Summary: Tsukishima has never been good with words, luckily you two have a secret language.
Fluff ✮ established relationship ✮ might be ooc but its not in my mind so shhhhh ✮ I LOVE HIMMMUUHHHHHHH
˙⋆✮
It was no wonder Tsukishima wanted to keep your relationship private. You've seen the people he hangs out with.
With the likes of Tanaka, Nishinoya and Hinata around, the entire school would know all your business before the end of the day. So for the time being, you two are just 'very close friends'
But Tsukishima knows you worry.
He knows you get in your own head about his lack of affection during class hours. He knows you convince yourself it's for reasons other than saving his dignity from his loud mouth volleyball team. And so, hes discovered a way to quell your worries that will go straight over his teams hollow heads.
Drowning in the noise pollution of Karasunos cafeteria, you and your friends settle at your usual table clutching plastic lunch trays. The trivial talk swims around you, not yet close enough to register since your attention is elsewhere.
Karasunos boys volley ball club clutters round a distant table, each voice booming louder than the other. Kageyama wrestles Hinata for his meat bun, Tanaka and Noya sit scheming for reasons you decide you don't want to know, Asahi looks like he may just pass out.
And through it all, he sits like a lighthouse engulfed in a storm, tall and calm. Tsukishima drowns out the noise like its second nature, because at this point, it is. He focuses on his food, the quiet ramble of whatever Yamaguchi has to say to him today, the feeling of the chopsticks between his fingers, the thought of seeing you again later.
There you are again, infiltrating his mind like a stubborn weed.
His eyes scan the chaos, landing on your table to meet yours.
The comfort that you had been thinking the same as him makes his heart swell, although he'd never say it. Tsukishima never has been good with words, so instead he sends you the same message hes been sending you for the past year.
Setting his chopsticks down against his tray, Tsukki hovers his hand over the table.
He taps lightly, one, two, three, eyes never leaving yours as a soft smile creeps onto both your faces.
Because you know what that means.
And maybe it sucks that he cant say it at school, but deep down you know he means it, he always has.
*tap*
I
*tap*
Love
*tap*
You.
˙⋆✮
Years later you find yourself curled up on your plush sofa. Mug in hand, tea swirling in lazy circles as a warm blanket laps at your waist.
It was late, too late really.
He had told you to go to bed, to not wait up for him as his game was going to run far into the night. He also knew you wouldn't listen.
So now you sit, eyes glued to the glaring TV with a proud smile on your face as the Sendai Frogs celebrate another win.
The interviews commence a short time after though they don't interest you much, you're only watching for one reason anyway.
And there he is, your reason. Blonde hair sticking to his forehead as he shines a breathless smile at the camera, so faint few would notice.
His eyes hit the lens, he knows you're still up. Awake even after his pleas to get some rest. But a selfish part of his heart wouldn't have it any other way.
After a while, when all the question and praise have commenced and Tsukishima is about to take his leave, his adoring eyes catch the camera one more time.
He raises his waterbottle in frame and taps his fingers against the cool plastic, three slow times.
*tap*
I
*tap*
Love
*tap*
You.
˙⋆✮
Divider credits: @/honeyluvsw
A/n: hey hey hey first haikyu fic 😽 get behind me tsukishima I will defend you
boyfriend!tsukishima who pretends he’s too cool to care about your outfit but secretly memorizes every single thing you wear so he can buy you a matching accessory for your birthday.
boyfriend!tsukishima who sighs dramatically when you ask for a hug, calling you "annoying" and "clingy," yet he’s already opening his arms and leaning down to make it easier for you to reach him.
boyfriend!tsukishima who listens to his music with only one earbud in whenever you’re around, just in case you say something he doesn’t want to miss.
boyfriend!tsukishima who uses his height to tease you, holding your phone or your favorite snack just out of reach until you pouts, then immediately giving it back with a tiny, triumphant smirk.
boyfriend!tsukishima who gets incredibly protective during away games, standing right behind you in the crowd and placing a firm hand on your shoulder to let everyone know exactly who you belong to.
boyfriend!tsukishima who corrects your grammar or your facts mid-sentence, not because he wants to be mean, but because he thinks your "angry" face is the cutest thing on the planet.
boyfriend!tsukishima who has a secret playlist on his phone titled with just your initial, filled with soft, acoustic songs that remind him of the way you look in the morning.
boyfriend!tsukishima who actually shares his strawberry shortcake with you, which is the ultimate sign of devotion since he barely lets yaguchi have a bite.
boyfriend!tsukishima who looks at you over the rim of his glasses while he’s studying, his golden eyes softening in a way that would absolutely shock his teammates.
boyfriend!tsukishima who gets flustered and looks away, clicking his tongue, when you tell him he played well, even though his heart is actually racing from the praise.
boyfriend!tsukishima who finally says he loves you in the middle of a quiet library, whispering it against the top of your head so quietly that you almost think you imagined it until he squeezes your hand.
boyfriend!tsukishima who walks you all the way to your door every single night, waiting until you’re safely inside before he turns around, a rare, genuine smile tugging at his lips because he knows he's coming back tomorrow.
⋆˚꩜｡ tsukishima is an adorable pain after practice tsukishima x reader!
^^fluff , timeskip , maybe ooc again💌
it had been hours since tsukishima texted you, the last time being during his practice break. you had assumed it ran longer than usual, considering his team, sendai frogs, had a big tournament coming up.
just as you were about to text him, the front door shut. you heard bags being shrugged off shoulders, shoes shaken off by the doorway, and footsteps being made towards the bedroom.
you finally looked up to the doorway to see that he’d already made his way in, the door closing behind him.
with a sigh, the tension from his shoulders released, pausing by the entrance of the room.
“long practice?”
nod.
“ya tired?”
nod.
he then shuffled his way into the shared bathroom, leaving you to wait for him to be done showering and crawl into bed.
once he was finished, it wasn’t long before he slipped into the covers, beside you. you had been reading, too focused to acknowledge him for the time being.
you had assumed he was too tired for any conversation or proximity, so you didn’t initiate anything.
after about 15 minutes, you felt him shift closer, his knee touching yours.
another 15 minutes go by, and he moves again, his breath now brushing your arm.
you had yet to pay any mind to it, still assuming that he’s asleep, or trying to.
when he saw you still weren’t budging or saying anything, he let out a small huff. then, lifting up your arm, he slides in between your arm and side, resting his head on your chest. he wraps his arm around your sides, pulling you closer to him.
“tsukki,” you laugh quietly, looking down to see his blonde hair snuggled into you.
he lets out a satisfied hum, his body practically melting on you. it was then that you realized that tsukishima was waiting on you.
you placed your book on your nightstand, “awe, did you miss me?” you tease, huddling closer to him.
“shut up,” he grumbled, leaning up to kiss your jaw.
a moment passes, and his fingers start slowly dragging across your hip, “yeah, i did,” he whispered.
you laugh once more as you place a soft kiss in his hair, half asleep.
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.
ʚ ✉️ ⋆˚࿔ tsukishima kei was used to your teasing and antics, but when you accuse him of having other girls in his heart, he’s sure you’ve finally lost it. (based off this tweet)
ᝰ . tsukishima × reader ⌇ wc: 0.6K
tsukishima kei hasn’t known a moment’s peace since the minute you came stumbling into his life. everyday was something new, something interesting, something so incredibly you, and he’d be lying if he said he never looked forward to spending time with you.
sundays in your shared household were preserved for relaxing and winding down before the week inevitably began once again; before the two of you had to jump back into the cycle of adulthood.
two in the afternoon had come around quicker than anticipated, yet the two of you were still tangled up in the sheets, limbs interweaved with each other as you both respectively scrolled on your phones.
every once in a while you’d shove your phone in kei’s face, showing him some video that made you laugh, to which he’d snort before returning to his own screen.
with a sigh, you tossed your phone across the mattress, deciding that you’d had enough screen time and had become bored. laying your head on his chest, you allowed the steady rhythm of his heartbeat fill your ears, lulling you. with each beat, you tapped your finger on his chest, silently counting. his arm curled tighter around your frame, one lazy hand resting on your hip and toying with the fabric of your pajamas whilst the other continued its mindless scrolling.
too preoccupied, tsukishima was blind to the furrowing of your brows and the scrunch of your nose.
“kei, they’re laughing at me.”
there was a stutter in the steady rhythm beating against his chest. his hazel eyes pinned you over the rim of his glasses, brows furrowed in perplexity.
“who?” he finally queried.
“the girls,” your voice was meek and small as you busied yourself with tracing little swirls on his skin. “i can hear them laughing at me from inside your chest.” your eyes remained averted as you spoke, but eventually curiosity got the best of you. you peeked up at him from beneath your lashes, taking in his unamused expression.
“pfft, what girls?” he flicked your forehead as if to rid your mind of the stupid notion (albeit stupidly cute, but he’d never admit that).
you rubbed your forehead, shooting him a displeased look as you pictured the redness that would soon bloom where he struck you with those stupidly long fingers of his. composing yourself, you racked your brain for a response—you hadn’t thought this far ahead.
“…your exes,” you finally managed out.
tsukishima rolled his eyes at you, one large hand shoving you off of him as he snorted at your response. “you know i don’t have those,” he laughed.
you bit your lip, seizing the opportunity to bombard him in accusations—a favorite hobby of yours. “then why are they in there, huh? who are they? previous crushes?” you rapid fired at him, punctuating each question with a soft shove to his shoulder.
“hey!” tsukishima couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped his lips as he tried to catch your wrists mid action. but if there was one thing to know about your boyfriend, it was that ultimately he was the better one when it came to riling you up. “yes, and what of it?” he finally agreed to your accusations, clearing his throat and awaiting your dramatic response.
gasping, you shifted yourself into a sitting position, and this time kicking him in the thigh—not enough to actually hurt, but enough to let him know you weren’t playing around anymore.
“oh shut up, you know you’re the only girl in my heart.” the words were odd on his tongue, but true nonetheless.
you were stunned in your place, brain trying to process his words. the words replayed in your mind, a big, dopey smile stretching your lips as the phrase echoed in the chamber of your brain.
“aw, wait, kei!” you crooned, a look of utter love flooding your eyes. “that was actually so sweet!” you threw your arms around his neck, clinging to him as though your very life depended on it.
hellooo !! if i may requesttt, i'd love it if a filipino!reader was to transfer to karasuno!
with tsukki as the love interest :) them being polar opposties get tsukki can't seem to get enough of them— their playful banter, their accent coming off strong, and sometimes reader teaching the boys how to curse in filipino!
i was thinkingggg, an angry confession? tsukki secretly learning reader's language and blurting out "kasi mahal kita"
ahhhhh no pressure, author-nim !! i just couldn't get the thoughts out of my head
AGQHAGQYWGW I’VE BEEN WAITING TO GET TO THIS REQUEST !! twirling my hair and everything 🙈🙈🙈 these kind of tropes always get me
Synopsis: Tsukishima hides a confession inside an algebra test, confident that if anyone can solve it, it’s Y/N. What he doesn’t calculate is that she might already know the answer—long before she writes me + 2 on the page.
1.5k words
Fluff😚
“Rank one? Woah. Y/N is so smart.”
Hushed whispers rippled through the hallway as students crowded around the ranking board for the first quarter results.
“She even beat Tsukishima. Damn.”
You stood a few steps away from the board, calm—composed—as if this was exactly where you were meant to be. As if first place had always belonged to you in the most natural way possible
The way your classmates spoke about you, it was almost as though they could feel your presence five hallways away.
You didn’t gloat. You didn’t even smile.
You simply existed in it.
Like a queen who never needed to announce her reign.
And right beside the board—
Tsukishima stood still.
Golden eyes scanning one word.
2nd.
Tsukishima personally didn’t mind when someone was better than him academically.
He knew he was smart anyway. There was no need to compete—he wasn’t the competitive type to begin with.
He was his own kind of intelligent.
Detached. Certain.
But somehow… today made his brow twitch.
Not because of the rank.
Not because of the number.
But because—just for a split second—he caught it.
The faintest curve at the corner of your lips.
A subtle, fleeting look of satisfaction. A fucking gloat.
And then, just as quickly, it disappeared.
Back to your usual neutral expression. Composed—untouchable as if that tiny victory had never meant anything at all.
His fingers adjusted his glasses.
…Why did that irritate him?
But before he could say anything remotely aggravating, something stopped him.
He thought of the times he had almost let his usual sarcasm slip around you.
You didn’t deserve that side of him.
The side that would deliberately provoke Kageyama just to watch him explode.
The side that would say something cutting and walk away satisfied. If he tried that with you, he had a feeling even Kageyama would punch him for it.
And Tsukishima had seen more of you.
That was what held him back.
You two were often paired together for projects. Grouped for discussions. Left side by side for hours.
And within those hours—
You were kind, you listened, and you were easy to talk to. About anything.
Calculus. Physics. Literature. Archaeology.
Even… his interests.
The little things he usually kept to himself.
He found himself noticing details about you instead.
The brand of your pen.
The way you organized your notes.
The offhand comment you once made about wanting to try volleyball.
He hadn’t made fun of your height—he even encouraged you! That alone should’ve been alarming. His questions about you were random. Slightly out of nowhere.
“What brand is that?”
“Why archaeology?”
“Do you prefer mechanical pencils or ink?”
Small things and you let them slide.
Unbeknownst to you, you were still oblivious to the pattern forming.
And every time Tsukishima reported back to Yamaguchi—He’d earn either a wheezing laugh…
Or a long, exhausted sigh of defeat.
“Why would you ask what her favorite brand of pen is? That’s so awkward, Tsukki…” Yamaguchi sighed.
“She replied G-Tech though.”
Yamaguchi stared at him.
That wasn’t the point, and they both knew it.
Tsukishima slipped his hands into his pockets, expression unchanged. As if the interaction had been purely academic. As if he hadn’t replayed the way you answered—calm, unbothered, slightly amused.
Yamaguchi shook his head.
Tsukishima, meanwhile, made a quiet mental note.
G-Tech.
Tsukishima didn’t stop.
The questions continued—small, oddly specific, almost clinical.
What brand of highlighter you preferred.
Why you rewrote your notes instead of annotating directly.
Why archaeology, out of everything.
It made you pause.
What is he going to do with that information anyway?
Is that just how he starts conversations?
You weren’t unused to people talking to you. But his approach felt… deliberate. Like he was gathering data.
You glanced up from your seat.
He stood at the front of the room, chalk between his fingers, solving an equation with steady precision. No hesitation. No second-guessing. The numbers aligned cleanly under his hand.
He didn’t look awkward, not even in the slightest. That’s what makes it strange to you.
When a day passed, you decided to test something—see how far his little questions would go.
But before you could set anything up, a voice stopped you.
“Seriously, Tsukki? Asking about her pens again?”
It was Yamaguchi, leaning casually against the hallway wall, smirking. Quick, almost like an inside joke—but not subtle enough to fool you.
You raised an eyebrow.
You weren’t gullible. Not one to assume, not one to jump to conclusions. But… this was interesting.
And so, you abandoned your plan to test him.
You let it be. Let him have his little ways.
Because if his questions, his quirks, didn’t make you twitch just a little… maybe you’d be foolish not to notice that you liked the attention anyway.
While you were busy letting him be, Tsukishima had other plans.
He’d created an entire algebra test just for you.
Not difficult—at least, not in the usual sense. Each problem had a single variable as its answer. But there was a method to the madness.
Each solution, letter by letter, would slowly spell out a message.
I like you.
By the final problem, a small questionnaire awaited: what were your thoughts? Your opinion of the “exam”? The answers to his little puzzle.
It was meticulous. Slightly absurd. And very, very him.
Tsukishima had calculated everything.
If you didn’t pick up on the clues, he would stop talking to you.
If you did—if you gave him even the faintest feedback that you liked him—he would be the happiest person alive.
When he handed you the test, you scanned it quietly, solving each problem in your head.
“Why are all the answers variables?” you muttered, confused.
Then you paused. Something about the way the letters lined up…
You chuckled quietly at his… unusual way of confessing before flipping the paper over.
“You know the answer already, right?” you asked, pulling out your pen.
“Answer this, then.”
On the back, neatly written:
Let m = m , e = “e”, then solve for me + 2
He stared quietly, running mental calculations on the simple equation.
Then he glanced up at you, the corners of his mouth twitching—just enough.
A soft smile spread across your lips.
It was effortless. Gentle.
And it melted him.
Before he realized it, his hand had moved, lightly resting on top of yours.
And just like that, he asked—if he could court you.
Not in a loud, dramatic way. Not a “now-or-never” declaration. Just a quiet, careful question. A sign of affection, even if it was too early to call it love.
He was a gentleman. Someone you never realized it was nice to have around.
He held your hand.
Gave you his jacket when the wind made you shiver.
Brushed a stray strand of hair from your face.
Walked you home before heading to practice.
And always—always—made sure to be gentle.
“You’re so annoying,” you sighed, clinging to his arm as you tried to fit under the umbrella together.
“You’re the annoying one,” he replied softly, a hint of scolding in his voice. “Why on earth would you rather use a raincoat than an umbrella?”
He adjusted the umbrella slightly, making sure you weren’t getting wet—not from the rain, not from the tiny gap between the two of you.
“Walk carefully. You’re making my slacks wet,” he muttered, irritation just barely in his voice.
“Don’t care,” you replied, stepping along like nothing mattered.
“Oh, you dare?” Tsukishima shifted the umbrella slightly, letting a few light raindrops fall on you.
“Wha—! I’m sorry!” you whined, flailing slightly as you tried to dodge the drops
He walked you home safely despite the light rain, the umbrella tilting slightly whenever the wind shifted.
When you reached your gate, he lowered it at last.
“You’re home,” he said simply.
It was cold. The kind that lingered in the air and settled into your sleeves.
And maybe it was the weather.
Maybe it was the way he had made sure you didn’t get wet.
Maybe it was the fact that he chose an umbrella just so you could stand close.
You leaned forward. Your kiss was brief—soft.
But warm enough to melt the cold between you.
Tsukishima stood there for a second longer than usual.
