un-chan

[un-chan]

kuroo's little caw caw

[un-chan]

my favourite vb frog 🫶

[un-chan]

sypnosis & tag: you see tsukishima's childhood room for the first time. established relationship. it's fluff this time.

a/n: i really wanted to go back to my roots because i refuse to show that i've been overtaken by horniness. i blame it on the depression. i had this fic rotting in the drafts since last year, and i'm so happy to finally be done with it and share it with you guys.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

you step into the small world that was kei's encompassed by four walls, gaping at everything around you.

"it's just my room, don't make it such a big deal." tsukishima remarks, his ears red.

"hush, let me admire in peace."

the first thing you notice is the number of dinosaur figures neatly displayed on the shelf on the wall. you know a few facts about each type now, thanks to tsukishima's rants. like how the stegosaurus actually had a tiny brain, and that the parasaurolophus used its crest to help with communication.

although you never did have an interest in the extinct reptiles, you can listen to him go on about them for hours. how could you not, with that glint in his eyes and the slight upward curve of his mouth? you giggle, thinking of how the cool and 'indifferent' tsukishima kei is secretly a nerd at heart. a nerd who you ultimately fall for.

you shifted your attention to his organised desk, with books propped up on the table supported by a book stand holder. you run your fingers through the spines. natsume soseki, osamu dazai, murasaki shikibu...

"you really liked the classics, huh?"

there are a few books on paleontology and dinosaurs, too. expected.

"they were alright. some of them were for literature class in school." tsukishima answers, resting his weight on the table. you take one of the books out from the stand and flip through its yellowing pages. words are highlighted and underlined, and notes written in what you recognise as his ever-so-neat handwriting on sticky notes pasted onto the pages. you're about to close the book until something catches your eye.

"did you just call the character a loser?" you laugh, bringing the book closer to your eyes to properly examine it. tsukishima tips the book down to see it for himself.

"oh, right. and i still stand by my case."

you shake your head before putting the book back to where it was.

his older pictures are framed on the wall, like the many others hung around the house. the oldest photograph, you assume, shows akiteru teaching a much smaller kei volleyball. he has that same focused and determined eyes during a match now, just that with childlike wonder. the photo instantly became one of your favourites of him. you immediately unlock your phone to access the camera.

"i didn't say pictures were allowed." your boyfriend plucks the device out of your hands. you groan.

"please? just one? i already missed out on the small and innocent version of you."

"it's a no." tsukishima pockets your phone in his jeans pocket. "if it's with you, it's bound to be exposed to the public."

"whatever, i can ask akiteru to send a picture to me." you huff.

"i'll kill him if he does so."

you eventually reach to the last framed photograph, with tsukishima in his karasuno jersey, gathering around with his teammates for the shot. first year tsukishima is lankier with thicker framed glasses, and without the bangs. he still has that resting bitch face though, another thing that has never seemed to change. tsukishima gave you a death look when you pointed that out to him.

your imagination starts to run, picturing a younger kei with his shorter haircut, how he's studying at his desk, or reading one of those books you saw. you think of your counterpart, maybe pouring over homework beside him, or more likely, pestering him as he does so. you smile to yourself at the thought of it.

"do you think we would still end up together if we met in high school?" you wonder aloud.

"who knows?" tsukishima shrugs as he sits on his old bed. he takes your hand and pulls you into him, away from the photos. "it doesn't matter anyways."

you meet his soft gaze, the kind he only gives to you. you hope that among all the things about him that stays the same, the way he looks at you will be one of them. he really is yours, you think, all of him. the boy who is fascinated by dinosaurs, the boy who disses on people (both real and fictional), the boy who will never stop loving volleyball... he glances at your lips, subconsciously licking his own, and you don't hesitate to close the gap between you two.

kei is right. it doesn't matter if you'd ended up together earlier, because you get to have him for yourself in the end.

----

the both of you continue lounging on his bed until his mother calls.

"lunch is ready! come eat while it's still hot!"

"coming, ma'am!" you answer. you instantly got up and tug on his arm to follow suit.

"what, are you that hungry?" he says but complies.

"no, i just don't want to keep your parents waiting." he can tell by the look on your face that you're still nervous about having them like you. it's kinda nice, that you genuinely want to be close to his family. he sighs and flicks your forehead.

"you'll be fine." in any case, his parents were excited to meet you before you came, constantly on his back about bringing you over. they'll no doubt accept you with open arms.

tsukishima shuts the door to his old room as you pull him along out to join his family; he steps out of the past, and follows his future.

[un-chan]

OK I have a hard time telling who does and doesn’t like it so reblog this if you’re a selfshipper who is ok with getting anonymous f/o messages, notes, letters, greetings, etc in your inbox

(and to anyone who likes writing them, you can use this post to find people who enjoy accepting them)

[un-chan]

“Because people don't have wings... We look for ways to fly.” 🏐✨

I wanted to do something very special for the end of the series 🧡

[un-chan]

[un-chan]

bedrotting.

content. fluff. depictions of depression. gn reader.

nagi seishiro knows how it feels to rot in bed.

when the air in the room is dense, sticky, clinging to your skin and making it hard to breath. when your body feels like dead weight —limbs splayed on the mattress, eyes either opened or closed, because it doesn’t matter. you won’t sleep anyway, and nothing distracts you enough from your own mind.

hours blur into each other. it could be 11am, 2pm, 8 at night, or midnight. time passes —seconds fly, but minutes settle like stones on your chest, pinning you deeper into the mattress as the day slips away.

just like yesterday, and the day before. and probably tomorrow too.

that's why nagi hates so much seeing you like this. because he knows exactly how shitty it is.

he’s always been a natural —good at school, at sports, at any video game he touched, whether he enjoyed it or not. but he’s never been good at living. 

never good at waking up because he wanted to, not because he had to. if it were up to him, he would have spent every day of his life lying in bed, phone glued to his face, pretending the world around him had stopped existing.

for that reason, he doesn't say anything when he enters your room and sees you there, half-buried in a pile of clothes like a tetris piece. he doesn't ask questions or complain when he cracks open the window and turns off the light. never asks you to get up so he can clear the crumpled shirts off the bed. 

he doesn't speak when he smooths out the sheets, or he picks up the tangled charger cables and stray earbuds from the floor that you hadn't bothered to clean up.

he just drops his backpack and sweatshirt on the chair and sits beside you. nagi knows he doesn't have to ask how are you? what happened? or say that you should get up, this isn't healthy. 

no, all he has to do is gently brush your hair back, trace the line of your cheek with his fingertips, and find your hand in the mess of the blankets.

your eyes are red from crying, your lips cracked from breathing through your mouth. your hair’s probably greasy, definitely tangled. and you've been wearing the same pajamas for over a day.

and still, he looks at you like you’re something sacred —a fallen angel, lost in the earth’s underworld, scared and hurt.

you're afraid he'll think you're ugly, that he’ll flinch, criticize or leave. but he never does that. he would never do that.

he just fixes his gray, greenish eyes on yours, and when he sees the hollow behind your gaze, something inside him fractures.

it's the same emptiness he sometimes sees in the mirror. he hates knowing you’re carrying the same weight.

so nagi seishiro asks politely if he can lie down with you. and when you make room for him, he gently takes your phone away and places it on the nightstand. he finds a spot beside you, shaped perfectly for his body. 

he doesn't flinch when you rest your head on his chest. he doesn't speak when you begin to cry. he doesn't pull away when you hold him like you’re afraid he’ll disappear.

he just wraps his arms around you, steady and firm, like you are a porcelain doll already cracked. 

so if you break, he’ll make sure you don’t do it alone.

﹫luvseisagi, all rights reserved.

[un-chan]

Glasses

[un-chan]

can’t fw a dude who overlooks tsukishimas backstory

[un-chan]

₊·͟͟͞͞➳❥ i made an uquiz where i sent you on a blind date with a haikyuu character and if you're reading this you're obliged to take it and share your result!! also rate my matchmaking service 5/5 ✭ and tell your grandma about it please thank you

[un-chan]

sketchbook - tsukishima asks for a pencil // wc: 580 // pairing: tsukishima x male implied reader // content: tsukki is ooc so forgive me, yes this is very flirty, artist reader, this was written as a gift for a friend

the leaves rustle as they begin to fall from their branches, hues of auburn and gold. the classroom is filled with idle chatter as the teacher sits at his desk, the assignment already forgotten about by most. faintly you can hear music playing from the chair next to you. the boy wears headphones, the same ones you’ve seen him wear everyday, always ignoring the words of your classmates. his music always leaking past the space he’s made for it.

you don’t pay him any mind. not since he doesn’t to you. the sound of chatter, rustling leaves, and— “hey, can i borrow a pencil?” his headphones are pulled off of one ear and he still carries the same unamused expression. you nod and sort through your pencil pouch for one. the pencil is short, clearly used commonly, the eraser replaced by a dollar store one. “thanks.” and that’s the end of it. he returns your pencil when the bell rings and you don’t talk again. 

that’s what you think will happen, it’s partly true. he returns your pencil and doesn’t speak to you for the rest of the period. the next day when he sits down he taps your shoulder. “do you have a pencil i could borrow?” you nod and hand him the same one he used the day before. it becomes a habit. one that continues as the leaves no longer fall from the branches and where snow collects in their place. 

like clockwork, he sits down and asks for a pencil, and you hand him the same small pencil with the dollar store eraser. he gives it back without another word and it continues the next day. “are you going to get your own pencil anytime soon? i’m gonna have to start charging you rent or something.” 

“pfft, charging me rent? i didn’t realize that you were a landlord. yeah, i’ll need you to fix this eraser and give me equal amenities that you’re getting before that happens.” 

“i’ll need a down payment first. and we all know, landlords do the best things for themselves. you get  the same pencil everyone but me gets. because i’m the one who pays for them.” there’s smiles growing on both of your faces. you hadn’t realized how fun it could be to talk with him.

“will i get my security deposit back at the end of my lease?” he’s leaning his chin on his hand as he smirks and teases you. 

“obviously, i’m not evil,” you say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “the lease won’t be up until spring though, so you’re gonna be out of luck until then.”

“what’s the deposit?” the pencil lays between you on the desk. 

“your name….” you think for a moment. “and a blue raspberry drink from the corner store.” 

“fine, but i’ll keep this,” he swipes the pencil and you gasp as he puts it in his pocket. ��in my possession, until spring of course. my name is tsukishima kei by the way.” this action starts a new habit. one where the snow doesn’t stick to the ground and the leaves cling to wooden branches. where rain clouds come and water sprinkles from the sky. tsukishima is glad he got to sit next to you and that he needed a pencil that day. 

every day the two of you walk to the corner store, and every day he walks you home. just like clockwork and the rustling of leaves. 

gen taglist (fill out this form) @tansypansydandy @phoenix-eclipses @h-llsp-wn @megapteraurelia @nomyimi @ottocre @xiaoquanquans @yatoatyourservice @avis-writeshq @fweakygyatt

masterlist

[un-chan]

thinking about how supportive kuroo and kei would be of each other's careers, kei volunteering at the kids' volleyball camps kuroo spearheads, kuroo listening to kei talk thru issues at the museum, both of them forever each other's plus one and social buffer at the many many social event their respective careers require of them, knowing the other's cues by heart. knowing how much what the other does means to them and so quietly supporting thru the busy periods, picking up more chores when they can help take a load off, enjoying their few moments together thru the storm when they're both being pulled in every direction. being each other's biggest hype man because they both don't know how to take credit when it's due.

[un-chan]

[un-chan]

A fictional guy should only be made blonde to signify that there's something wrong with him

[un-chan]

飛べ !! 🧡🐦‍⬛🏐

[un-chan]

third time's the charm

you’ve had a quiet but unwavering crush on tsukishima kei throughout high school. from his sharp rejections in first year to the subtle softening of his guarded heart by third year, your persistence slowly breaks through his walls. between harsh words, stolen glances, and small acts of kindness, you both navigate pride, vulnerability, and the slow burn of something real — making you wonder if maybe, just maybe, third time’s the charm.

starring. tsukishima kei x fem!reader ft. the first year gang (hinata, yachi, yamaguchi, kageyama)

genre: fluff, romance, slowburn, grumpy x sunshine,

wc: 4.1k

author's note: i got bit carried away with this one with the amount of words, since this a bit inspired by me having a crush on the same person during highschool and was always rejected lol thank god he always rejected me though hahahahha

it started with a rejection.

it was not the quiet, apologetic kind. it wasn't even a vague, gentle letdown.

you had barely even finished the words "i like you" before tsukishima kei, obviously unmoved, muttered a flat, "no thanks. i'm not interested."

you blinked at him under the afternoon sun, heard thudding in your ears, too stunned to process the way he turned and walked away. no sugarcoating. it was just typical tsukishima. just cold, brutal honesty.

and yet—somehow—you didn't give up.

you first met tsukishima kei through yachi hitoka.

you were from a different class, but the two of you were friends since you both lived in the same apartment building.

yachi had dragged you to karasuno's volleyball practice one afternoon, pleading with you to help her carry some boxes of water and first aid supplies. she was the newly recruited manager. you had no real reason to go—you weren’t particularly into volleyball—but you owed yachi a favor.

and that's where you saw him.

tall, aloof, and sharp-tongued, tsukishima wasn't exactly what you'd call approachable. but something about him fascinated you. maybe it was the quiet fire behind his eyes, or how he seemed to carry the weight of ambition without ever admitting he cared.

you didn't know what possessed you to like him.

maybe it was the way his eyes narrowed in concentration or how he always looked vaguely annoyed with the world, yet never missed a block. maybe it was how he ignored the chaos around him, but occasionally paused to push his glasses up in a way that made your chest flutter.

whatever it was, it rooted itself in your chest.

you started attending their practice more frequently, using yachi as an excuse most of the time. you were okay with helping and be quick to accept her in her tasks. at this point, you were the third "unofficial" manager of the team. kiyoko even offered you formally the position, which you gently turned down.

you started small. a bottle of energy drink with a post-it: "good luck!" (yachi delivered it, of course). you've also made him a neatly wrapped onigiri for one of their practice match. a chocolate bar with a tiny sticker that said "for #11". yachi was happy to always give them though.

a few weeks later you confessed.

he didn't even blink. "no thanks, i'm not interested"

it stung.

you should've stop.

but you didn't.

"it's okay!" you smiled. "i'll still cheer for you."

tsukishima scoffs, before walking away.

you did kept your promise. when it was the final match of the miyagi prefectural spring qualifiers against shiratorizawa, you were there. cheering him on. you were sitting with yachi by the stands. tsukishima would glance in your direction by time to time and everytime he would scoff afterwards.

"tsukki's blocks are on point today."

"i've also noticed that." you agreed with yachi. "maybe because this is the finals. once they win, they'll go to tokyo."

“maybe because you’re here.”

you rolled your eyes at her.

your conversation with yachi was cut off when the referee whistled for a substitution. kiyoko was running out of the court with tsukishima who looked like he was in pain while holding his other hand. you could see there was a bit of blood dripping from his pinky.

this made you worried, but there was nothing you can do and you can't go to the infirmary since you were not their manager to begin with. yachi reassures you though that he would be alright.

tsukishima returned to the game but his hand was now in bandages, which made you sigh in relief. after the match, you and yachi went down to meet with the rest of the team to congratulate them. you caught tsukishima who was headed to the changing rooms. his hand was unbandaged now, the makeshift tape coming loose.

"wait, kei." you called out softly.

he turned with a tired glance. you lifted up the small kit.

"let me help. your pinky—it's not taped properly."

he frowned, obviously reluctant, but after a beat, he sighed and nodded. "fine. just be quick."

you sat with him just outside the infirmary, the crowd still buzzing in the background. with practiced gentleness, you cleaned the small scrape and began wrapping his finger again.

"you’re not a medic," he muttered, watching your careful work.

"no, but i’ve had practice with sprains. and you’re not exactly gentle with yourself."

he huffed but didn’t pull away. you worked in silence, brushing your fingers lightly over his.

"you didn’t have to do this."

"i wanted to. you were amazing tonight."

he looked at you then—really looked. but whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself.

you tied the final bit of tape. "there. try not to break more fingers next time."

he clicked his tongue but said nothing as you stood and offered a faint smile before walking away to look for yachi.

you didn't go to see them off when they were bound to tokyo for the nationals and you can’t also watch them in person. since you just can't skip classes. yachi who was currently at the door of your apartment is pleading you to go with them, but you told her that you really couldn't skip classes and she muttered under breath, "tsukki's gonna be in a foul mood if you don't come."

"what?"

"nothing." she said, pouting.

you handed yachi a omamori and smiled, "give this to kei and tell him good luck."

yachi gave you a teasing look before safely putting the good luck charm inside her bag. "don't you want to give up."

you shook your head. "nope."

"well, who am i to even stop you in the first place."

yachi delivered your apology and good lucks to the team, along with the good luck charm for tsukishima. yachi gave a tsukishima a teasing smile before going up to kiyoko.

back at practice in tokyo, hinata pouted, “it’s weird not having her around, isn’t it?”

yamaguchi grinned. “tsukki’s been extra grumpy. coincidence?”

“i am not,” tsukishima snapped, shooting them a glare.

yachi giggled nervously. “you do seem… quieter than usual.”

he shoved his glasses up. “don’t be ridiculous.”

but he didn’t deny it.

when second year rolled around, your feelings didn’t fade. if anything, they deepened. you still showed up to every game and practice matches and even made special chocolate for valentine's (you also made for the rest of the team since you've gotten close to them at this point). sometimes, even protein bars or sports drink after practice which is of course, delivered by yachi.

your persistence has become a running joke among the team.

yamaguchi once asked you with a laugh, "are you planning on confessing again today, or are you giving him a snack break first?"

you just grinned. "depends on his mood."

but underneath the teasing was a fondness—a recognition of how constant you were.

"he pretends he doesn’t care," yachi whispered during lunch, poking at her food, "but i saw him keep the wrapper from the chocolate you gave him."

you paused. "really?"

she nodded quickly. "he doesn’t throw your stuff out anymore. i think that’s progress."

you had no illusions. tsukishima wasn’t the type to fall headfirst into anything, let alone a high school crush. he was cold, calculating, and painfully aware of how others perceived him. but still, you kept showing up. and something began to shift.

you noticed it in little things.

he’d stop walking away so quickly when you talked to him.

he’d take the snacks directly from your hand instead of through yachi.

he’d grumble, "tch, unnecessary," but still pocket the sweets.

and when a third-year on the basketball team tried to flirt with you behind the gym one day, tsukishima appeared like a shadow.

"she’s busy," he said, stepping in just slightly in front of you.

"didn’t think you cared, tsukishima."

"i don’t. but she has bad taste, so someone has to keep her alive."

you were too stunned to respond.

but later that day, you gave him a lemon soda. he didn’t say thank you, but he drank it in front of you this time.

another incident where you were helping out yamaguchi and yachi pin sponsorship posters for the spring tournament, yamaguchi said something that also stuck to you.

“he gets grumpy when you’re not at games,” yamaguchi said casually one afternoon while you were helping yachi pin posters for the spring tournament.

you paused. “what?”

he grinned, too knowing. “he’ll never admit it. but if you’re not there cheering… his blocks aren’t as sharp. his mood dips. i think he’s gotten used to you.”

your heart fluttered at the idea. but then you remembered the way kei would scoff every time you got too close. you knew better than to get your hopes up.

still—you showed up. you always did.

your second confession came during the school festival.

the night air was cool against your skin, carrying the faint scent of grilled food and melted candy. the laughter and chatter of your classmates echoed in the distance, muffled by the steady beat of your heart as you walked toward the back of the school building.

fireworks lit up the sky above, loud and brilliant—explosions of crimson, blue, and gold that danced across the clouds and cast flickering shadows against the rooftop. the world felt briefly suspended in light.

and there he was.

tsukishima kei stood near the railing, just out of view from the main festivities, bathed in the soft glow of firework shimmer. his arms were loosely crossed, posture relaxed but solitary, as if the weight of the night pressed too closely in crowded spaces.

you hesitated at first, your fingers tightening around the hem of your sleeves. but you took a step forward anyway.

“kei.” you called out, gently.

he didn’t look surprised.

his eyes flicked toward you, half-lidded, unbothered. the familiar indifference was there in the slight tilt of his chin, the unimpressed slant of his brow.

“let me guess,” he drawled, his voice a little more subdued than usual, “another confession?”

you smiled, small. not embarrassed, not hopeful. just honest.

“yeah.”

a beat of silence followed. he didn’t scoff this time. didn’t shake his head or turn away. he just… looked up. toward the sky. toward the bursts of light painting the clouds.

“you’re wasting your time,” he said at last, tone flat, like he was stating a fact more than trying to hurt you.

you nodded slowly, the corners of your lips dipping in acceptance. “probably. but i still like you.”

another silence stretched between you. but it wasn’t heavy.

it felt like the space after a long breath. like neither of you needed to say anything else to fill it.

kei didn’t walk away this time.

he stayed there, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes on the horizon as the last few fireworks painted gold into his blond hair and soft shadows under his eyes.

he didn’t say thank you. or i’m sorry. or don’t.

but he didn’t push you away either.

his shoulders had relaxed slightly. the usual edge in his stance—the one that screamed don’t get close—had dulled. and though he didn’t look at you, he didn’t seem to mind your presence.

so you stood beside him, close enough to hear the way his breath caught with each firework burst.

the world was quiet in that little space you shared. no declarations. no grand romantic gestures. just the sound of distant music, the echo of fireworks, and the stubborn truth you carried in your chest.

you took his silence as progress.

because sometimes staying said more than any rejection ever could.

by the third year, something between you had changed.

you weren’t just a background character in his day anymore. you were there—persistent, present, and impossible to ignore.

you weren’t loud about it. never demanding, never clingy. but your presence threaded itself into his routine like a habit he didn’t remember forming.

you learned the rhythms of his life: when he had exams and needed space to study, when his knees hurt after long practices and he walked with just the slightest wince. you started carrying an extra pain patch in your bag without saying why. you knew when he wanted silence—those days when the weight of everything made him sharper-tongued than usual—and when he needed a distraction, even if he never asked for one.

he learned things, too. things you hadn’t meant for him to notice.

that you liked melon bread more than any other snack, even though you pretended not to be picky. that you always hummed softly under your breath when you were nervous—little melodies that stopped just short of forming actual songs. that your smile was always a little brighter, a little fuller, whenever you handed him something: a drink, a small note, chocolates during valentine’s—even when you knew he wouldn’t react the way you hoped.

he caught himself watching you more often than he liked to admit.

once, during a water break at practice, you were talking to yachi near the gym doors. your laughter filtered in easily, soft and light. tsukishima glanced your way—just a glance—and lingered too long.

yamaguchi caught him.

“you like her, don’t you?” tadashi asked later, a little too casually.

“shut up,” kei muttered, not looking up from the sports drink he was pretending to be way too interested in.

tadashi grinned. “you literally growled at that guy from nekoma for asking her where she bought her jacket.”

“he was being weird.”

“jealousy looks weird on you, kei.”

“i will end you.”

but even that was different. because he didn’t deny it.

and maybe that meant something.

still, it wasn’t all teasing and harmless glances. there were moments where something heavier settled between you—where kei seemed at war with himself, tugged between pride and something softer he didn’t quite know how to carry.

after a tough loss at an practice match—one that hit harder because it was close—he sat outside the gym alone. the sky was already going gray, the air damp with oncoming rain. everyone else had filed into the bus, too tired to say much.

you didn’t ask for permission. you just stepped off the bus, walked quietly over, and sat beside him.

you didn’t say anything. just handed him a canned coffee—his favorite kind, the bitter one you personally thought tasted like disappointment—and let the silence breathe.

ten minutes passed. long and quiet and a little raw.

finally, he spoke.

“you don’t have to keep trying.”

his voice was low. tired. defeated in a way you rarely saw from him.

“i’m not worth it.”

you turned to look at him, blinking slowly, your heart pulling tight.

“you don’t get to decide what’s worth it for me.”

his shoulders tensed, jaw clenching briefly. he didn’t look at you. but he didn’t move away either.

he didn’t say anything after that.

you stayed until he finished the coffee.

then nationals came by. you were determined to watch them after learning that they've advance to the semi finals and were finally back at the center court. you were about to pull some strings, but good thing the vice principal was nice enough to let the students watch they volleyball team in tokyo.

the nationals were everything.

for karasuno, it was the culmination of years of growth, grit, and stubborn perseverance. for you, it was watching him—the boy who once scoffed at your feelings—rise higher than anyone expected, one perfectly timed block at a time.

you cheered until your throat was raw. you clutched your chest with every rally. and when they secured third place, you stood in the stands, tears in your eyes and pride blooming so fiercely in your chest it almost hurt.

you were proud of all of them—of kageyama’s precision, of hinata’s impossible speed, of yamaguchi’s quiet bravery—but mostly, you were proud of him.

tsukishima kei.

he had changed. not loudly, not in some grand sweeping arc. but little by little, he had let himself care. you saw it in the way he threw himself into every play, in the way he smirked after a well-timed block, in the way he started calling his teammates by name.

but still, you didn’t confess that day. not yet.

because this time, you needed it to be real. not a question, not a whim, not a gamble.

late that night, when the stadium had emptied and the streets had quieted, you found him.

the gym was dim and nearly silent, save for the soft hum of the overhead lights and the distant clatter of janitorial carts somewhere down the hall. he stood near center court, his jersey still clinging to him with sweat and exhaustion. his head was tilted back, eyes tracing the ceiling as though he were still replaying the match in his mind.

you stopped in the doorway, watching him quietly for a moment.

“karasuno did amazing,” you whispered, the words reverent. like praise. like prayer.

he didn’t look at you, but his voice came low. “could’ve done better.”

you stepped closer, your footsteps echoing softly on the polished gym floor. “tsukki…”

he turned, eyes meeting yours finally.

“…this is the last time.”

his brows drew together, faintly. he said nothing, but you could feel the tension in the air tighten, like the pause before a serve.

“i like you,” you said, voice shaking but certain. “i’ve liked you for three years. but this is the last time i’ll say it. if you reject me now, i’ll stop.”

the silence stretched, taut as a string pulled too tight.

then he sighed. looked away.

“you’re so stupid,” he muttered, the words quiet but harsh. “wasting your time on someone like me.”

you bit your lip, but still smiled through the sting. “probably.”

something shifted. his shoulders, usually squared and defensive, lowered a fraction. and then—he stepped closer.

“you never left,” he said, softer now. “even when i was an ass. even when i pretended not to care.”

your breath caught. he wasn’t looking at you directly, but his hands were fidgeting at his sides, clenching and unclenching like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“i noticed,” he admitted. “everything. the snacks. the cheering. the stupid little notes you kept sneaking into my locker. i noticed all of it.”

his voice cracked slightly, like the admission cost him something.

“i just… i didn’t know how to deal with someone who actually gave a damn.”

you didn’t move. you didn’t speak.

then his hand lifted—hesitant, trembling just barely—and his fingers brushed against your cheek. awkward. gentle. like he was trying to memorize the shape of your face.

“i don’t want you to stop,” he whispered.

you let out a shaky laugh, relief bubbling up in your chest like the end of a long, aching winter. “took you long enough.”

and finally—finally—he leaned in.

you met him halfway.

the kiss wasn’t perfect. it was hesitant and slightly off-center, and you could feel the tremor in his fingers where they now cupped your jaw. but it was soft and real and so full of everything unsaid over three long years. years of cold shoulders, soft glances, unnoticed favors, and a hundred quiet hopes.

when you pulled away, breath mingling, your forehead rested against his, and for a moment, everything was still.

and then—

“tsukki kissed her!!”

hinata’s voice echoed across the gym like a fire alarm.

you both froze.

tsukishima turned slowly, murder in his eyes.

yachi stumbled into view, wide-eyed with panic. “we weren’t spying!”

“you were literally hiding behind the curtain,” you deadpanned, not even bothering to sound surprised.

“i tried to stop them!” yachi insisted, flapping her arms like a terrified bird. “they dragged me into it!”

yamaguchi emerged next, dragging a snickering hinata by the collar while kageyama followed, red-faced and visibly trying not to make eye contact.

“i swear to god,” tsukishima muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, “i will kill all of you.”

“totally worth it,” hinata whispered loudly to yamaguchi, who was grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

“told you she’d get you eventually,” yamaguchi added, clearly far too smug for his own good.

you glanced at tsukishima. he was glaring, his cheeks faintly pink, jaw clenched like he was weighing the pros and cons of turning around and walking into traffic.

but his hand was still resting lightly against your back.

so maybe, you thought, as you looked at him—just maybe—he didn’t mind being caught after all.

graduation day arrived too soon.

the campus buzzed with a bittersweet energy—laughter ringing out over caps and gowns, tearful hugs exchanged in hallways, and the steady click of camera shutters capturing fleeting moments. you held your diploma in one hand and your future in the other, but your eyes searched for him.

and there he was.

standing beneath the arching cherry blossoms, hands in his pockets, tassel swinging lazily from his cap. the same spot where you’d confessed to him just a year ago. the same courtyard where everything had changed.

you walked over, heels crunching lightly on fallen petals, nerves fluttering even now—because even after everything, this still felt surreal.

"still not tired of me?" you asked, voice light, teasing—just enough to cover the emotion behind it.

tsukishima glanced your way, and for a moment, the world hushed.

he rolled his eyes, but the edge that used to come with it was gone—softened into something warm, familiar. he was smiling now. that small, rare smile he saved just for you.

"not even close," he murmured.

and then he leaned in, fingers brushing your jaw with quiet certainty, and kissed you. there was no hesitation this time. no guarded edges. just the press of his lips against yours, firm and steady and full of promise.

because you waited.

because you stayed.

because you never gave up on him—not even when he pushed you away, not even when he said nothing at all.

and against all odds, tsukishima kei had fallen in love.

with you.

and in that moment, with cherry blossoms drifting like confetti around you, you knew:

it had been worth every awkward silence.

every rejection.

every year of trying.

because this—this—was everything.

bonus scene.

years passed.

the sound of sneakers squeaking on hardwood floors was replaced with roaring crowds, giant jumbotrons, and professional-level pressure. but some things hadn’t changed.

you still sat in the stands, heart in your throat, cheering louder than anyone else. you still kept your eyes on him——watching every block, every play, every subtle tilt of his head. the arenas were bigger now, the spotlight brighter. but to you, he was still kei. still the boy who used to hide behind sarcasm and side comments. still the boy who kissed you under cherry blossoms.

that night, his team had clawed their way to victory in a five-set thriller. the final point had the crowd erupting. you stood in the stands, clapping until your hands stung, pride burning in your chest like a second heartbeat.

afterward, you made your way to the side entrance—where the press couldn’t follow. you waited behind the barricades, bundled in your coat as the late winter air nipped at your cheeks. the cold settled in your bones, but you didn’t mind.

you always waited.

eventually, he appeared. his warm-up jacket was unzipped halfway, hair still damp from a quick rinse, duffel bag slung casually over his shoulder. he looked tired—but content. the kind of tired that came from giving everything he had.

his eyes scanned the crowd, ignoring reporters and staff—until they landed on you.

and softened.

"you always wait," he said, stepping closer until he stood on the other side of the gate.

"and you always win," you replied, smiling despite the chill.

he chuckled—low, breathy. real. he stepped past the barrier with ease, his hand catching yours before pulling you into his arms. his embrace was firm, grounding, like coming home.

his chin rested atop your head, and for a while, neither of you said anything. just the quiet thrum of distant cheers and the beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

then, softly, almost like a secret:

“remember when you said you’d stop confessing if i rejected you again?”

you smiled into his chest. “yeah. i meant it, too.”

a beat of silence. then he tilted your chin up with two fingers, his gaze steady.

“i’m glad i didn’t.”

and then he kissed you—without restraint, without fear. it was deeper now. certain. the kind of kiss that didn’t ask questions anymore—it just knew.

you kissed him back with every piece of your heart.

because time had passed, but love had only deepened.

because he had chosen you—again and again and again.

and somewhere deep in your soul, you understood:

this was still only the beginning.

[un-chan]

he is so done of their flirting grins, now i hc kunimi and tsukki bonding over this (being fed of kagehina's gayness 🥰