⋆♱ ⤿ 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐈𝐀’s rules &. masterlist ⟡ carrd 📁 a filo nursing student who writes to stave off their disease called yearning. haikyuu-centric sfw blog but is also multi, doesn’t accept requests nor tolerate spam liking (!!!)
running on #tsukkiqueue, feel free to block the tag to remove your favorite asshole from turning into a soft cuddly baby
recently: neighbor!iwaizumi part. i &. tsukishima kei parfum d’étoiles
affiliated with @d1strict99
interactions are welcomed and encouraged! always drink your water & have a nice day xo
fuckckckckfkckc bro i was supposed to finish ur birthday fic LAST year happy late! birthday goat ill have it done by the time ur 25 trust me❤️❤️❤️ ur fit was cute af btw
LMFAO I MISS YOU SM ☹️ i dont mind waiting i’ll still be here even when im 30 I HOPE UR DOING WELLLLLL 💞💞💞
— “do i really need to be shirtless for this?” hajime asks gruffly, sitting neatly on your dorm floor as you write on a piece of tape, godzilla t-shirt tossed unceremoniously on your bed.
your anatomy exam is coming up, and you’ve been studying like your career depends on it (spoiler alert: it does), but you’ve been going batshit crazy just staring at your notes. so what better way to get off the books than to hang out with your boyfriend?
“yes,” you reply, placing ‘pectoralis major’ on his chest. “it wouldn’t work the same if you had a shirt on. active recall, visual learning, and such.” “right,” he mutters, brow furrowed as he watches you. “so…?” “so, flex your deltoid,” you demand. “c’mon, haji. this is important.” he flexes his shoulder obediently, looking away as you stick another label on his body.
you’re kind of surprised hajime agreed to this in the first place; though honestly, you really didn’t give him much of an explanation, simply texting him, “come to my dorm @ 10pm,” with no further instructions. you laughed when he called at 9:42 saying he was at the building, having to hold it in as you led your bright-eyed boyfriend into your room.
“you will be to blame if i don’t pass this,” you tell him, revelling in the slight twitch of his body as you slide a finger over his skin to pat down the adhesive. “right. can’t have that,” he says under his breath. you snicker. despite his reluctance, he’s not angry. maybe just disappointed. you’re not worried, though. he’d get what he came for soon enough.
sneaking a glance at him, you quickly scribble ‘teres minor’ on another scrap of tape. hajime’s ears are bright red, but his bottom lip is pursed up and his jaw is tight. tell-tale signs of his enjoyment.
“i know you’re a little embarrassed, but i need you to lift your arm up for me,” you tell him sweetly, tape hanging from your fingertips. hajime lets out a flustered grumble in reply, dim light highlighting hard planes of muscle as he accedes.
“it’s kind of itchy,” he says, after a moment. “well, it’s tape,” you answer matter-of-factly, pasting ‘frontalis’ on his forehead, then look at him doubtfully. “also, you need to stop scowling. you look cute when you’re not scowling.” “‘m not scowling,” hajime says under his breath, but his eyebrows relax immediately. you bite the inside of your cheek. cute.
another couple minutes pass by as you continue to stick labels on him, humming a tune while you treat your poor boyfriend like a whiteboard.
“...how long will this take?” hajime asks, stiffly, two pieces of tape hanging off the hollows of his cheekbones. you stretch out, making a big show of checking the clock on the wall. it’s almost midnight. “i’m basically done,” you reply. “i’m not going over the accessory muscles.”
hajime tilts his head, narrowing his eyes knowingly at you. “yeah, just wanna know, so i’m not peeling gemellus inferior out of my butt tomorrow,” he remarks wryly. you mirror his expression, enthused. “hah. i forgot you know this already.”
hajime pinches your inner thigh playfully. it doesn’t hurt—he could never hurt you—but you yelp anyway, more tickled than anything. “hey, i’m pretty smart, you know,” he reminds you, smoothing over the subtle sting with a callused thumb.
you scoot over towards him, running your hand down the label reading ‘rectus femoris.’ “i know you’re pretty smart,” you say, gaze locked on his, “otherwise i wouldn’t allow you to be sitting shirtless on my floor.” you pull, and the screech of tape being taken off skin is the only sound in the room for a second.
the sudden dilation of his pupils makes you laugh through your nose. “oh, that’s all,” hajime says lightly, body hot under your touch. “because i’m smart.” “and muscular,” you add, leaning over him as he sits back on his forearms, watching you intently. “mm, that’s part of it?” he asks, voice just breathless enough to make your stomach tighten.
“yeah,” you murmur, hooking a fingernail under ‘external oblique.’ your eyes drop to his bare chest, then drag back up to his face as you smile. “do you take a makeout session as gratuity for your model work?”
hajime swallows, his jaw fluttering. a blush blooms over his cheeks and he rolls his eyes. “that’s what i thought you called me here for,” he mumbles, warm hand coming up to rest on the curve of your lower back as you giggle. “c’mere.”
he peppers your face with soft kisses, leaving wet marks. your laughter fills the small room when you feel something sticky on your cheek.
“haji, i can’t take you serious with that stuff on your face!” “take it off, then!”
hello. folks. birfday post 4 me and him cuz we junebugs like dat
˚✶ * returns and future pick ups
or someone comes to return some books before you close for the night
tsukishima k. x gn!reader
m.list / wc: 1k
the lights on the far end of the library automatically shut off, leaving only half an hour of work left until you could head back to your dorm. there’s only a couple students left, all studying at their respective tables. tapping the eraser end of your pencil against the check-out counter, you bite the inside of your cheek, counting down the time until you can leave.
slowly, a couple of them make their departure, the next set of lights shutting off for the evening. closing your eyes, you smile knowing that you only have fifteen minutes left. opening your eyes, you glance at the last person in the library, his back turned to you. turning away from him and looking back down at your homework, the numbers start to jumble, a wave of tiredness taking over.
“okay.. that’s enough,” you whisper to yourself, setting down your pencil before standing up to sweep the nearby area.
it isn’t necessarily your job to be cleaning up the library, however, it gives you something to do in between the slow periods. the individual’s typing echoes in the library, the sound bouncing off of the bookcases and into your free ear. the only thing breaking it is the door to the library opening, a stressed student standing with books piled in his arms.
your eyes widen at the sight, hand aimlessly resting the broom’s handle against a table. walking across the room, you can feel your confidence growing, “is there anything i can help you with?”
a head tilts to the side of the books, glasses falling down the bridge of his nose. “i found these books and i believe they were meant to be returned here,” he starts carrying them over to the check-out table, the weight of the textbooks seemingly not too heavy for him.
“you found them?” you question, raising your eyebrow as he sets them down on the counter, hands resting on your hips.
“yeah.. my roommate moved out unexpectedly and i think he left these behind on accident,” the mystery student pushes his glasses back up his nose. his short blonde hair spikes at the top, slender fingers pulling his backpack straps closer to him.
nodding, you walk around to the other side of the counter, pulling out your chair so you can check the status of the books. “well, sorry this return fell on you then. if you wouldn’t mind staying here while i scan these in..” you look up from the computer, meeting his gaze, “just in case some of them aren’t our books.”
“right. yeah, as long as you’re open,” he shrugs his shoulders, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“we’re open. i’m just hoping i can get these all scanned through before we close. not the most exciting when you work the library’s closing shift,” you admit, grabbing a scanner and scanning in the first one, an older textbook with the barcode starting to peel off.
the air feels tense as you continue to scan the books in, your eyes constantly glancing up to look at him. he stands there with his arms crossed, gaze flickering back to you every few seconds. “do you come to the library very often?” you break the silence, scanning another book.
“i don’t have a lot of time to,” he shrugs, leaning against the counter, his knuckle pressed against the top.
“well.. it’s a great place to study, and i’m usually here if- you know if you ever needed someone who knows their way around,” you grab the final book, scanning it back in, all of the books seemingly originally coming from the library.
he nods, looking away for a second. glancing back, the mystery man gives a small smile, “yeah, yeah that would be great. i’m sure you have great books on paleontology.”
“paleontology? yeah, actually. i know a lot of the students in that program and there’s usually a few that are in rotation. my next shift is tomorrow if you want to come check it out,” you push the books off to the side, signing off of the computer so you can start closing the library down for the evening.
piling your stuff up, you shove it into your backpack, looking around to see the last patron had left during your conversation. “so, do you go to school here, then?” he questions, standing by the check out counter as you peer down the many walkways, making sure no one was left in the building. taking a few steps between each bookcase, you glance around for fallen books as well.
“yeah, library science actually. so if you have any dewey decimal questions then i’m the person to ask,” you smile, walking back up to the counter, throwing your backpack over your shoulder.
“neat,” he whispers, just barely loud enough that you heard it, the quietness of it all bringing a smile to your face. the two of you slowly make your way to the library doors, not quite wanting to end the evening yet, a spark lighting between the two of you. he reaches past you to open the door, following you out of the building.
“well, i guess i’ll see you around then…”
“it’s tsukishima, my friends just call me tsuki though,” he—tsukishima—shrugs again, hands shoved back into his pockets.
“well then i will see you around tsuki, thanks for returning those again, i’m- we’re all really grateful to have them back,” you lock the door behind you, rain lightly hitting the concrete walkways.
the two of you start in opposite directions, your dorms seemingly on other sides of the campus. just as you’re about to turn the corner around the building, you hear him shout to you from across the way. his hair is matted down from the rain, glasses covered in droplets. “i didn’t catch your name!”
“it’s l/n! just ask for me at the desk!” you wave to him, reaching your hand back down to hover over your eyes, protecting your face from the rain.
“will do!” tsukishima turns back around, smiling to himself. the smile quickly falls as he thinks back to every embarrassing thing he muttered out during the interaction, eyes rolling at his own behavior.
i really like what the casualness of it all entails, with tsukishima kei as a disguise to the most hideous yearning he has of you. even after years of a breakup, he still use your name to test new pens. wear the same shade of green you told him he looks best. follow the same artists and blast it and wonder if you’re still into them. feel the same cologne from nobodys and buy something similar, just enough to make him chase the feeling of being hugged by you. and even if the redness of his cheeks has vanished every after getting drunk and his circle of people have stretched into the unknown pieces you have in him, he claims all these as his, all your habits and all your love as something he’s born into. because who else should carry such a wretched thing if not the very person you’ve chosen to haunt?
what a fool he’s become, acting in his own grief and the only audience is him. and if he ever learns to walk away from the play, part of the music will rot inside him forever.
121224 ♥︎ drunk tsukishima kei and his insistence of asking you why you love him.
it's already close to midnight when your husband of two years ask you all of a sudden. he's warm, and hazy with alcohol. you're absentmindedly treading your fingers through his soft hair, the floral scent from his shampoo is irresistible. you inhale slowly and plant a small kiss on his scalp.
"why do you love me?" his head buried on the slope between your neck and shoulder, breath a little warm that tingles your skin as he sigh through his nose. you feel his hold on your hip tighten, palm smoothing the crease on your shorts as he travels down to your thighs, giving it a loving squeeze.
you resist the urge to laugh in amusement. you hear your clock from the nightstand tick faintly, the low hum of the ac ebbing and flowing in the silence. you think about the myriad of ways you could respond, yet in all of them, no amount of words will ever reach its essence. no matter how you say it, it will never be enough.
instead, you ask him back, voice low as if you’re whispering, "what's not to love about you?"
he grumbles, and you can almost imagine the little pout surfacing his pretty lips, “do you want me to barf at your sappiness?”
“i’m serious.” you say as you fight a smile.
“prove it.”
“sorry?”
he finally looks at you, a long pause with slow blinking, his hand leaves your thigh, reaches up to brush his knuckles against your cheeks. the ring on his ring finger feels cold against your warm face, light catches gold—are you talking about the ring, or his eyes? maybe both?
you’re a little tipsy yourself. you might as well just kiss him right now because your mouth always fails you to shape your love in the form of words. you’re not eloquent enough to mold a perfect sculpture of sentences, you’re not capable of holding onto a voice but it’s ironic how you’re able to carry a weight of a ton of actions—and you think, maybe he doesn’t need you to be perfect with words.
maybe he just needs you to say it, you love him for all that he is.
you capture his hand, locking your fingers through the gaps and kissing it while holding your stare. such beautiful golden brown who only ever looks at you like this. you don’t want to look away, you want to keep him forever, like he’s a promise you love to keep.
you feign a scoff, “fine. if you want specifics. i love you because you give me challenges, the ones that pisses me off in a good way, the ones that make me a better person, the ones that make me think differently.”
“i love how you argue with me about the smallest things, like which way the toilet paper roll should go, just because you know it gets a rise out of me. i love the way you silently leave the last piece of your favorite snack for me, even though you act like you don’t care.”
“i love that you fold the laundry so badly on purpose just to get out of doing it, and how you mutter ‘you’re welcome’ when i fix it.” you see the slightest of twitch of his brows. guilty.
you rest both your intertwined hand on your chest, hoping he can feel your beating organ.
“i love how you complain about the dishes but still wash the ones i ‘accidentally’ leave in the sink. i love how you steal the blankets at night but always drape them back over me when you think i’m asleep. i love how you sigh every time i forget my keys but still wait by the door to hand them to me, no matter how late i’m running.”
“i love how you can be so stubborn and sharp with your words, but you never let the day end without sitting next to me, even if it’s in silence, just to make sure we’re okay. i love how, after a fight, you pretend to not-so-subtly leave fresh fruit cuts on the counter or let me pick the movie, even though you hate my choices.”
“you choose horror all the time.” he comments without thinking, and you chuckle.
“i love that you can’t handle it. because you can’t help but cling to me after.”
at this point, your voice wavers slightly, the memories tugging at your chest. “i love that, even when we hurt each other, you always find a way to show me you care. you never say it outright, but it’s in the way you stay. you always stay, kei.”
your voice soften as you look at him, his golden eyes searching yours with a quiet vulnerability. “is that good enough of a reason, kei?”
he was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable, before scoffing softly. “you’re so dramatic.”
right as he bury himself in your scent, lips on your neck that inevitably makes you shiver, you can see his ears turn red—and you think it’s the alcohol, but maybe it’s also because of your sappy shitty monologue. maybe its both.
your head feels lighter, a pleasant buzz on your veins and a thudding heart that can’t quiet itself, maybe you want the world to know just how much you love this man— and to make it even more sappier, he’s your world. it should be obvious by now.
you are dramatic. “hehe, that’s why we’re here. that’s why you love me.”
ever since you became his highschool sweetheart, you didn’t change as much. at least, to his eyes, you remain the love he’s always wanted.
and the things you do to him, for him. leaves him drunk with want. your name on his lips sits like a prayer, a letter of promises forever to keep—committed to keep.
the ends of his lips curl into the faintest smirk, his blush deepening as he muttered, “maybe.”
after a few quiet shifts in position, you both comfortably settle in each other’s arms for the night. he closes his eyes and yet, he can still see you in perfect resolution, as if there’s a screen behind his eyelids. replaying the memories with your words ringing his ears.
he remembers his first kiss with you before he falls to sleep. saw your eyes glossy and glowing, he never told you this but, he wanted to marry you by then. wants you to give him that look everyday, wants your beginnings and your tomorrows.
and—oh, he already has it. huh. wow, he still can’t believe you love him after all these years.
010525 ♡ the ultimate cure to your sickness is simple: just listen to the sweet sound of tsukishima kei's voice. ( fluffy fluff. some swearing. not proofread. )
the world kind of flips upside down when sickness has fallen upon you.
your clothes don’t feel comfortable—they scratch your skin in a way you want to rip it off of you. food tastes bland and stale. your ears are sensitive to noise, even the slightest hum like your fan aren’t an exception. your runny nose makes you miss the feeling of breathing like a normal person. and you’re so exhausted even though all you’ve been doing is mope around lying in your bed and everything pisses you off.
you’re not in a fever; worse, you’ve caught a random flu which makes you feel like you’re running a fever.
you sniff and realise you’ve already went through four boxes of tissues right as you fished out the last one, groaning from frustration as you toss them into the bin. there’s nothing left—your box of tissues as well as your will.
it isn’t until it’s afternoon that you scurry off into taking your medicine because while you tried to get up moments ago, you couldn’t. or rather, you didn’t want to. (eh, same thing.) and then you unexpectedly dozed off while staring into the void of your ceiling.
you think you’ve calmed down after gulping through a whole glass of water, but as you feel more of the atmosphere chill crawl into your body even after being bundled up by your comforters and blankets, you’re forced to relent to the fact that you’re not going to get through this soon—especially not without someone’s help.
or at least, a company.
so you do your best not to feel ashamed as you pull out your phone, dialed that one specific contact and wait through the ringing instead of throwing your device out of the window and scream.
you didn’t even give tsukishima kei a heads up. he might not even answer straight away. or he might never answer at all. you can’t hear your phone beeping over your loud thoughts ready to consume you. and then you physically jumped when you suddenly hear a soft voice cutting through the static.
no, soft isn’t the right word. soothing, perhaps. despite the nonchalance, you had always found his voice attractive.
“hello?”
still, it catches you off guard.
you don’t respond right away, your throat tight and dry, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake. but then tsukishima speaks again, his tone dipping with faint exasperation.
“are you just going to sit there breathing into the phone, or…?”
“uh, hi,” you mumble, voice rough and embarrassingly hoarse. “sorry. i… didn’t mean to—”
“yeah, yeah, skip the apology. what do you want?” he interrupts, but there’s no real bite in his voice. if anything, he sounds calmer than usual. though you can’t quite place it.
you hesitate, clutching your phone a little tighter. “just… wanted to hear someone’s voice.”
the line goes quiet for a beat, and you wince internally. you’re convinced he’s about to hang up when he sighs.
“with the way you're talking, i can't tell if you're actually speaking words or just doing a live ASMR demo of a clogged drain,” he remarks flatly, and despite the jab, there’s a thread of concern laced through the words.
“what the fuck. i’m just sick,” you reply, rolling your eyes even though he can’t see.
“no shit. what happened to you?”
“i have no idea myself.”
“hold on.” there’s some shuffling on his end, followed by muffled voices. “yamaguchi says hi,” tsukishima adds, his tone noticeably lighter, though still tinged with his signature indifference.
“hi yams,” you drawl, feeling a tiny smile tug at your lips.
more rustling, and then yamaguchi’s distant voice comes through, says your name cheerful and clear: “get well soon!”
the faint sound of laughter in the background feels like sunlight breaking through your cloudy mood, and you can’t help but laugh softly, though followed by a cough.
“how was practice?”
“fine,” tsukishima answers shortly, as expected.
yamaguchi, however, fills in the silence. “it ended early today. coach wanted us to rest up for the match this weekend.”
there’s a brief exchange between the two before you hear yamaguchi say goodbye, his voice growing fainter as he walks away. then it’s just you and tsukishima.
“..hey,” you start after a while, growing awkward just hearing his footsteps and the wind.
“what?”
“how’s school?”
“do you really want me to talk?”
“yes. please.”
he sighs, “ms. nakajima called in sick too, so no surprise quiz, fortunately.”
“oh, yippee.”
you hear a suppressed snort on the other end of the line, but you don’t comment, opting instead to listen to the steady rhythm of his voice as he recounts his day.
it takes a bit of coaxing, but he eventually keeps going. you close your eyes, letting the cadence of his words wash over you like a soothing tide.
complaints about school, a snide comment about someone in his class, a dry recount of shoyo almost tripping over a volleyball during practice. the casualness of it all feels like a warm blanket, his dry quips bubbling a quiet chuckle from you every now and then. you catch yourself smiling, your cheeks heating—not just from the lingering flush of your illness, but maybe... maybe because of him.
the thought throws you off, and suddenly you feel warmer than you should.
his voice is just so… calming. like a large hand spreading over your shivering skin, the warmth seeping in slowly and gently, settles you all bundled up in ease. the way he talks to you is unhurried, deliberate, like there’s nothing pressing or wrong in the world at this moment—not with him here, not with you listening.
“are you even listening?” he suddenly asks, though it's rhetorical, softer.
you smile, eyes still closed, as if trying to commit this moment to memory. “mhm. keep talking. i like listening to you.”
the line goes silent for a moment. you can picture him adjusting his glasses, his jaw tightening as a faint blush creeps up his cheeks, though he’d deny it with every ounce of sarcasm in his body.
“you’re so weird,” he mutters, and you try not to snicker.
still, he doesn’t stop talking.
it stretches into more mundane things; —the weather, a stupid argument in class that yamaguchi tried to mediate, the latest book he’s reading. this, grounds you in a way that's therapeutic, something special and long-lasting—and makes your chest feel so much lighter. just hearing him makes the gnawing loneliness and irritability of your sickness fade into the backdrop, almost as if you forgot you were wallowing in misery minutes ago.
—oh wait, how long has it been exactly?
you glance at the clock, startled to see the time.
“wait,” you interrupt gently, your voice hoarse but amused. “didn’t you say practice ended early? shouldn’t you be home by now?”
there’s a brief pause on the line, and then you hear the faint sound of rustling, like a plastic bag shifting.
“i am,” he says simply.
you frown, confused. “then why haven’t you—”
“i'm here. open the door.”
you blink, his words sinking in like a slow ripple. “huh?”
"open. your. door-"
"i heard you the first time!"
your heart skips, and you bolt upright, clutching the phone as if that could steady the sudden rush of emotions. “you… you’re outside?”
“obviously.”
"what if i was greeted by a murderer and not you?"
"what if i was the murderer?"
you laugh. scrambling out of bed, you nearly trip over your comforter in your haste to reach the door. you hesitate for a moment, hand hovering over the knob, suddenly self-conscious of how disheveled you look. but the thought of him waiting, standing outside in the cold, pushes you to open it.
and there he is.
tsukishima kei, with a plastic bag in one hand and a familiar, unimpressed look on his face, though there’s something... inexplicable in his expression, more focused, tense.
“you didn’t have to.”
“yeah, well, maybe i did,” he brushes past you to step inside just enough to hand you the bag. “you’re hopeless. there’s some soup, medicine, and, uh…” he clears his throat, glancing away. “other stuff.”
you glance at the bag, heart swelling. “thank you,” you murmur, voice quiet and sincere.
he doesn’t reply right away, his gaze flicking back to you briefly before he reaches out to ruffle your hair, you think you've mistaken the gesture for a flick in the forehead, instinctively closing your eyes. when he doesn't, you feel dumbfounded by the sudden act.
his hand lingers for a moment longer than necessary, gaze quiet but solely on you. you feel—warm, and about to sneeze hard with how itchy your nose is. and as much as you'd like for him to be this close to you, your sickness is irritatingly getting in the way.
you swivel to the side, "ah-choo!" and again, he takes you by surprise when he carefully shoves a tissue on your face when you hear a breathless and poorly suppressed laugh.
"laughing at my suffering now?" you blow your nose, trying to act more sickly for dramatic effects.
"if you knew how cute you look right now.."
you're turning delirious. "i'm what now?"
"rest up," is what he replies. dismissive. like he's speaking to himself.
and just like that, his already at the doorway, hand on the doorknob. “don’t forget to eat. and sleep. properly.”
a nod is all you can muster, biting back a smile as you watch him retreat.
as the door clicks shut behind him, you’re left standing there, warmth lingering where his hand had been.
meanwhile, tsukishima curses under his breath as he walks away, his cheeks burning despite the cold air, the sky bruised in blood orange and bathing him in a mellow glow. “stupid,” he mutters, adjusting his scarf as if that could hide the rush of warmth in his chest, red on his cheeks.
“…i can’t get sick.” he thinks he is already, considering how flushed he is right now.
wrote this when i was sick last week, thought of him, wrote him while listening to mazzy star <3
i really want to make those [user] variants but 1) i do not want to be perceived and 2) pretty sure the first thing i’ll put there is tsukishima fucking kei so idk
