away your smudged lipstick and he’s just staring at you with so much adoration and a little smile on his lips—face covered in kiss marks. which causes you to smile hard at the sight. once the audio cuts off and the video stops you turn to him, “see that was fun wasn’t it?” and he’s completely zoned or now just staring at your lips—his slightly parted. you know exactly what he wants now and you wouldn’t hesitate to lean in to lock your lips with his. once you pull out of the kiss he’s cheesing and is all, “if there’s ever anymore trends like that don’t even ask me, i’ll do it no questions asked.”
“and suddenly all love songs were about you” :: a little something to feed my brainrot and my fellow semi simp anon <3
character(s), semi eita
a/n :: not proofread…also very short
before semi met you, the love songs he wrote were never from experience. just things he’d heard or seen on tv. he never had anything—or anyone to experience the things he wrote about with. until he finally met you. his whole perception of love was changed.
and suddenly every love song was about you. the ones he wrote, the ones he listened to. everything led back to you. your smile, your eyes, just everything about you. when asked in interviews about his music and where he got inspiration from, semi always had the biggest smile on his face. his cheeks would heat up and turn red, just a little bit. before he mentioned you and how you inspired him and how you were his muse.
slowly his discography became like a fan page for you. he even named a song after you. he was once asked in an interview: “do you think you’ll regret that later on?” and he smiled softly, “nah,” and his answer was an honest one. “they’re my first love, i don’t think that’s something i’d ever regret.”
this is adorable but i’m still just stuck on ‘he keeps crawling into my lap and cuddling and nuzzling me, but i can’t tell if he LIKES ME-likes me, please help’
you’re leaving for college tomorrow. and though kuroo has always been supportive—though he was the one who told you to pick a school two hours away because you can’t just stay around here for him—he hates this.
he hates the idea of you being so far and he hates that his room already feels empty, and he hates that every second you stand here feels like a second slipping through his fingers—but, really, he isn’t sure what else to do.
“i’ll be back next month,” you breathe—laughter dotting your tongue—and though he knows you’re trying to comfort him, there’s something about the concept of a month without you that turns his stomach a little sour.
“i’d say that’s a pretty long time.” the words leave him in a hum—a quiet little collection of breath that buzzes from his throat—but they couldn’t feel uneasier in his mouth.
“it’s not that long,” you murmur.
“it’s long enough to miss you.” you smile. it’s small, barely tugging against your lips—but it’s still a smile nevertheless, so he drinks it in as if he’ll never see it again—as if he’ll never see you again.
and you both stand there—letting warm silence fill his room—and, for a second, he lets himself think that maybe this isn’t happening. that maybe you’ll show up at his door tomorrow and you’ll sit on his bed and he’ll laugh until his lungs ache, just like he always does. that maybe if he wills it hard enough, time isn’t nearly as inescapable as it claims to be.
but you kick your foot out in front of you, scuffing the carpet and breaking his little train of thought, and when he looks up, your gaze is soft upon his face.
“hey,” you toy with your fingers, attempting to hide the sputter of sadness beneath your breath with a laugh. “you still have all night to get sick of me.”
and all night isn’t getting kicked out of the library because you’re both too loud, or singing to the radio until the sky bleeds into the horizon. and all night isn’t spending every day with you the way he always has, but kuroo decides that all night is enough; that it has to be enough.
“i do,” he whispers, the sound of his voice so uncharacteristically soft that he can see the way it nearly knocks you off your feet. “but i don’t think i’ll ever get sick of you.”
