tsukeilvr

[tsukeilvr]

GUUUYYSS 😁 DONT BE AFRAID 2 SEND REQUESTS AND ASKS PLS (for the yearning series as well) ID LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS AND IDEAS:(

[tsukeilvr]

⋆.˚ yearning w karasuno series ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

i’m not in love, so don't forget it (≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼)

first ♡ years.

t. kei ★ meet-cute .. or not?

k. tobio

y. hitoka

y. tadashi

h. shoyo

second ۶ৎ years.

n. yuu

t. ryūnosuke

e. chikara

(guys im not vv sure how to write for the 2 side characters, i love them so much so i might not rn)

third ʚɞ years

s. kōshi

s. daichi

a. asahi

s. kiyoko

[tsukeilvr]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. t.kei x fem!reader

fluff . oneshot (?) yearning series

note: i hope this isnt ooc glup

Tsukishima Kei, who swears up and down that he isn’t a romantic.

He rolls his eyes when Tadashi puts on a rom-com at their weekend movie nights, when he overhears their managers talking about the latest celebrity couple — even trivial matters, like when Tanaka & Nishinoya make heart-eyes at Kiyoko. “You’re such a killjoy, Tsukishima!” Hinata would say after practice, in response to his disinterested shrug when they asked him about his stance on love, a discussion that soon turned into an argument over which superhero they could take in a fight; oddly enough, they all said Spiderman. Admittedly, he was more interested in stating his input on that topic.

And yet, Kei, who groans in annoyance when his father sweet-talks his mother and practically sprints at the first sight of affection, somehow gravitates toward you. He only knew you as a mutual friend of Tadashi’s at first. Then, you two started talking. And, almost subconsciously, he starts doing the things he swore he’d never catch himself doing in the first place.

It started with a simple “Hey.” You called his attention mid-class, your voice a hushed whisper as not to catch the eye of your teacher. He didn’t even spare you a glance, continuing to write down notes as if you weren’t there.

You frown, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. How rude, you think. “Heey,” you repeat, this time reaching across the gap between your tables to nudge his side lightly—watching as he jolts subtly in shock. Annoyed, he finally turns to you with a frown. “What?”

Instead of calling each other out on both your rather rude—disruptive—approaches, you simply offered him a small, sheepish smile. “You look smart,” you point out the obvious, being that the both of you were in a college-prep class. “You have any notes?”

Kei stares at you as if you just asked if oranges were pink, and for a second, it looks like he’s about to ignore you once more. But, upon seeing the empty page in your notebook lacking the latest lessons, he sighs—a bit of empathy coursing through his veins. He takes out a few pages from his binder, passing it to you without a word.

And that’s where it all started; he’d send and pass you his notes when he noticed your lack of attention during lessons, and at some point, he doesn’t remember when, you started handing him small, strawberry-flavored sweets in return.

“What’s this?” he asked, tilting the small chocolate dessert in his hand. You glance up at him with furrowed brows, then back at your notebooks, switching between his bland notes and your colorful pages. “Chocolate, duh. Take it as my thanks,” you reply. “Tadashi said you like strawberry shortcake, but I didn’t have much time to make that.”

He pauses as he chews the strawberry-flavored chocolate, the sugar hitting his taste buds all at once — it’s fresh, sweet, and all new to him; most of all, it’s… homemade. You bake. You baked for him.

From that day on, he started listening to you more—specifically, caring more. He complained less when you’d talk his ears off over call while he studied, when you’d join him and Tadashi on the way home, even when you ended up worming your way into their movie nights—even when he started to inherit your taste in movies, which he claimed were ‘stupid’ and ‘lame.’

It was a Friday night, light rain pattering on the windows as cold air settled in the room. As per usual, you and Tadashi sat on Kei’s living room couch as the distant humming of the microwave echoed off the walls of the kitchen, while you skimmed through the movie options for the night. Kei waits patiently for the popcorn to be ready, his head leaned to the side as he listens in on the conversation.

Ever since you became a part of their duo—now trio—he’s become less standoffish towards you; truthfully, he never meant to appear that way; he just liked getting a kick out of you, ragebaiting, if you may. But now? Now, he’d never admit it, but he’s started to be fond of your presence. He sometimes finds himself listening to songs you mentioned liking once, writing down short explanations of equations and topics he knows you struggle with, and at some point, he started to offer his notes even if you didn’t ask.

And the truth is? You stopped needing them after a while, his presence somehow influencing you to pay more attention in class — but you always accepted when he’d hand them to you without a word.

“I just think that Dear Daniel is totally disregarded when people make those, like…” You flailed the remote around in the air, like your hands could illustrate your words. “Batman and Hello Kitty things. Like, uhhh, no? Kitty has Daniel.”

Tadashi is about to retort when the smell of buttered popcorn fills his senses, his gaze drifting to the source of the smell, watching as Kei sits down in between them, a large bowl of popcorn in his hands. He sinks into the cushions with a sigh, quirking a brow at the familiar, cheesy romance movie playing on the television screen. “This again?” he mumbles.

You frown and throw a tiny piece of popcorn in his direction. “Shut up, it’s my favorite! Tadashi said he hasn’t seen it either, so deal with it.”

Kei feigns annoyance, groaning as the movie starts—though he isn’t as bothered as he appears. He occasionally mumbles “Boring,” to grab your attention and annoy you, but it’s hard to miss how he not-so-subtly whispers in sync with the lines he’s heard over a thousand times. It’s hard to miss how he’d laugh a little when a silly moment comes on screen, and especially when he smiles upon catching the glint in your eyes when the characters finally confess their feelings — he wonders if he’d catch you looking at him with that same glint if he played his cards right.

He wonders how you, with no effort whatsoever, managed to make him feel like the hopeless romantic he never thought he’d become.

[tsukeilvr]

I’m not technically procrastinating. I’m letting my story marinate in brain juices for a few minutes longer while I scroll tumblr

[tsukeilvr]

between you and your husband, you were the one more…vocal about your love for him. leaving him sweet notes with doodles of the two of you in his lunch, ending all heartfelt messages with x’s, planting a big kiss on his cheek that he pretended to cringe at but in reality he looked forward to it everytime he left the house.

people would always come up to you, telling you that he doesn’t reciprocate his love with words and such and asking you how you dealt with it. truth be told it took a while for you to get used to but soon enough you began to see the signs.

it was the way that every time he got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom he would tuck your feet back into bed. the way he spent a solid twenty minutes cleaning your phone screen, and with furrowed brows as he placed your new screen protector on, making sure there were no bubbles. it was when you opened his wallet that you saw all the notes you wrote him saved in one pocket of his shitty leather wallet that was begging to be put to rest. it's the way when you come home after a long night out with your friends he takes his time undressing you, removing and placing your jewelry carefully on your bedside table and making sure to gently take off your makeup and of course do your skincare routine that he has memeorized. when he goes out and he spots a little something with your favorite character on it he buys it immediately, not bothering to look at the price tag because the way your eyes would light up when he brought home the little gift was worth more than a billion dollars to him.

it was when on your third month anniversary when the two of you were still dating, while the two of you sat down on the booth next to each other at a restaurant he held your hand and squeezed it three times. signifying the words, i love you. he knew he loved you from the start but was scared it was too soon to say it and this was his silent way of telling you so. and you picked up on it quickly when he started to do it more often.

and on your wedding day, as the two of you stand in front of all your loved ones and the officiator he says the most beautiful vows ever, telling you that "if death do us part then i hope to find you in every lifetime" and once he ended with that sentence, he squeezed your hand three times. i. love. you.

you always knew your husband loved you because his actions spoke a thousand words to you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜

sigh. TSUKISHIMA FREAKING KEI!!!!!!!!, akaashi keiji (he writes notes back to you), KITA. SHINSUKE., iwaizumi hajime (30) athletic trainer, suna rintarou, USHIJIMA, kageyama tobio (squeezed your hand a lot when you started dating), MIYA OSAMU, sakusa kiyoomi, OH OH OH AONE!!,

[tsukeilvr]

"please don't let go. please," you choked out, heart thundering in your chest, voice high with panic. your fingers, slippery and trembling like autumn leaves, grasped your boyfriend's arms harshly like your life depended on it.

tsukishima kei scoffed. "don't be stupid."

it wasn't about being stupid, you thought. it was about being scared. and god, scared you were. absolutely terrified. the sun shone down mercilessly on your back, basking you in a heat that the other half of your body didn't experience.

instead, cool water sloshed around you; a stray piece of kelp brushed your legs, sending another jolt of fear through you, and you instinctively clung to him tighter, feet struggling to find steady footing on the sandy ocean floor.

"hey," tsukishima said, his voice sharper now. his hands found your elbows, steady and firm, "you're not drowning. your head's above water, so breathe properly."

you sputtered as another bit of saltwater found its way into your mouth, coughing and gasping, squeezing your eyes. you tried to mirror him, to mimic the the way his chest never stopped rising and falling so calmly. his skin was milky fair, and off-handedly, you hoped you had rubbed it with enough sun cream.

he leaned down slightly, tilting his head so he was in your field of vision, his face annoyingly composed. his eyes locked onto yours, a warm brown, attentive, "what exactly are you so scared of?"

"i don't—" you sucked in a deep, shaky breath, his eyes serene in the middle of the thundering panic travelling through your chests, "i can't stand. i don't have ground under my feet."

he raised a single elegant eyebrow, unimpressed, "yeah. that's kind of the point of swimming, genius."

a weak, breathless laugh escaped you, equal parts mortified and amused, "maybe i should've asked someone else to teach me."

"no," his grip tightened, and there was a flicker of irritation in his eyes, though not at you, "don't be dumb."

he glanced away for a beat, then back at you, quiet, "i won't let go."

and he hadn't. he hadn't let go once since you panicked, and despite his exasperation, his hands never trembled, never wavered, not once.

"you're clutching me like i'm a floatie."

you blinked, but your fingers didn't let go, "i'm literally trying not to drown."

he sighed. but his thumbs brushed over your arms, soothing, "you're not drowning. i'm right here, dumbass."

TAGLIST | @takes1 @classicalelephant @pomigranit

[tsukeilvr]

tsukki, contrary to popular belief, actually really likes being little spoon -- because it's hard to be big spoon all the time, hard to always be the one doing the holding -- and sometimes, even guys who act tough (especially guys who act tough) are the ones who want to be held the most.

so you hold him, your arms looped around his middle, pressing kisses to the nape of his neck, the place where his spine meets his skull, nuzzling your nose against the soft blond hairs there, and he curls in, presses his back against you till you're sure you can feel every ridge of his spine ribbed along your chest.

"you smell nice," you mumble into his skin. he shifts in your arms, grumbling slightly.

"i smell like me," he says, his voice muffled by the blankets tucked around his shoulders.

you smile, nuzzling in further, "yeah... and you smell nice."

he hums, reaching down to lace his fingers with yours over his stomach.

"what do i smell like?" he asks.

you burrow ever further in, breathing in his warm, musky scent.

"you smell... kinda like sourdough," you say, giggling as tsukki makes a strange, sleepy, indignant noise.

"i smell like bread?"

you giggle, "the best, most delicious kind of bread."

tsukki sighs, shifting as he twists in your arms to face you. like this, he can easily flip you over and pin you down, do whatever he pleased with you, and you'd be helpless to do anything to stop him. the thought makes you shiver, makes your skin pebble up with goosepimples.

instead, he leans down to press his forehead to yours.

"and you smell like butter, sometimes," he says.

you nod, letting your eyes flutter shut, "sounds like we were made for each other."

tsukki scoffs, turning back around, "cheesy."

"nope, just buttery," you grin, pressing your lips to the warm, bare skin of his back. you feel him relax against you.

"go to sleep."

you nod, settling in, "you first."

"i've been trying but someone keeps on saying that i smell like bread."

you crinkle your nose, "i just said you smell nice. you were the one who asked for details."

tsukki makes an aggrieved noise, but doesn't turn around again. instead, he tugs your hand up to press a soft kiss to your palm before bringing it back down to his stomach.

"sleep," he says.

you grin, nodding, leaning forward to press your forehead to the nape of his neck. you take a deep breath in, reveling in the warm scent of him.

finally, you agree, in a soft, satisfied voice, "yeah... sleep."

[tsukeilvr]

writing? oh, i’m definitely writing. in my head. during the most inconvenient times. like in the shower or when i’m about to fall asleep. actual typing? no, no, we don’t do that here.

[tsukeilvr]

akaashi couldn’t be nonchalant as people made him out to be.

NOTE. Inspired by @/nethsukii’s post from TikTok!

Everyone always assumed Akaashi was the most level-headed person in the room, nonchalant in some cases, the calm voice amongst the chaos, the unshakeable setter with cool eyes and a brain that always operated two steps ahead.

That reputation didn’t change when he got a girlfriend—it intensified. People whispered about how lucky you were to have someone so composed, thoughtful, emotionally intelligent, and stable. A boyfriend who wouldn’t raise his voice, who’d remember anniversaries without being reminded, who’d bring you tea when you had cramps, and listen to you vent without interrupting.

And okay—yes. Two of those things were completely true.

But the “nonchalant” part? That one was a bit misleading.

Because if you asked Bokuto, or Konoha, or literally any of Akaashi’s closer friends, they’d tell you: he’s anything but nonchalant when it comes to you. Sure, he looks calm, but beneath that is a man whose brain short-circuits when you so much as bat your eyelashes at him thrice rather than twice. He’s an intense romantic disguised as a stoic intellectual. And the intensity isn’t dramatic or grand—it’s absurdly, endearingly specific.

“Did you know you sneeze in three stages?”

You blinked, pausing mid-bite of your grilled cheese sandwich. “What?”

Akaashi, seated across from you at his kitchen counter, wore his usual composed expression. His glasses slid a bit down his nose, but he didn’t push them up. He was too focused on you. “Three stages,” he repeated. “You do this little build-up thing first—your eyebrows scrunch, your nose wiggles like a bunny, and then you hold your breath for a second. That’s stage one.”

You stared at him with an expression of genuine confusion. “You studied my sneeze?”

“I observe,” he corrected smoothly, reaching for his cup of tea like this was just another normal afternoon conversation and not borderline concerning.

“Stage two is the sneeze itself. It’s never dainty. It’s loud. Forceful. Passionate.”

“That’s a weird adjective.”

“Am I wrong?” he asked, not missing a beat.

“Yes?” You looked down at your sandwich. “I… don’t know how to properly respond to that.”

Akaashi gave the faintest smile, his eyes flickering with mischief. “Stage three is the little sigh you do afterward. Like you just survived a great war. Then you sniff once and pretend it didn’t just shake the room.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug, “but it’s endearing. You sneeze like a bazooka. It’s adorable.”

“No one’s ever called a bazooka adorable.”

“I’m a trailblazer,” he said matter-of-factly.

-

There were his journal entries—yes, journal entries—about you. You found one once by accident, tucked between a book of poetry and a volleyball strategy book. He didn’t write about major milestones like one might expect. No, you found out your boyfriend documented the way your nose crinkled when you lied, or how your left hand twitches a little when you were anxious.

There was an entire paragraph dedicated to the way you wrapped your scarf, how it was “disarmingly efficient, yet always crooked to the left, like her heart’s trying to lean on someone without asking.”

Who says that?

Akaashi Keiji, apparently.

He once paused mid-sentence in a phone call with Bokuto because you, half-asleep and grumpy, had mumbled something unintelligible from the other room (you had come over for a project and fell asleep after lunch). “She sounds like a disgruntled possum when she’s waking up,” he said dreamily. “It’s charming.”

...

“Akaashi. You okay?”

“More than okay.”

-

Akaashi even adjusted his wardrobe—not that he admitted it. You mentioned once, half-joking, that he looked really good in dark green, and suddenly half of his winter clothes were moss, olive, or emerald. You caught on when he started showing up with sleeves rolled halfway up because you once muttered something about liking the veins in his arms.

“Yum,” you murmur, squeezing his triceps before bursting into a fit of laughter after realizing how embarrassing you’re acting.

But you learned long ago that there was never such a thing as too embarrassing when Akaashi acted the same, if not to a greater degree. He wasn’t nonchalant. Not even close. He was... silly.

A helpless romantic who never made grand proclamations or public gestures but instead memorized the oddest, most mundane things about you like it was part of some sacred text.

And yet, he wasn’t clingy nor weird to the point of you being uncomfortable. He knows your boundaries well. He wasn’t overbearing or overly expressive. He just noticed. Quietly, constantly, lovingly. He didn’t tell you he loved you every day in words, but he knew the way you curled your pinky when you drank from your mug.

He knew you got cold at 3 a.m. even in the summer and always made sure a blanket was within reach. He noticed when you rewatched the same ten-minute section of your favorite show because you liked the background music.

He remembered the exact number of sugars you took in your coffee and the fact that your favorite mug was slightly chipped, but you used it anyway because it was a gift from your cousin. He once stopped mid-sentence while talking to Bokuto on the phone just to say, “She’s humming the Sailor Moon theme in the shower again,” with a fondness so full it made Bokuto gag.

Man, he was whole-body deep into loving you.

-

How Akaashi often spends a lot of time thinking about things that weren’t even that serious.

Like how, that one time, you laughed at someone else’s joke for a few seconds longer than how he’d normally get from you. He doesn’t even get jealous when someone’s flirting with you because he knows—you know—and you’re both trusting of one another.

But to hear you laugh for 1.7 seconds longer?

You might as well give up now, because this man is persistent.

“Are you seriously keeping time now?” you asked, laughing at his behavior.

“Yes, my dad raised me to be competitive.”

“Don’t bring him into this, Keiji,” you laughed.

He looked at you as if you hung the moon and individually painted the stars in the beautiful night sky itself. “You’re very pretty,” he says. “I think I might experience a heart attack.”

You hugged him so hard you nearly knocked his glasses off.

-

When you painted your nails—usually some soft pastel or neutral tone—he would watch intently, chin in his hand like an art critic evaluating a masterpiece. At first, you thought he was just being polite (to try and appear interested, since guys don’t usually find interest in these sorts of things), but when you noticed the way he always commented on the color and style like it was a whole personality trait, you realized it wasn’t an act.

“Oh, that shade of sage green,” he murmured once. “It makes your fingers look like they’ve been kissed by a forest spirit.”

“What does that even mean?” You laughed.

He blinked, entirely serious. “It’s a compliment.”

“Keiji, I told you. If you’re going through something, you tell me—not just like—act this way.” As a joke, of course.

He laughed too.

Eventually, Akaashi started doing them for you. It began as a fleeting thought—you had been painting your left hand with your non-dominant one, struggling to keep it clean, when he silently plucked the brush from you and started painting with delicate strokes.

“You’re going to mess it up,” you warned.

“I have steady hands,” he said with all the gravitas of a surgeon. “We did this in Home Economics, remember?”

“...Yeah.”

From then on, it became a quiet ritual. You’d sit in his lap or next to him on the bed while he carefully painted your nails (he prefers the first one but isn’t shameless enough to tell you most of the time), brows furrowed in concentration, tongue sometimes poking out as he focused too hard. And every time he picked a color, it came with an elaborate reason.

“This one reminds me of the sky right after it rains in early spring. Soft, muted, but a little hopeful.”

You’d pretend to roll your eyes, but your heart would always flutter. Because you won the boyfriend lottery with him.

Akaashi was just built like that. When you two cooked together, he’d narrate what you were doing like it was a documentary on divine beings. “And now, the goddess stirs the pot, bestowing warmth and nourishment unto mankind.”

“Stop it,” you giggled, flicking water at him. “Don’t narrate it like that. You’re making it sound like a case study.”

“But it’s fun,” he says with a smile.

“You’re so weird.”

“I’m so in love with you.”

And he truly is.

And you believe him.

Akaashi wasn’t nonchalant. He was soft-spoken, yes. Composed, yes. But behind that calm exterior was a boy with a mind full of your quirks and a heart that was overflowing with enough love to swallow you whole. And somehow, that made you feel even more lucky than you already were.

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

[tsukeilvr]

tsukki knows all your orders by heart, knows that you like an extra pump of hazelnut in the fall, and likes your coldbrew with vanilla foam in the summer. he knows your favorite brand of toner and makes sure to always keep a backup in the bathroom cabinet, knows which of your huge collection of cute mugs you like the best and tries to always make sure it's washed and dried.

he always leaves one of his old crewnecks (the one you steal most often) in the laundry hamper when he travels because he knows you wear it when he's gone (it smells just like him), even though he'll never admit it if you ever asked --

"that old thing? it was just dirty -- didn't you see i put it in the hamper? mah -- maybe i'll toss it soon --"

"no, don't!" you protest, a bit too quickly; he quirks an eyebrow even as you flush something furious, biting your lips.

"oh?"

you chew on your bottom lip for a long second before sighing, "i -- it's my favorite of yours..."

tsukki stares, his gaze unwavering as you squirm in your seat. then, he lets out a tiny scoff, reaching over to pat your head as you crinkle your nose, trying not to preen against the warmth of his palm.

"i know. if you like it so much, you can keep it."

you shake your head, pouting slightly. he cocks his head.

"no?"

you flash him a cheeky, lopsided smile that sets his heart racing inside his chest. a faint flush of color rises in his cheeks as he squints at you -- that expression of your has never boded well for him.

"well, if you stop wearing it..." you say, tugging his hand from your head to clasp in your hands, your fingers lacing through his; tsukki swallows passed a skip in his heartbeat as you press your lips to the inside of his wrist, right where his pulse is thump-thump-thumping away, the stupid, traitorous thing.

"it won't smell like you any more."

[tsukeilvr]

squeezes you like a chew tog .

you

erm haii!! 😁

[tsukeilvr]

contrary to popular belief, kenma kozume doesn't enjoy playing minecraft. he hates being jumpscared by the mobs, building is a bore, and dying after weeks of saved progress is always an annoyance.

and despite all of the things he disliked about the game, he somehow agreed when you asked if he could help you mine. one thing led to another, and school nights were spent with him mining and gathering blocks for you, while you built your shared house.

kenma listens intently as you talk on and on about your favorite show, his gaze focused on your camera to the side of his paused screen; you always complain when he doesn't turn on his, so he keeps it on, even if you stopped asking him to. “wait a second,” he interrupts you, unpausing his game as he stands in front of your shared house in game. “cone outside, i’ll show you something.” his voice is almost shy as he says this, but all of that disappears as he watches the look of pure joy on your face when you see what he built for you.

a small, sort of bland–curse his building skills–cherry blossom pathway to your house is illuminated by small torches. while it isn't as nice as it is in the tutorial he followed, the smile on your lips is enough to make him feel like the best builder in the world.

and that's when he realizes, he's screwed.

kuroo laughs as kenma rants about his predicament, “you’re whipped,” he says bluntly, leaning against the leather of his best friend's gaming chair. “i’m not!” kenma defends himself—a little too quickly. “i just like seeing her happy, i guess.” his reply further fuels kuroo's amusement, merely shaking his head.

he hates to admit it, he always hates admitting that kuroo's right—it fuels his ego—but he definitely is.. somewhat right. he's whipped for you.

you, who smiles when he decorates the front of your house with your favorite flowers, who laughs when he dies to a creeper explosion.

maybe he really doesn't hate the game all that much. as long as it's you, he doesn't really mind anymore. he would die to a million mobs just to hear you laugh.

[tsukeilvr]

pls send requests i will actually die of writers block

[tsukeilvr]

“i had a dream about you, y'know.” you muse mindlessly as you pour the hot water into your coffee mug.

“oh yeah?” nishinoya yuu replies, “mind telling me about this dream of yours?” his voice sounds so near, yet so far. you glance at his face on your phone screen, as he watches you go through your mundane daily routine. you take a sip of your coffee, sighing, “well, we had a talking dog..”

for the past three or so years, days and nights were usually spent like this; you and nishinoya on the phone talking about your days or the places he plans on travelling to next. you were always dead-set on finishing college and getting a job, and he planned on travelling the world until there was nothing left to see. you were both going through with your plans, and what made it easier was going through it together. timezones & countries away from each other made it hard, but you made it work.

as for the past few months, he's been in greece, visiting the different temples & ruins the beautiful country holds.

“i’m so serious right now, it was like a fever dream—you were suddenly an old man, like, what?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “then i woke up.”

“okay... so it was basically a fucked-up version of up?” his eyebrows are furrowed as he processes the information given to him just now, you reply with a hum as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. you're about to say something when you notice him glitching on your screen, and you try your best not to laugh at the sight of his distorted face. “uhm, babe?” he doesn't reply. “babe.” your eyes scan his surroundings—hold on, where the fuck is he?

“babe, where are you right now?” you ask, laughing a little as his screen turns back to normal—albeit moving at light speed for the first few seconds—he simply raises his eyebrows in response, stuttering. you squint your eyes, “did you just come out of an elevator?”

“uh—i’m at the acropolis museum. they have a really advanced system here, actually! 's not all, like, temple ruins like i thought it'd be.” he clears his throat, fixing his hair a little. you nod a little.

the two of you sit in silence for a minute or two, minus the sounds of his footsteps & the busy streets from outside your apartment window. “i miss you,” you've been away from him for too long; you miss his touch, his hugs, his scent—even if it was a little too musky. you wait for him to say it back, and as his mouth opens, the screen freezes.

“...babe?” you roll your eyes at the signal issues—this always happened. “i’ll just call you later.” you reach for your phone and hang up, leaning back in your chair.

you can't deny it, sometimes the distance frustrated you. your co-workers talk about coming home to their wives, kids, or husbands, yet at the end of the day, you come home to an empty bed.

a knock on the door surprises you, a voice calling out, “special delivery!” a package? you didn't have any money for that. you walk to your front door, expecting a delivery man—your eyes widen as you meet a pair of familiar brown eyes, gasping in shock as he kneels down on one knee with a ring in his hand.

nishinoya yuu.

“i missed you too.”

[tsukeilvr]

what they look for in a partner ; karasuno ver. ⋆˚࿔

kageyama ; looks for someone direct. he doesn’t understand subtlety, doesn’t do well with people who expect him to read their mind—he needs a partner who says what they mean. someone who won’t play games, who tells him what they want and expects the same from him. 

hinata ; looks for someone who is passionate. he thrives on energy, and wants someone as crazy about something as he is about volleyball. someone who gets excited about their own dreams, who doesn’t just watch from the sidelines but runs alongside him. could not be with someone mellow, or someone full of himself.

tsukishima ; looks for someone who is grounded. he doesnt waste time on people who play games and care too much about drama and wha other people think. preferably wants someone on par with him personality and smarts wise, and wouldnt mind a little competition on whos ‘better.’

yamaguchi ; wants someone kind. they dont have to be a saint, or someone like yaichi, but kind in their own way. they could be an asshole for all he cares, as long as theyre kind, who makes him feel like he’s enough. someone who doesn’t belittle him, who sees his efforts and encourages him to keep going. 

daichi ; looks for someone dependable. for how much weight is on his shoulders, he could not be with someone immature. needs a partner who doesnt add to it, and admires people who cant take care of themselves, who don’t crumble under pressure but still let him be strong when he wants to be

sugaware ; looks for someone who is understanding. he needs a partner who can read between the, who knows when to banter and when to be gentle, who understands that just because he’s kind doesn’t mean he’s weak. he wants a love that feels like home, warm and safe, somewhere he can finally put his guard down.

asahi ; looks for someone who is encouraging. his biggest enemy is his own doubts. s he needs a partner who sees his strength even when he doesn’t. someone who believes in him. not in an over-the-top way, but in quiet reassurances and a steady presence.

nishinoya ; looks for someone bold. he thrives on energy, on excitement—he needs a partner who doesn’t hold back, who meets his enthusiasm head-on. someone who keeps up with him, challenges him, but also knows when to reel him in before he does something too reckless. 

tanaka ; looks for someone loyal. he doesn’t care about perfection—he just wants someone who will always be in his corner. someone who hypes him up, who never makes him feel like he’s second choice, who sees him as more than just a loudmouth.

enoshita ; looks for someone who is patient. he doesnt rush into things, and needs a partner that understands that.  someone who doesn’t need constant validation but knows he cares even when he’s quiet about it.

[tsukeilvr]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ kiyoko shimizu x fem!reader

hurt no comfort (MYYY BAD..)

tw: suggestive themes (just kissing, really.)

note: this might be a little ooc, i tried my best^^!! i listened 2 now that we don't talk by taylor swift while writing which got me in the mood sooooo ...

“i’m sorry,” kiyoko says for what feels like the thousandth time, a small, awkward smile on her lips.

she reads through the letter you wrote for her, her eyes searching for any sign of disappointment in your face—yet you meet her eyes with a determined gleam in your own, nodding briefly. she tries to give back the giftbag you made for her, yet you decline. “it‘s alright!” you reply, gently handing it back to her, “you deserve it—and hey, the hundred times a charm, right?” you joke playfully, pride racing through your veins at the sound of her laugh.

she nods, “maybe another time.” she bids you farewell as you leave the school gates. she watches you leave, as you look back at her once, twice–before finally, disappearing from her vision.

you've admired kiyoko since grade school, ever since she started bandaging your wounds on the playground; ever since she kissed your skin to make you feel better. it was love at first sight, really. you watch boys chase after her like hyenas chasing their next meal, and you can only stand there, wishing you weren't a helpless deer–wishing to be a hyena.

maybe she'd like you, if you were a hyena.

pursuing kiyoko wasn't easy, you knew that all too well. you started pursuing her intently ever since you were both first years at karasuno, and every time you'd make a romantic gesture or offer a romantic date, she'd say, “i'm sorry.”

but rejection never stopped you.

which is how you found yourself here, sitting at a fancy restaurant with her across from you and all the money in your savings to spoil her. she listens to you as she picks at the remaining food on her plate, sneaking a glance at the time on her watch. your voice fills her ears, soothing and soft—but this wasn't it.

you fumble with your hands as you talk and talk about your day nervously, “i promise, he was so annoying! i never wanted to leave a conversation so badly, it felt like i was being held hostage, y'know?” you joke, laughing a little.

kiyoko nods politely, clearing her throat, “yeah, i can't imagine how that feels..” she mumbles, turning the glass of water in her hand, watching the ice hit against one another. at her words, you bite your inner cheek anxiously. oh. she wasn't interested. you shake your head, “anyways—anyway, gosh, anyways isn't even a word..” you whisper to yourself, “how was your day?”

she looks up from the table, gaze meeting your face, yet not quite your eyes. “good. uhm, some studying here, manager work there..” she trails off, watching you take out your wallet to pay the bill, “we have a game this week against nekoma, so the team's been training pretty hard.”

you hum in response, “well, winning won't be hard.” your words are met with silence as you both stand up, and as you leave the restaurant, you reach for her hand.

she pulls away.

“uhm, i have a long day tomorrow.. is it alright if you just walk me home?” she asked—it sounded more as a plead, than a question. you nod quietly, walking a few steps behind her. your voice is small at first, “yeah-yeah, sure! i mean, my place is along the way, anyways—” “anyway,” she corrects. “you said that wasn't a word, right?” she nudges your shoulder, referring to your earlier statement.

“you were listening?” she nods, and you watch as she speaks, yet her words cease to make a sound in your ears. you were too focused on the fact that she was listening to you—your words, which made no sense, meant something to her. your eyes fix on her gloss-painted lips, and before you know it, a sharp pain hits you in the head. “fuuuck!” you yell out in pain, head in your hands as you try to soothe the pain, blood trickling from the small wound on your forehead.

kiyoko's eyes widen in shock, and as she holds in a laugh, she asks, “shit, are you okay?” she watches as you stumble over your words, her hands on your shoulders as she checks on your wound. she shakes her head as you make up excuses that you're okay, “no, no–you're bleeding. come on, i have bandaids in my house.”

that's how you ended up here, sitting next to the girl of your dreams in the dark on her couch, her face just inches away from yours as she dabs at your wound with disinfectant. you wince at the sting, she mumbles a “sorry,” before continuing to patch you up. your eyes flicker to her lips, lower lip between her teeth as she focuses. “i remember you'd always have to patch me up after our play dates when we were kids..” you recall, watching the small smile that rises to her lips at the memory. you feel the sticky bandaid touch your skin, her hands pulling away from the side of your face—yet she refuses to move an inch.

for the first time tonight, her eyes don't leave yours.

“thank you,” you whisper, your heart racing in your chest as your hands inch closer to one another. your eyebrows furrow, “no kiss?” you joke, referencing to your past as kids. she pauses, adjusting the glasses on her face. the room is quiet, tension thick; until she crashes her lips into yours.

it's impulsive, how she kisses you; her strawberry lip gloss stains your mouth, soft hands pulling you in closer and closer by your belt. the kiss is slow and messy, kiyoko could feel herself letting go; you brought out that side in her. your hands slip to her waist, underneath her shirt, cold hands seeking warmth. somehow, that's all it takes for her to pull away.

kiyoko abruptly pulls away, “wait, no!” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “i can't– we can't—” she stutters, sighing shakily. she lets your hands linger for a second—just enough for her to sink into the touch of your hands on her skin, for the last time—until she gently pushes you off her. she wipes the messy lip gloss off of the sides of her lips with the back of her shaky hand, and you can only sit there dumbfounded, searching her face for any indications of a joke. nothing. she was dead serious.

“shimizu, are you seriou—” “yn, this was a mistake.” she stands up, fixing her hair, her clothes, any effort to feel.. different. your heart shatters in your chest, you feel her lips on yours; the memory was still fresh in your mind, how could she act like nothing happened?

“i can't afford to make mistakes.”

her words echo in your head like a broken microphone; of course the perfect, pretty, boy-magnet kiyoko shimizu can't make mistakes.

a mistake was all you could ever be, to her.

the house is quiet for the next few minutes, the two of you not uttering a word as she stares at the sweaty palms of her hands. you wait for her to say something, anything to make you stay; nothing.

you got the hint. you clear your throat, vision blurring as you walk out of her house, her perfume lingering in the air, even as you enter your own home.

after that, you never hear a word from kiyoko ever again.

“i'm sorry, i can't,” kiyoko shimizu replies plainly as the 2nd year insists that she takes the chocolates and his confession, his words going in one ear and out the other as she listens to his endless offerings—date, coffee, he even offered to hold her books on the way to school.

‘is he ever gonna shut up..’ she thought, just about to decline—until a familiar voice pushes past her, mumbling a small, “excuse me,” as she enters the classroom; it was you. kiyoko's eyes widen, your perfume filling her lungs, flashing back to the night before. she watches you chat with your friends longingly, and for the first time, you don't look back; not once, not twice, never.

and for the first of many times, it stings.

she hears the 2nd year call her name, and suddenly she's back to reality. “uhm, no.. sorry. i have plans this weekend—and after class. sorry.” she interrupts him before he can even offer another option, taking the chocolate and his confession, “but i'll think about it.”

the night before, kiyoko sat in her bed, tears threatening to fall from her eyes as she recalled what happened moments before. how could she do that? how could she ruin something so perfect, a friendship so good—she kissed her best friend. she kissed a girl and felt something, felt a spark; she couldn't let that happen.

because kiyoko shimizu was fine falling in love with you, growing old with you.

if you weren't a girl.

[tsukeilvr]

hi is this thing on