#tsukishima fanfiction
Anime Masterlist
masterlist guide:
smut= // fluff=✨ // angst= // favorite=
OTHER MASTERLIST
<My Hero Academia>
Bakugo:
Shinsou:
–
<Haikyuu>
Akaashi:
Tsukishima:
Sugawara:
a/n: okay hi?? im ellie?? heres this??? i worked on it for like four? days?on and off? and its longer than any oneshot ive written but yk shes cute ig. pls be nice pls enjoy… but also my last piece got 2 notes and im really hopin in not shadowbanned here lmao
genre: fluff, angst, rivals to lovers!!
pairing: bisexual!female!reader x tsukishima kei (yes bi reader its a vibe)
warnings: a break up with a beautiful woman i made up myself, swearing
word count: 3.7k (ahhhh!!)
enjoy!! :D
Elementary second year. Your newly-assigned seat was next to a much taller, blond kid. He was smart and bright, rivaling the sun in terms of unbridled joy. Now, none of that can be seen by eight year old eyes, but looking back and comparing, it’s easy to spot that he changed.
Tsukishima Kei was an excitable kid, just as everyone was, but he was still snarky; his arrogance seemed to be something that just festered within his soul, no matter the trauma that brought it out.
Childlike wonder is still alive and well at eight.
The teacher you had back then was quite rude. She was pushy and angry, and she assigned way too much homework. Everything she uttered made you huff in disappointment, crossing your arms and hoping for some sort of reaction from someone. The kid next to you was named Koji–or, at least, that’s what you called him. He was your best friend, spending every moment with you like you were siblings. You’d be able to crack a joke with the smallest glance and you’d talk constantly. As soon as your handwriting was legible to people of your age group, you’d pass notes back and forth and cackle at their contents. Until, of course,
“Tsukishima, will you switch seats with Kojikata today?” Your teacher sounded exhausted, huffing her sentence out on a sigh before going back to the multiplication tables on the board. Suddenly, your little world was interrupted.
“Y/N, right?” He didn’t look at you, placing his folders down on the desk and pushing his glasses back up as he sat. His words were hushed and quiet, but the class had moved into individual work–he wasn’t interrupting anyone.
“Yeah. Can I call you Tsukki?” You were angry, gripping your pencil tighter in your little hand as you wrote numbers down on white paper. One times one is one. Two times two is four. This is easy.
“No,” he was long doing the same thing, but writing quicker than you. That’s how it is, huh?
Three times two is six. Four times five is twenty. Six times three is eighteen. Five times six is thirty. This is easy-
“Miss, I’m done.” His voice was always so dry. Uninterested.
Four times three is twelve. “Me too!” Your hand shot up with the paper in it, sending a death glare at the boy next to you.
That’s how it is, huh?
This pattern continued for weeks. Tsukishima didn’t move from his seat next to you, as your teacher had made the realization that you worked far harder without friends around. Tsukishima lit a competitive fire under you; everything was now a race.
It started with handing in assignments. Who would go up to the front desk first to have their work checked over? Who would finish this quiz faster? Then it transferred into everything.
Who would get to class faster? Who finished their lunch quicker? Who could read faster? Who scored higher on spelling tests? Who could run faster in gym class?
And then it was middle school.
Middle school brought in Yamaguchi Tadashi.
It’d be an understatement to say he warmed to Yamaguchi quickly, but the basis behind that was strange. Tsukishima was never one for friends, even though everyone wanted to be friends with him. He was cool in the eyes of a handful of eleven year olds; letting everything roll off your back seemed to be an admirable trait. Yamaguchi worshipped him, and Tsukishima took him under his wing to teach him the ropes of being a cool kid.
At heart, though, Yamaguchi was kind and attentive. He could tell when things were going wrong, and supposedly it was him that changed the rest of your life.
The rivalry continued just as it had in elementary, just with higher stakes. You’d fight for answering questions first, working ahead of everyone else to just beat him. He’d never bat an eye at it, and sometimes you thought it was all over, but then
“Y/N.” Tsukishima Kei stood three steps behind you, looming over you with the height he was seemingly born with. The hallway was emptying by now, kids walking into their classrooms once again. The white floors rung with the quiet sounds of soft-bottomed shoes and a light above your head flickered calmly.
“Yeah?” You spun around to meet his gaze.
“What’d you get on that lit essay?”
“A 96. Why?”
“No reason,” he smirked and tilted his head up, looking down at you, “I got a 100.”
A huff and a stomp away gave him the answer he needed as he followed you into the classroom, sitting down behind you and next to Yamaguchi just as he did every day. The little shit.
Tsukishima was never better than you, technically speaking. On average and on paper, you were always both roughly the same. You’d fight for being top of the class, the position switching between both of you every day. You excelled in creative things while he excelled at sports, but both of you dabbled in the other. When people in your year began dating, everyone came to assume you two were. It was embarrassing, really, because Tsukishima Kei was a little shit know-it-all who will never beat me at anything ever and people need to stop thinking he will because he won’t I’m better than hi-
“Hey?” Oh right. Friends.
“Koji!” He never left, at least not yet. His nimble fingers tapping on your shoulder brought you back to reality, making you jump and turn around to face him, wrapping your arms around his body for a split second.
“You looked zoned” his face was riddled with concern that was easy to write off.
“Oh, whoops” a small blush heated your cheek as your hand migrated to rub your neck. “Did you want something?”
As you walked into the classroom a bit further, Koji sat on your right; he seemed to buckle down more when you had moved away from each other way back in the day, so there were less mid-class comedy shows. He grew up just as you had, and with the closeness of the two of you people began to think you were dating. At twelve, it was incredibly necessary to date someone–anyone. Theories bounced from everywhere and anywhere and with you it was either your best friend or your biggest rival. Your lack of attraction to either of them became the center of many late night crises.
“Not particularly,” his gaze switched from you to the board again, beginning to write something down when he turned his head. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah! Of course I am,” you smiled at him, the kind of smile that made your eyes crinkle at the corners, and suddenly it was high school.
-
“Tsukishima is really cute! And he’s smart, I heard that Kageyama wasn’t too bright somewhere.”
“But Kageyama’s so much hotter! His being a little dumb sometimes is endearing.”
“Are we not going to talk about that third year setter, Sugawara?”
“No, he’d never go for a first year. Besides, that Hinata kid is more of an enigma.”
“Have you even seen them play?” A howl of angry “yes”s fell over the crowd, trying to prove something. None of them had ever seen them play.
That asshole Tsukishima getting popular felt like a stab in the soul. None of them knew him or how much he sucked, but the amount of girls fawning over him was horrific.
-
There’s something consistently poetic about young love, no matter where it comes from. Something extra sweet about holding pinkies in school corridors when no one is looking and seeing them every day, smiling loudly as the sun broke over the horizon all bright and early. The raging hormones and dumb, fake social hierarchies of fifteen make emotions run wild, and only the deeply immature end up helplessly infatuated. Others are more cautious, but there’s only so many precautions one can take at fifteen. Sometimes some of us just want to be loved, no matter the sincerity of it.
Cared for, and whatnot. No harm in that, in the long run at least.
“Y/N, right?” Her name was Mei. She was in your class; 1-4, just like Tsukishima. She was pretty. Long, black hair was preceded by two green streaks at the front. She’d always have those down, making her features look like a photo in a perfect frame. She had a collection of hair clips with small shapes on them that she’d have somewhere on her person at all times. Her more mid-sized body was paler than most, and she was covered in freckles and moles. Her eyes were an unusual shade of blue that looked deep enough to swim in. Her cheeks were always stained with a peachy blush that moved up her collarbones and into her ears, making her look like she was always smiling no matter what her face was doing. Karasuno’s school uniform did wonders for her curves, the skirt swaying up on occasion and making her look so damn perfect.
“Yeah! You’re…” a second of dumbfounded pause felt like years in your mind, coming to the conclusion that she was the most beautiful girl you had ever met. “Ojiro Mei?”
“Yep! I just wanted to tell you you looked really pretty today!” Her voice always had an upward inflection, and was higher than most. It was cute. Incredibly cute.
“Oh.” A moment of confidence fell over you like you weren’t in control of your actions, “you’re beautiful.”
“Thank you very much,” she bounced back on her toes and then rolled back to her heels, hands intertwined behind her back, “You’re too kind, Y/N.” Her sentences were always punctuated with an eye-crinkling smile.
Later that day, you found her on every social media account you could; she messaged you first.
When you don’t know you’re interested in women, it’s hard to notice that they’re flirting with you, but after a handful of supposed gay panic, you asked her on a date.
She was two inches shorter than you, and somehow that persisted no matter what shoes she was wearing. Every small outing with her felt like cloud nine–watching the sunset, small conversation over tea at a nearby cafe, cuddling in your bedroom with only a string of Christmas lights on. She always looked so wonderful in soft lighting, the potential cold of winter disappeared with pale beiges that made her freckles look like stars. Every action Mei ever did was soft and full of care. She could send every single emotion through her fingertips on your jaw, deepening a kiss you started moments before. She was like magic, until she wasn’t anymore.
You supposed, when thinking back, that things fell out around month thirteen. The rose colored lenses everything was viewed through faded a bit, and it’s easy to notice her pulling away. There were less late night phone calls and less recommended music and less hands running through your hair. Everything has a natural progression to the end, right?
“Do you still feel it?” It was raining. Large drops of water fell down to the floor, smacking the pavement at speeds you couldn’t even try to measure. She was wearing a bright yellow raincoat that looked almost dull in the four pm light.
“Feel what?”
“Anything, baby.” All of her words ended with a huffed out sigh, like she was tired of something. Lying, maybe.
You pondered the question, and it seemed like your hesitation gave her all the answer she needed.
“Ya know, Y/N.” She looked down and grabbed your hands with hers, rubbing her thumbs on your palms as you grabbed around them. “This was fun. We had a good run.”
A solemn tear fell down your cheek at the ending, but there was no use in self pity or anger now. She was so sweet and kind, and it’s truly unthinkable how she continued that kindness in the end.
“Yeah. A good run.” The pink in your cheeks grew as you choked out a laugh, pulling her in for one final hug under the dim fluorescent lights on the front door overhang of the school.
Fifteen came and went with love, and when sixteen rolled around you wondered if you’d ever be loved like that again.
-
A spirit can’t be broken overnight, and if you’ve spent the last eight years of your life having a strong, consistent rivalry with someone, it won’t leave any time soon. Tsukishima and you were on similar playing fields for most of your life, but you had one thing he didn’t: relationship experience. In that way, you always counted yourself one point higher, like a boy scout badge.
For a spell, however, your intensity changed. There was nothing more driving you than spite, and there was nothing you wanted more than to beat him. You were well into your second year of high school at this point, and–volleyball notwithstanding–you had wins over Tsukishima. You had seen him play volleyball, every match in his second year, and you deemed he was simply okay. You refused to count his success onto the list of wins for both of you.
June fifteenth. Tournaments were coming up around the corner when it happened, which explained every reason why he was there. You weren’t exactly prepared for the rain, so the best bet seemed to be sitting at the front entrance of Karasuno High School and wallowing in a little bit more self pity before you went home. You were just dumpedafter all, the tears weren’t done falling.
The feeling between sadness and shame overflowed you, shades of yellowish green painting the world around you and churning your gut into oblivion. And the tears fell. It felt like a scene in a movie; in a few seconds, a strong, capable man would show up to your rescue.
“Y/N?”what the fuck?
He was sweaty. His face was matte from a light film of saltwater. He had a grey umbrella over his head, keeping himself dry from the still-pelting rain. His six-foot-two frame was covered with a black tracksuit, and he still had his sports goggles on.
Those fucking sports goggles.
“Tsukishima.” you deadpanned, trying to get him away as fast as possible. His words were snarky, as always, but this time laced with concern. Like he actually cared.
“What are you still doing here? It’s almost six,” he stood under the overhang with you, crouching to take a few feet off of his incredible height.
“Sulking?”
“Ah,” he huffed and sat down next to you, “it’s not great for your posture, ya know.”
“Oh shut up, Tsukishima.”
“Remember when we were eight,” he looked up, studying the moths as they flew around the lights on the ceiling, “and you asked if you could call me Tsukki?”
“Vaguely, but we were eight.”
“Yeah, true” his head dramatically fell to his lap, staring at his knees as he chuckled, “but you can. Call me Tsukki, that is.”
An uncomfortable laugh fell from your lips, and he spoke for you, “this one kid, Koganegawa, the setter on Date Tech, calls me that too. It’s not a Tadashi-only nickname anymore.”
“You say Tadashi-only like I wasn’t there first.”
“He never asked.”
“Would you have said no?”
“Probably” he hasn’t actually looked at you yet.
“Should I not have asked?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Okay, Tsukki” you drew out the last letter, giggling at the situation before you had time to think about your emotions.
He noticed that you weren’t crying anymore and helped you stand, grabbing your hand and pulling you up. Tsukishima and you lived closer than you thought, walking the same direction and only splitting up seconds away from your home.
You walked in silence the whole time, but it was comfortable. While he was your rival, he was always a friend. There was nothing scary or intimidating about him, as is with most people when you’ve known them forever; it was almost like his facade just didn’t work on you. You were huddled close to him to stay out of the rain.
The second you parted ways, you ran home. The rain was more of a drizzle now, but the temperature began a free fall–getting out of the cold as fast as possible was your first priority. Upon entering the front door and taking off your shoes and jacket, leaving everything to sit in the entryway, you took a shower. The rain didn’t do enough to wash away the pain of the day, and warm steam would let the rest evaporate. The expected unrelenting sadness wasn’t really present as much as was expected, though. Everything felt fine. Content. Okay.
-
And it continued that way. He sent you a snapchat asking if you had gotten home safely, which prompted a memory of you never giving each other your phone numbers. After a quick yes, tsukki. no need to worry ;), you sent him your number asking to play some game.
Whatever is meant to happen does, right? Any excuse for falling for him. You didn’t want to, of course, but things happen. Time changes. Thus, the excuses. Thus, the ignorance. Thus, the five stages of grief.
It started with the denial, because no Y/N you can’t like Tsukishima Kei. He’s so competitive and mean and snarky and horrible and you hate him! Then, the anger, because Tsukishimasucksand he’s horrible and you’re going to punch him in his stupid cute face. Next, the bargaining, because please don’t let this be happening you’ll do anything to lose these feelings, even if it means letting him win at something. Going into the depression, because all you’ve ever wanted was to be free of this assclownand now you’re stuck thinking about him at three in the morning when you’re supposed to be dreaming about anything other than him. And finally, acceptance, when you scowl at him in the hallway because fuck, you like Tsukishima Kei.
The worst bit of acceptance is getting over it. Now you had to confront your feelings. Now you needed to tell him.
It was roughly five months since he found you sulking on school grounds, and you regretted most days the way you let him text you every morning. It’d always be something stupid, like a joke about the novel you were reading in lit or sometimes he’d tell you, off hand, something dumb Hinata and Kageyama did at practice. Sometimes he’d text you, within the first twenty minutes of the school day, pointing out something little you did with your hair. They were never really compliments as much as comments; he’d say “your socks have a pink ring at the top” and give you nothing to work with from there. A simple yes would suffice, you always supposed, because “yes, tsukki. they do.”
He’d linger at his desk during the break between classes and would stay there if you didn’t leave, but would leave a few steps behind you if you did. He wouldn’t follow you, but he’d watch to know where you were going. Everything he did was concealed though–you’d only notice if you really wanted to know.
Yamaguchi was the only one to notice, even after a while of it. You’ll never know what he said to his friend, but the conversation you had with the aforementioned friend a day later gives some guesses.
“Y/N?” Tsukishima was never the shy type, and you knew him in the days where everyone was shy. He wasn’t loud, but he was bold. His words were always pointed and important. Everything he did always had purpose and intensity behind it.
“Tsukki?” You were sitting under a tree, enjoying the late spring weather of the beginning of your third year. Nothing became intense yet classwork wise, so there was ample time to chill on the school grounds. Overlooking the soccer field was a large oak tree. It was big enough to comfortably have multiple groups of people under its shade, but it was empty at the moment; save for you and the book you were reading.
“I was just wondering if you’d like to maybe go out sometime?” He somehow didn’t pause while talking, but his words came out more something akin to word vomit. You we’re more shocked than you should have been, if you had picked up on the signs. But you were feeling the same as he was, as far as you could tell.
“Sure, when?” You looked back down at your book for a second, placing the bookmark in it and folding the pages shut.
Tsukishima looked dumbfounded, standing there with his eyes bugged out and his mouth slightly agape. He started making unintelligible babbling noises, hoping to get something out that had any meaning at all. You took the reins instead, gaining confidence in his lack thereof.
“I was planning on getting coffee or something today after school. It gets really cold at night now, huh?”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“Would you like to join me?”
“There’s a break before practice today so” he hesitated, letting the pink in his cheeks finally catch up to the beating in his chest. “Sure.”
You wouldn’t have ever pegged Tsukishima Kei as the flustered type.
-
There was never a drop in conversation, as there never really was between you two. A whole life together and you still had things to talk about, mentioning everything from your individual childhoods to recent developments. Turns out he never knew what genre of books were your favorite. Or what kind of music you listened to. Or what any of your hobbies were.
Turns out you both had more in common than you thought, competitive spirits notwithstanding. Tsukishima Kei was a strange man in every sense of the word. He was arrogant and snarky and disinterested and bright and passionate and smart. He was your rival, smug look plastered on his smug face making your chest bubble in anger just as it had a million times before–or was that admiration this time? The world may never know.
All that was real right now was the deck of cards on the table, being separated out into a card game both of you learned as kids. The small, round, cafe table shook with every slap of your hands, but the basis of your relationship would always be competition. It’s just that now the anger behind that competition was gone. All that was left was admiration.
>>————–Mafia A.U.—————— Haikyuu!!
>>————{[play]=«Everybody gets high»-(Missio)
>>————WARNINGS: Mentions of blood, gore, swearing, mental health issues, Tsukki is a sadist, let me know if I forgot anything
>>—————— CHAPTER—> {1}, CHAPTER—> {2}
CHAPTER—> {1}
° ° ° >>>>{~*~}<<<< ° ° °
There was blood in the sink.
A deep, rich, oh-so-lovely red, tainting the once clear water with memories of sins so unspeakable; but obviously ones that had to be done, there was the blood in the sink to prove it.
Not only was the blood in the sink, it was all over Tsukishima’s once-white gloves, all over his perfectly pressed jacket, even some on his perfectly shined black and white wingtip shoes.
He grimaced at the coppery smell of blood filling his nose.
Perhaps he had gotten too carried away.
In spite of the mess of red in front of him, he still smiled, glad to be rid of such a nuisance of a man.
While Tsukishima threatened death quite often, he didn’t like to act on those threats very often, but on the occasion when he did, oh, it was such fun. Really, it depended on what they had done to him or to the rest of the group he was leading. Naturally, any harm to come to them from an outsider, they were to be killed immediately, but in the most slow, delicious, and painful way. The man he had just killed was a blackmailer. He chuckled at the thought.
Sure, Tsukishima had commited more crimes than he could count on both his hands, but that also meant power, not vunerability to blackmailers as such. He had started at the bottom like everyone else had, but after staying complacent for a while, he could wait no longer. So he worked. He worked harder than the others, he earned this title, he earned this power. He earned all of this.
Tsukishima snapped back to the present, remembering the blood still staining the marble sink, with its glistening chrome tap, diamonds studding the handles. He frowned. Yes, he was sure he had gotten too carried away in the demise of the blackmailer. He clearly remembered the mans screams, his cried, his sobs, his pitiful pleas and begging for mercy, and couldn’t stop the smile from stretching wider across his usually smooth as stone expressionless face.
Oh, how he loved when they screamed. It was like they were begging him to end it all, either by killing them or simply stopping. And we all know theres no way he would stop simply because they wanted him to. If anything, he would rather have a fresh corpse laying before his feet, bloody, still warm, and much easier to make a mess out of.
Well, to make a bigger mess, having them alive would be better. They would move, squirm, writhe in pain.
“You give me protection from Nekoma and their ally Fukurodani and I’ll keep quiet about her.” Said the blackmailer, pointing to Shimizu. Tsukishima had looked over head lolling lazily to the side to glimpse at the beautiful woman, seeming almost bored. He smiled drily, for she had only coaxed a member, Yamamoto, to give her information about a mission all the five Mafia groups had to persue and Nekoma was the only group who knew what they all had known. The things they had learned and had refused to share with the other Mafia groups. It was their own fault.
What concerned him was how the blackmailer knew about that.
He turned his head back to look at the blackmailer and frowned. He was silent for a long moment, before he opened his mouth.
“You absolute idiot. You’re an idiot, did you know?” His lips curled slightly when he saw the man flush with embarrassment. “The Mafia does not have ‘allies’,” he air quoted for effect “we all work together, as one, all in tandem with each other. We may not always get along, but we don’t war with each other.”
He leaned forward in his leather seat, elbows resting on his knees, long fingers folding together. He stared at the man.
“I am curious about something.” He twirled his fingers, and soon he was handed a glass fun of red wine, not unlike the color of blood. He took a careful sip, then cradled the bowl of the cup in his palm, the handle between his fingers. “Would you care to enlighten me on it?”
The man looked to swallow thickly, eyebrows drawing together in uncertainty. Tsukishima raised an eyebrow. When the man didn’t move to answer he sighed and took out his gun, which was resting on the inside pocket of his blazer, and set it on his lap, and took another sip of wine. The man’s eyes widened in fear at the sight of the heavy weapon.
“Well?” Tsukishima prompted. The man opened his mourh, as if to speak. Tsukishima smirked, delighted at his triumph.
The man glared and shut his mouth, shaking his head in a resolute nod. Tsukishima sighed.
“Nishinoya and Tanaka, come here.” He curled his fingers, beckoning the two forward,
“Yes, sir?” Said Nishinoya lazily, Tanaka smiling in a rather concerning way at the man.
“You know what to do.” He waved them away, looking over to where Suga, Daichi, and Asahi were standing; Suga staring intently at the situation, fiddling with his white gloves, Daichi staring, one hand on his leg, gun in hand while the other was under his chin. Asahi was simply watching, hands clenched into fists.
Then he turned to Hinata and Kageyama. Hinata’s eyes were sparkling, barely able to withhold his excitement. Kageyama wasn’t even paying attention, but rather staring at the glass of wine in his hands, clearly undrunken.
Next his attention was focused on Kiyoko, Ennoishita and Yamaguchi, all standing politely off to the side, simply watching with no signs to show what they were thinking.
The man took a step back, panic evident on his face. Yet Tsukishima sensed hesitation within both Tanaka and Nishinoya. He frowned, then cleared his throat.
“In case you need motivation, he called Kiyoko a slut and tried to hit her.” He noted the way both of them immediately stiffened, and their hands curled into fists, knuckles turning white.
“He fucking what?” Asked Nishinoya. Tsukishima smiled. Yes, yes, this was the kind of rage he wanted to see.
From the corner, he heard Daichi laugh.
In Tanaka’s hands, there was a baseball bat and a manic smile spread across his face. He handed the bat to Noya, then pulled out his own gun, a large revolver. They both looked over their shoulders at Tsukishima, a silent request for permission.
He paused for a few moments before finally replying with,
“Just as long as he stays concious and doesn’t die.” Then he flicked his wrist, and stared as he saw the two slowly circle the man, who didn’t dare to breathe. Nishinoya tapped the back of the man’s skull with the bat.
“Pretty dumb decision of you to make, calling Kiyoko what you did.” He stopped behind the man.
“Yeah” Tanaka agreed, stopping directly in from of the man. He swung the butt of the gun in a wide arc, smiling when it made contact with the man’s face, his head snapping to the side. Not a sound left the mans lips.
Then Nishinoya swung the bat, crashing it into the base of the man’s skull, then before he could recover, held it above his head and swung it down, sending the man sprawling.
Tsukishima smiled as the man was bloodied. He smiled as the man screamed. He smiled as he lay trembling when he waved Nishinoya and Tanaka away. He stood.
“Now, if you refuse to talk, its my turn now.” he raised an eyebrow. No response. “Alright then. You had your chance.”
He stepped forward.
When he stepped away, his fingers were stained with blood.
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