#q: hq

[seumyo]

museum dates with bf!tsukishima.

NOTE. oh, certified tsukishima luvr @solvisun for u <3

You hated museum dates. 

No, really—loathed them with a passion that only grew with every agonizing hour you spent trailing after your boyfriend through echoey halls and glass display cases. It wasn’t even that museums were boring. That wasn’t fair. You liked the exhibits, genuinely. The restoration work was incredible, the artifacts were fascinating, and it was kind of cute how your boyfriend lit up every time he got to explain something. Which was often.

Because Tsukishima Kei, your darling pain-in-the-ass boyfriend, worked part-time at the Sendai City Museum, and apparently that gave him a divine license to deliver play-by-play commentary like a snarky academic podcast with legs. Tall, spectacled legs. One with particular moles that even make a heart (not that you ever told a single soul, because you knew he would be after you if you did).

“So this piece,” he would say, already a few steps ahead, pointing casually at a weathered samurai armor set, “was from the late Edo period. See the difference in the breastplate design?”

You would squint through bleary, dry eyes, clutching your water bottle (which he somehow allowed—through sheer persuasion and outright begging on your knees) like it was your only link to life. “Yeah,” you mumbled. “Looks… shinier?”

Tsukishima turned to you, shrugging. “You didn’t even look.”

“I did!” you insisted. “I just… I’m not a samurai historian like you, Kei.”

“You should be grateful,” he said with mock arrogance, adjusting his glasses. “People pay for this kind of tour experience.”

“I’m paying,” you said, trudging after him. “With my soul.”

But you followed him anyway, like you always did. Through the samurai wing, the early Jōmon pottery, and the textile restoration gallery. He knew you were flagging when you started leaning on the handrails more, moving slower, and falling behind like a rebellious school kid on a class trip. You would never think that he thought you were awfully cute like this.

A true sadist in the making, really.

“Hey,” he called, halfway through the Meiji industrial section. “Are you dying?”

“I’ve been dead since the third hour,” you grunted. “My ghost is haunting your dumb little tour.”

Tsukishima turned to you, walking back a few paces with his hands in his coat pockets. “We’ve only been here two hours and forty minutes.”

“Time doesn’t pass normally in museums,” you said. “It’s like a black hole of walking and standing and standing and walking. And it’s too cold.”

He snorted, then took your hand. His palm was warm, steady. It feels perfect against yours. “Come on, we’re almost at the dinosaurs. You like the dinosaurs.” as if he’s talking to a child—trying to coax and/or motivate a reaction out of you.

“I like sitting.”

But you went with him anyway. Because, yeah, okay, you did like the dinosaurs. Not in a prehistoric nerd way, but in a watching-his-face-light-up-as-he-explains-how-paleontologists-determined-the-size-of-a-femur kind of way. It was kind of endearing, the way Tsukishima got subtly excited. His voice would go just a pitch higher, and he’d push his glasses up with his knuckle like he was restraining actual joy. 

“There,” he said, stopping in front of the towering fossil of a Futabasaurus. “That one’s my favorite. Native to Japan.”

You blinked up at the enormous skeleton, rubbing your shoulder. “Big,” you said.

“Articulate,” Tsukishima deadpanned.

You yawned, long and unashamed, before leaning into his side like your bones had turned to jelly. “If I die here,” you muttered, “bury me under the plesiosaur. Let my suffering be remembered.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m tired.”

“You didn’t have to come.”

You pulled back just enough to give him a weak glare. “I wanted to come. For you.”

He looked down at you, something shifting subtly in his expression. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m a very good girlfriend.”

“You just took pictures to post on your socials and barely listened to what I’ve been telling you.”

“I thought I could be one of those museum lovers—and academically inclined aesthetic girlies on Pinterest.”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes, but you caught the way his thumb brushed lightly over your hand, how he slowed his pace after that. Maybe it was a little thing, but you noticed it. You always did.

By the time they left the museum, dusk had settled in, and your legs were practically jelly. You said nothing, just collapsed into the passenger seat of his car, and groaned like an elderly crypt keeper.

“You survived,” Tsukishima said, starting the engine.

“Barely.”

“Want to go again next weekend?”

“I will stab you with a fossil.”

-

So you were right.

A fever was heading straight to you after that whole museum date. Oh, and you felt like your body was boiling from the inside out.

You lay in bed, cocooned in three blankets and clutching a half-full water bottle like it was the only thing that could save you from ascending with the light. Your head was pounding, your skin too warm and too cold at the same time, and every time you tried to sit up, the world tilted sideways like you were on a carnival ride from hell.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You groaned and fumbled for it with the coordination of someone wearing oven mitts.

Grumpy [10:12AM]: How’s the museum hangover?

You didn’t reply immediately. It took real effort just to squint at the screen. Instead, you turned over with a muffled groan and tried to sleep again. You really had no energy to even quip even a single like emoji.

An hour later, the doorbell rang. Twice. Thrice.

So maybe if your dorm was on fire, you really didn’t care right now.

You, still feverish and fuzzy-headed, dragged yourself to the door in a hoodie three sizes too big (which was definitely Tsukishima’s; his brows furrow in that accusatory expression whenever he sees you wearing it, but he decides to let you keep it because he isn’t a total jerk of a boyfriend, duh) and mismatched socks. You cracked it open and blinked blearily at the tall figure standing there with a plastic bag and an expression caught somewhere between concern and guilt.

“Kei?” you croaked.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” he said, stepping inside before you could tell him not to.

“I’m sick.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He reached out and pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. “Jesus, you’re burning up.”

You swayed a little under his touch. “Told you I was dying.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You were already exhausted yesterday. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

“Because I wanted to see you. And dinosaurs.”

Tsukishima let out a slow sigh, setting the bag down on the kitchen counter. “That’s stupid. I guess idiots really do get colds.”

“You dragged me across natural history for three hours. I’m not the stupid one.”

“I didn’t drag you.”

“You gave me a guided death march through time.”

He looked at you, arms crossed, then unfolded one to hand you a small bottle of sports drink. “Drink this.”

You took it, pouting. “You’re only being nice because you feel guilty.”

“Yes.”

You blinked at the bluntness.

Oh.

Oh?

“I feel extremely guilty,” he said flatly. “I thought you were just being dramatic.”

“I was being dramatic.”

“You also had a fever brewing, apparently. And I laughed at you. So now I’m going to cook you porridge and feel bad for the rest of the week.”

You blinked at him. Again. “…You’re going to cook?”

“Don’t look so alarmed.”

“I just… didn’t think I was hallucinating yet.”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes and moved into your kitchen, already unpacking the bag. Rice, eggs, green onions, a tiny bottle of sesame oil, and some store-bought pudding cups.

“I wasn’t sure if you had groceries,” he muttered. “So I brought my own.”

You leaned your head against the wall, watching him, hugging (more like wanting to become one by just leaning into it) the cold surface to cool your temperature. Your throat was sore, your skin felt like it was in flames, but somehow you still found the energy to smile. Of course, you weren’t going to miss the chance of still being pretty in front of this man.

“You’re kind of sweet when you feel bad.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t. You’ll annoy me again by Thursday.”

He looked over his shoulder at you, deadpan. “Wednesday, probably.”

You chuckled weakly, then let out a sigh as you slid back into your bed, the bottle still in hand.

“You’re forgiven,” you called out hoarsely. “But next time we go to a museum…”

“I’ll bring a wheelchair?”

“Or a coffin.”

From the kitchen came a long-suffering sigh, followed by the sound of a pot hitting the stove.

But Tsukishima stayed. All day. Quietly watching over you with guilt etched between his brows and the same quiet steadiness he brought to everything.

And though you hated museum dates, truly and deeply, you didn’t really mind the fever. Not if it meant he’d look at you like that, hovering in your doorway with a bowl of too-thick porridge and a stubborn determination to take care of you. 

Worried boyfriend Tsukishima in your fever arc? Finally unlocked.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[zeroaddzero]

Bruce Springsteen, 1977. Photos by Eric Meola.

[entens]

[theerastour]

August sipped away like a bottle of wine, cause you were never mine...

[cicerfics]

Mallory discovering that Bond shares all his doings (including the confidential work stuff) via his secret groupchat with Q, Moneypenny, and Tanner.

[saintlevrant]

It's sumn about me tellin em to hand me his dick so I can suck it, and he fr unzips his pants, grabs it, and hands it to me with no questions asked.

[josephtrohman]

07.25.2014

[monstrousproductions]

✨Season 1 Q&A - Part 1!✨

Part 1 of our Season 1 Q&A is now available - thanks to everyone who sent in their questions for us to answer! Part 2 will be posted next Friday 💕

Listen now on Spotify, Apple Podcasts or your podcatcher of choice 🚀✨ Full transcript available here.

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Thanks for listening, and we'll see you next week with Part 2 🥳

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[sainz100]

quick Carlos & Charles collage ❤️❤️

| 📸 pumamotorsport + Esquire via sabrinabearzotti

[somewherefornow]

HELENA BERTINELLI & RENEE MONTOYA in BIRDS OF PREY (2010)

[greycappedjester]

I know akaashi's got control/trust issues (understatement of the year) but him sending a whole patronus to kuroo who's literally a room away is next level avoidance tactics 😭 I can't wait for the fallout!

Lol, Akaashi did the magic equivalent of texting someone who's literally just in the next room. I personally admire his commitment to avoid human interaction.

[daydreamertrait]

⭐

[angsthology]

incorrect rvstw

mick: uhm, guys, we’re not taking the reindeer with us, right?

roo: oh, of course, not, that would be silly

roo: jackie, would you mind watching our dog?

roo: [slightly strained] bye, spot

[theworstsimblr]

[saintlevrant]

I will latch my lips onto his dick so hard that it literally loses circulation and falls off.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

asia kate dillon & daniel k isaac (& even others) at the june 2nd nyc premiere of "outerlands" at newfest pride 2025