NOTE. for the resident tsukishima lover @marisolls !
“You sure you’re not drunk?”
Is like asking Tsukishima if the sky is blue.
“Tipsy.”
“Tipsy,” you repeat, snorting. “If you say so.”
“I am,” he tells you again. He doesn’t remember how many times he’s said it—
Because it’s true. He was tipsy. Not an incapable drunk. He knew his limits, and he was well aware that he’s always been lightweight, so it’s only responsible for him to just be a little drunk.
He feels your hand on his forehead, then on his cheek, probably to check his temperature. Maybe to check if he was actually still conscious and breathing. Tsukishima likes it, so he leans into your touch, murmuring something under his breath that even he did not understand.
“Hm?”
“I’m home.”
“You are,” you nod. “Did you have fun?”
He nods as well. “Been a while.”
In the in-betweens of his consciousness, Tsukishima vaguely remembers you taking off his shoes, and now you’re helping him with his tie. The one that miraculously hasn’t been made into a headband—or worse, strangled him throughout his night escapade with old friends.
He reaches up, hands fumbling with yours in an attempt to help. He wants to help.
He wants to make life easier for you with his help.
“Kei,” you scold him. “Let me do it, please?”
And—
And it’s not fair. So he says that, too.
“It’s not fair,” he huffs, relenting.
“What’s not fair?”
“That you’re taking care of me.”
He hears you laugh, and he slumps back against the couch, huffing again.
“It’s not funny,” he murmurs. “I’m serious here.”
“Well, what do you want me to do? Leave you in the izakaya while I’m peacefully sleeping without my husband beside me?”
The thought isn’t too unpleasant for Tsukishima. He’d rather have you here—at home, well-rested—instead of waiting for him
“...Maybe.”
You sigh, though there’s no particular annoyance in your next words, Tsukishima hopes.
“That’s stupid.”
And now that he’s thinking about it, yeah. Maybe that was stupid.
What kind of wife wouldn’t worry for her husband’s well-being while he was out? You’re definitely not that kind.
His glasses slide slightly down his nose, and you’re quick to fix them without asking. He feels your fingers brush his cheek once again in the process.
Tsukishima paused.
“…Hey,” he says.
“Yes?”
“You’re touching my face.”
You hum. “I am.”
He swallows. “Okay.”
You stood straighter and turned to the kitchen, probably for water—you always think ahead like that—and Tsukishima’s eyes followed you automatically. He reaches out without thinking and lightly catches the sleeve of your cardigan.
“…stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” you say easily.
His grip tightens just a little. “Promise?”
He knows how he probably looks right now. His cheeks are faintly flushed and his eyes are heavy-lidded but longing. Because it’s you—and Tsukishima is ok with looking like this because it’s only for you.
“I promise.”
“Okay,” he murmurs, relieved, and lets go. “I just wanted to check.”
When you returned, you sat beside him and held the glass to his lips. “Drink.”
He obeys, because apparently drunk him is very cooperative. When he’s done, he sighs and leans sideways, his shoulder bumping into yours. He doesn’t move away—simply doesn’t want to. Instead, he adjusts until his head rests against your shoulder, then adjusts again so this time his head rests somewhat uncomfortably on your neck.
He feels you still, then relaxes, one arm coming up to steady him. “You’re very cuddly tonight,” you noted.
He made a negating sound, pressing closer to you. “That’s not true.”
“It is.”
“I’m only like this with you,” he says, like this is an important distinction that must be clarified immediately. “Everyone else is… a bother.”
You laughed. “I’m honored.”
…
“…did you know,” he starts, words careful despite the slur creeping in (he’s in a losing battle against sleep, but he remembers he still has to brush his teeth), “that I think about you a lot?”
“I would hope so. We’re married.”
“Yes, but—” He frowns, clearly struggling to articulate whatever he wanted to say.
His hand lifts, fingers flexing like he’s trying to grab the right words out of the air. “Like… little things. During the day. I’ll see something stupid—like a cat that looks judgmental—and I’ll think, you would laugh at that. Or when I’m annoyed, I think about how you make tea. You do that thing with the spoon.”
“The thing with the spoon?” You tilt your head, intrigued.
“You tap it twice,” he replies, nodding, very serious. “On the rim. Every time. Even when you don’t need to.”
“…I never noticed that.”
“I notice.”
He shifts on the couch, suddenly restless, hands fidgeting in your embrace. “I’m not good at saying things,” he continues, voice quieter now. “I know that. I think I sound stupid when I try. Or obvious. Or like I’m saying something everyone already knows.”
“Kei…”
“But I love you,” he blurts out, too fast, too—too not very tipsy of him. “Like—really love you. Not in the normal way. In the way where my chest feels weird when you’re tired, and I want to fix it, but I don’t know how. In the way where I want to come home faster just because I know you’re here.”
He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“And sometimes I worry,” he admits. “That I don’t say it enough. That you’ll think I don’t feel it as much as I do.”
So this is what it felt like to hold your feelings on your sleeves and hope the other person wouldn’t turn you away because you’re too much or too little.
“Kei, I know.”
He pulls back and looks at you, startled. “You do?”
You nod. “You show it in your own way. A hundred little ways.”
His eyes sting, just a little. He blinks rapidly, scoffing weakly. Since when did he have the time to have tears glossing over his eyes?
“Wow. I’m—” He laughs once, breathy and embarrassed. “I’m way more emotional than I thought.”
“It’s kind of cute,” you tell him.
He huffs. How good you are with the words is just so… so right for him.
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Your secret’s safe.”
He hides his face on your shoulder. His voice comes muffled now. “You’re really patient with me.”
“Someone has to be.”
He knows that. That someone has to be, or else he’d maybe grow old and gray alone, with the world hating him or something.
⤷summary: totally innocent things you do that makes them lose their minds a little
⤷content: fluff, light crack, suggestive undertones??, established relationship
⤷characters: miya osamu, sakusa kiyoomi, ushijima wakatoshi, miya atsumu, kita shinsuke, and tsukishima kei
. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁ OSAMU MIYA
it’s the sauce again.
you’re perched on the counter in one of his shirts, eating fried chicken with your fingers, and you don’t even notice him watching.
“you’re starin’,” you say, voice muffled with food.
“am not.” he’s absolutely lying.
he’s supposed to be mixing batter, but instead he’s thinking about the way you just licked your thumb clean—slow, absentminded. he grips the whisk tighter.
you tilt your head at him, all innocent eyes and a sauce-stained cheek. “you okay there, chef?”
osamu blinks, turns around, mutters something like “yeah, fine” while trying to look anywhere but you.
he’s not fine. not even close.
you swing your legs and hum as if you haven’t just ruined his entire morning. he swears the next time you sit on his counter like that, he’s confiscating all sauces within a ten-meter radius.
. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁ SAKUSA KIYOOMI
he’s folding laundry when you come in, hair down and messy from sleep.
then you grab a scrunchie, push your hair back, and tie it up.
he swears time slows down. the wrist twist. the tug. the reveal of your neck. he blinks once, twice, and looks away like he just saw something illegal.
“what?” you ask, oblivious.
“nothing.” he’s staring at the wall now. very intently.
you shrug, go back to scrolling your phone, and he’s left pretending that he isn’t imagining pressing his lips right where your pulse beats.
later, you catch him watching you again in the mirror. “you sure it’s nothing?”
he exhales sharply. “you should... wear your hair down less.”
you laugh, because you know exactly what he means.
. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁ USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI
you stretch beside him, arms raised above your head, shirt lifting just enough to show the soft curve of your stomach.
he’s reading, or at least he was. now his book is halfway forgotten.
“tired?” he asks, voice steady, but his eyes have gone a little unfocused.
“just stiff.”
he hums like he didn’t just witness a divine act. you drop your arms, sigh contentedly, and he swallows. he has a thought—something about how delicate you look and how badly he wants to trace the shape of you—but he keeps it to himself.
later, when you fall asleep next to him, curled and warm, he closes the book, presses a kiss to your forehead, and whispers something you don’t quite catch.
it sounds like mine.
. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁ ATSUMU MIYA
you sass him again—hands on hips, that tiny pout, that look.
“i told you it’s your turn to do the dishes,” you say.
“i’m the breadwinner ‘round here,” he argues dramatically, “shouldn’t have to wash dishes when i’m providin’ for us.”
you stare him down. he cracks first. he always cracks first.
five minutes later, he’s elbow-deep in soap suds, muttering under his breath. you lean against the counter, smug.
“what was that?” you ask sweetly.
“nothin’, sweetheart.”
you hum, start humming a tune as you dry the plates.
he glances up. there it is again—that stupid warmth in his chest that feels like home. he grins, shakes his head.
“ya drive me crazy, ya know that?”
you smirk. “that’s the point.”
. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁ KITA SHINSUKE
you’re curled up on the couch, oversized sweater sleeves covering your hands, a steaming cup of tea resting in your lap.
he stops in the doorway for a good ten seconds before he moves again.
“you okay?” you ask, smiling softly.
he nods. “you just look… peaceful.”
it’s a small thing, but it hits him every time—the way you exist so gently. the way you make his quiet evenings feel warmer.
he sits beside you, careful, and you shift enough to lean your cheek on his shoulder. he freezes for a moment, then exhales.
“that’s nice,” you mumble, eyes half-closed.
he hums. “yeah. it is.”
he’ll never admit it out loud, but he thinks you might be the most dangerous thing to ever happen to his heart.
. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁ TSUKISHIMA KEI
you’re talking—about something random, probably a meme or a classmate—and your hands are moving all over the place. waving, gesturing, tapping your knuckles on the table when you pause to think.
he’s not listening. not really.
“are you even paying attention?” you ask.
“no,” he says truthfully.
you roll your eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but you’re smiling.
he watches you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and it’s unfair, honestly, how you can make him feel this unsteady without trying.
when you reach out to poke his cheek, he catches your wrist—not hard, just enough to make you blink up at him.
“you talk too much,” he says, but his voice is softer than usual.
you grin. “and yet, you never tell me to stop.”
he doesn’t reply. just lets go of your hand and goes back to his phone—even though he’s not reading a single word on the screen.
but when you do? god, it makes everything around you go still.
his real laugh.
not the huffs. not the sarcastic snorts. not the amused breath through his nose.
the real one. the one that escapes before he can stop it. bright and careless and beautiful.
and this time, it bubbles out of him fast, catching on the end of his sentence like he didn’t mean to let it out. he covers his mouth too late, shoulders jolting slightly as he leans forward, eyes crinkling in a way that makes your heart do something stupid.
you’ve been around him long enough to know when he’s holding back and when he isn’t. and this? this is pure. unfiltered.
a sound you want to keep hearing for the rest of your life.
he’s still laughing when you say it, soft and stunned and entirely honest:
“you have a really pretty laugh.”
his breath catches mid-laugh.
and then it hits full force. the weight of your words, the sincerity behind them. and just like that, the laugh dissolves into something quieter, more flustered. his cheeks tint pink almost instantly.
“shut up,” he says, voice cracking halfway through the word, eyes darting everywhere but at you.
you grin. “i’m serious.”
he covers his mouth with his sleeve like it might somehow hide the way the blush is blooming across his face, delicate and pink and unavoidable.
“it’s not... i don’t... why would you say that out loud?!”
“because it’s true?” you shrug, teasing, but still a little breathless. “it’s… i dunno. it suits you. 's cute.”
he side-eyes you, expression caught between offended and embarrassed and that quiet, cracking amusement you’re addicted to. “what does that even mean?”
“i mean…” you trail off, eyes on him now. his lashes, the curve of his smile, the flush spreading across his cheeks like blooming petals.
“i mean, you’re always so... guarded... or something. like, you're very serious. or stoic." you say, grappling with the right words. "and then you laugh like that and it’s just... soft? and bright. and it makes people want to hear it again. it puts me in a better mood!”
he blinks. then quickly looks away.
“…i hate you.”
you laugh. “no you don’t.”
“i might.”
you watch him try to hide the way he’s still smiling. the way the pink deepens near his ears. you want to press your thumb against his cheek just to feel the warmth there.
he exhales, shaking his head. “you’re so annoying.”
you lean in a little. “so are you. but at least you’re charming when you laugh!”
his eyes flick toward you. something unreadable behind them. and then, finally, a soft reply:
“…you’re the only one who’s ever said that.”
you blink. your chest aches.
then you say, “well, i’m right.”
and when he looks at you again, that blush still lingering like cherry blossoms in the spring, he doesn’t deny it.
he’s got a fetish for your love
fluff, uhh kissing, one curse word i think, marking, one suggestive line at the end
tsukishima kei, for one, is a massive pole of stoicism, bitterness, and sarcasm towards people he absolutely wants to piss off.
so why is it that he can’t help but turn needy once you’re in his peripheral vision?
you were just existing, walking into the gym while drinking some soda. but to tsukishima? you might as well broadcast your footsteps with how fast his head turned when he heard the sound of your shoes.
to tsukishima kei, you’re perfect. you’re so perfect that it makes his eye twitch in annoyance. he wants to get on your nerves, really, he does. thing is, all his sense of self-respect ran out of the window as soon as you appeared in his life.
nobody could believe their eyes when they saw tsukishima jog—yes, jog not walk, jog—towards you, his eyes wide with what normal people call ‘love’.
tsukishima kei who wrapped his arms around you, burying his face on the crook of your neck, breathing you in like a man that almost suffocated.
“you smell so fucking good, y/n..” he mumbles against your skin, voice hoarse and needy.
you just laugh, hugging him back which makes him melt in your hold. “c’mon kei, you still have practice.”
tsukishima kei who let out a needy, whiny huff as he lifts his head up closer to your ear. “would you let me kiss you more later?” he whispers, and since no one could see anything except for his back, he nibbles on your earlobe. “that’s the least you could do for looking this enticing.”
“you say that everyday.” you groan.
“but i’m right,” he counters, finally standing straight. he ignores the gasps of his teammates as he leans closer and kisses your forehead.
tsukishima kei who reluctantly walks back to his very intrigued yet astonished teammates and glares at them so they wouldn’t ask any questions.
tsukishima kei who, once practice ended, practically floated over to you. he already snatched your bag away, his free hand wrapping around your waist as he guides you out of the gym.
tsukishima kei who can’t stop himself from stopping your walk home just for him to drag you to a shady alleyway to trail kisses down your throat, his breathing heavy as he complains about you being way too addicting for him to keep his hands off you.
“how— how exactly am i supposed to keep my hands off you if you’re like this?” he murmurs as he gently sucks on your collarbone where no one would see.
“like what?” you ask, your hands fisting his uniform for support.
“you look tempting,” he replies, licking the skin he marked.
“school air got me. i barely even have anything on my face.”
tsukishima kei who pulls back with a sly smirk while licking his lips, “even better.”
tsukishima kei who stops only after your legs are weak from his kisses, he picks you up while carrying his and your bags, and starts carrying you home.
tsukishima kei who keeps leaning down to peck your pretty face every five minutes because he couldn’t help it. how could he even hold that back if he has such a perfect lover?
tsukishima kei who doesn’t walk away from your house until he’s sure you’re safe and sound.
tsukishima kei who folds with just a little bit of your attention. you look at him? he gives you a small, almost unnoticeable lovesick smile. you glare at him? his knees turn into jelly. you breathe near him? he’s a second away from asking you to suffocate him.
tsukishima kei who loves it when you get annoyed and you manhandle him by pulling him down by his tie or the collar of his shirt. he smirks slyly, eyes lovesick as he lets you tug him down, your eyes narrowed.
tsukishima kei who’s face turns pink because you’re glaring at him. he keeps taunting you just to see you pissed off, loving how attractive you look.
tsukishima kei who’s eyes can’t help but drift to your lips while you scold him for being snarky, so he does the only justifiable thing to soothe your pretty little angered brain. he smashes his lips on yours, making you gasp.
tsukishima kei who takes that gasp as his chance to slip his tongue in your mouth, his hands coming up to cup your face and slightly tilt it to the side.
tsukishima kei who grins when you both pull back panting, his thumb caressing your bottom lip. “guess that’s one way to shut your pretty mouth up, huh?”
tsukishima kei who can’t help but get hard whenever you look at him too long or when you narrow your pretty eyes at him. he’s pathetic since he has a fetish for your love.
a/n: might be bad, ngl. it’s been awhile since i wrote anything like this.. like, a few days lol
Contrary to popular belief, Tsukishima Kei is not a nonchalant, ignorant boyfriend who hardly cares about you.
If anything, he is the complete and total opposite.
You first noticed it when he started to hang around you too much, ignoring poor Tadashi while he complained about the newest teacher, instead opting to watch you throw your head back and laugh with your friends. It’s sudden and loud, two things that Tsukishima hates, but he’s never heard anything so sincere, so carefree, so…full of life.
The sound strikes him right through, and all of a sudden, he knew that cupid’s arrow (or yours) hit him square in the heart. And he finds himself not caring one bit.
But that was the first time, and you didn’t even notice him ogling at you like a pubescent boy. However, you really start to notice when you first start to date. Naturally, it takes him a while to warm up to you. You are still mutual classmates at the end of the day, but you both eventually get to the point your parents hardly blink when you both arrive home together.
It’s by the fourth month he’s sharing his toy dinosaur collection, raving about the key differences between the Tirranasarus Rex and some other dinosaur name you could hardly pronounce.
“So yeah, the Spinosaurus basically gets their name from the spine-like sail on its back, but I always thought it would better fit the Stegosaurus because of the spikes and everything, you know? But whatever– oh and then there’s this one…” And you’re just nodding along while he excitedly rambles, all information just seeping from one ear out the other. You still remember to ask him questions though, just to see that spark in his eye.
And you finally toss the “nonchalant” Tsukishima rumor out the window by the time you guys are a year in, where you’re sitting next to him on his bed, him laying right beside you eyes fixated on the way your lips move while gossiping about the latest news.
“AND KEI, YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED AFTER, she has the nerve to say ‘Oh, I didn’t think you’d be interested, so I just forgot to tell you’ like, how the hell do you forget to tell me about how you got with your bestfriend-since-middle-school’s ex?! I knew from the start that she was trouble but everyone said that she would be soooo nice and amazing, well NOW look.”
He chuckles a little bit, watching as you semi-seethe on the edge of the mattress.
“You always have a good read on people, I have no clue how you do it but it’s hilarious to watch when you end up right.”
“RIGHT?! LIKE COME ON ALREADY-” He smiles, yet again diving into one of your endless rambles.
Tsukishima doesn’t care, and in fact, he doesn’t want this moment to end.
All he wants is to be part of a world where your voice is never too far.
a.n : credits to @/aquazero for the dividers/banners (?)
also TYSMMM for all of the love on the atsumu miya fic it means so much to me so tytytyty for all the support <333
but anyways, i hope you all have a wonderful rest of your day <3
tsukishima turns to see what you could possibly be referring to that bears a likeness to him in this aquarium. turns out, it's a fish with a big ass head.
"haha how funny," he remarks, rolling his eyes. when you told him that you wanted to go on a date to the aquarium, he was expecting a peaceful trip surrounded by water and sea creatures, not a day to be insulted.
"humphead wrasse," you read the sign next to the tank of the unassuming fish. "his name is wacky too. poor guy."
tsukishima scoffs light-heartedly.
"you know, i'd still love you if you were a fish. even if you got turned into a humphead wrasse of all things," you assure him. "i'd make sure that you'd have a big tank all to yourself, and it'd be filled with a bunch of plants, and you'd be getting fed the most premium fish food in existence."
"great," tsukishima replies. "glad to know i'll only be treated well if i were a fish." on the outside, his face is deadpan, but you know him well enough to sense his internal amusement.
"you love me," you tease, nudging his arm and intertwining your fingers with his.
"debatable." yet tsukishima squeezes your hand, and you smile.
the two of you continue to stroll through the rest of the galleries hand in hand, and tsukishima wonders what other odd fish you'll compare him to before the end of the day.
tsukishima kei doesn’t need to tell you he loves you, he’s always showing it …
he lets out a deep exaggerated sigh. it’s a sigh of contemplation.
tsukishima kei is tucked into the warm fuzzy pink blanket you bought online, his glasses placed on the nightstand besides your shared bed. he’s ready to head to bed, so comfortable, a part of him wants to turn around and act as if he doesn’t see the way your eyes repeatedly flutter open and close — struggling to keep yourself awake.
you should’ve finished your night time skincare routine before the sleepiness kicked in, instead you spent over three hours on animal crossing doing all kinds of tasks for bells. when kei attempted to remind you of the time, you ranted about needing to pay off the loan from a greedy raccoon named tom nook.
kei tugs the warm blanket off his body, sitting up on the mattress before walking in your direction. you feel the warmth of his presence before you see him. he leans his large frame down, placing a peck on the side of your face before grabbing your headband and placing it around your neck before pushing all the hairs back. tsukishima makes sure not a single strand of hair touches your face by using a hair tie and putting it up in a messy bun.
he snickers, a soft smile tugging on his lips when he notices the way your eyes shut close and body relaxes with his touch.
tsukishima shifts your body in his direction, getting a proper view of your face, he begins the first step of your skin care routine. his slender fingers gently gliding over your face spreading the cleanser. you begin to hum a gentle tune, one he recognizes as atm by twice’s jihyo (he’s heard you sing along over a billion times).
you’re trying to keep yourself awake, feeling a little guilty for forcing him out of bed to care for you. he can tell by the way your nose scrunches up and brows furrow together, a little habit you do when the overthinking begins to take over your mind.
“stop worrying,” your eyes flutter open at his words, “i’d do this for you every night if you let me.” the sincerity in his voice tugs at your heart, oh how you continue to love this blonde man.
he watches the way your eyes flutter open to meet his, your face heating up and eyes shyly flickering to the ground at the sudden eye contact. kei thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world, how you manage to get so flustered by him despite the few years you’ve been together.
yours eyes snap shut in pain, a whine escaping your mouth when your eyes begin to sting. tsukishima laughs, while rushing to wash your face. he finishes the last steps of your routine, applying moisturizer, allowing the product to set for a few minutes before sweeping you off your feet and into his arms.
the way he places you down on your shared mattress is gentle, kei doesn’t hesitate to wrap you in the blanket pressing the most tender kiss on your lips before climbing in beside you. his large arms pulling you close against his lean body, one hand is wrapped around your waist — keeping you close, while the other is stroking your hair.
you nuzzle your head in the croak of his neck, and he can feel the way your lips curve into a smile. tsukishima kei isn’t the kind of guy who always says, “i love you,” that doesn’t mean he doesn’t say the words at all. he does, but kei is better at showing you the love he has for you.
Tsukishima is the type who would rather sit on a crowded bus without headphones than have you see his embarrassingly red face. When you say or do something that has him all flustered, his first action is to turn his head away from you and clear his throat- trying his best to maintain his nonchalant persona.
By the time you notice his silence, you’re met with the shorter blonde tufts at the back of his head. When you catch the way his nape and the tips of his ears are dusted with a warm flush, you have to resist the urge to poke at him.
Tsukishima is a tease for sure, your banter usually ending with you being the one shuffling in embarrassment. Now that the tables had turned, you did not want to let it slide.
“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” you giggled and Tsukishima cast you a glare over his shoulder that was in no way threatening at all. You couldn’t not tease him, even if you wanted to. He was so adorable.
“Shut up,” he muttered, and the flush on his ears deepened.
The way his cheeks were slightly puffed up made you do a blink. Was he…? Surely, there was no way. “Are you pouting?” You stifled a laugh.
“Not.”
“Oh, you are.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am-“ He stopped himself. “Seriously… “ Tsukishima sighed and his pout grew more prominent.
“You’re so cute.” you smiled and held his cheeks to squish them together. “The cutest in the world.” You continued to mutter more compliments between the short kisses you dabbed all over his face.
You nudged his glasses with your nose, giving you more access to his slightly puffed out cheeks. Tsukishima made a show of rolling his eyes, as if he wasn’t practically melting in the kisses you gave him.
“You’re so cute.” you sighed, planting one more kiss to his forehead.
“You already said that.” he sighed and replaced the framed lenses on his face so that he could see you more clearly.
“Tsukki-dayo.”
“A name pun, seriously?” Tsukishima’s flush spread to the rest of his ears. “You’re so lame.”
“You love me.”
“…Shut up.”
as i was writing this, i couldn’t stop singing “blush” by wooah in my head
