Mumu🧸🌙

ik ya got tired of me reblogging sm so here's another one

[mumusreblogs]

~Welcome To Mumu's Reblogs~

So basically all this is is another acc so that I can reblog stuff since I don't want to put it on my main acc

My main acc is for writing, reblogging for reblogging, and personal for my daily life(ig)

[reignpage]

In which you jump out of a moving car to spite Boyfriend!Sukuna

“—because he was just making conversation!”

Sukuna scoffs, knuckles turning white as his grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Bullshit. That guy wanted to fuck you.”

“Oh my god. So what!” you yell. “It’s not like I was gonna fucking let him!”

“Coulda fooled me.”

Just like that, your angry face, which matches his, warps into one of calm decision. With speed he doesn’t see coming, you unbuckle your seatbelt, push open the passenger door and jump out of the moving car into the dead of night.

The car screeches to a halt not even a second later. 

You’re pushing yourself up and testing the soreness in your ankle when a car door slams shut and Sukuna comes marching over to you. “You crazy, fucking bitch!” he snaps. Sukuna grabs your face, growling when you try to pull away. He inspects every inch of you, brows furrowed, and piercings glinting under the streetlights. “What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“I got a bitch ass boyfriend, that’s what’s wrong with me,” you grumble.

He ignores that. “You break anything? Wrist? Ankle? Dislocated your shoulder?” You shake your head. “Well, that’s a fucking shame.” Though as he says that, he can’t quite hide the tremors in his hands. Quieter now, he mutters with a tight frown, “Scratched your pretty face up. Fuck. Lost your one redeeming quality.”

“Okay, so I’m gonna walk home,” you say, deadpan. “I’ll see you around, asshole.” 

Sukuna runs a hand through his hair with a frustrated noise. Then he smacks his lips against yours before you can actually start walking away (not that he’d let you get very far). “Alright, alright. You fucking win. Congrats. Christ. Get back in the car — we’re going to the hospital to get you checked out. Fucking dumbass.”

A hospital visit later, you’re in bed with him, cuddled up like nothing happened. It’s how arguments with him tend to go; neither of you really hold grudges against each other. Not when you’ve fucked any grievances out after. The last mention of today’s incident, however, comes in his sleepy mumble against the top of your head: “push me out instead.”

“Hmm?”

Sukuna’s hold around your body tightens, threatening to suffocate you with his hard chest. “Don’t jump out of the car. It’s stupid. Your body’s weak. Skin bruises easily. Cuts easily too. Just kick me out instead. I deserve it, I know... bonus points if it's into oncoming traffic.”

“Okay, will do.”

“Thank you, baby.”

my man my man my man (nobody tell Nanami)

[lumpyspacequinn]

how i feel searching for hours for angst fics but all i can find is y/n sucking their soul out of their dick.

Please recommend good angst fics

[strwbrryeyes]

Hiii, I'd like to request a Tsukishima fic with a rivals to lovers/mutual pining trope for your event!

༊·˚ Academically confused

⟡ featuring: tsukishima kei

⟡ cw: angst, lmk if i missed anything else

⟡ a/n: i love tsukki being an academic rival even if it is cheesy and has been written a million times so i hope you like it becaus ei enjoyed wwriting it <3

You met Tsukishima Kei during your first week of university, and it was less of a meet-cute and more of a mutual eye roll of annoyance with the class.

He was standing outside the lecture hall with his headphones around his neck, scrolling through something on his phone. You figured he was in the same literature class as it was the only one scheduled in this hall at this hour. You stood beside him, nervously scrolling through your schedule, worried you might miss a class or go to the wrong classroom,  your stomach a tight ball of nerves from first week anxiety. Meanwhile, Tsukishima’s  expression was bored like he had something better to do than stand in the hallway waiting for the professor to finally arrive

“Intro to Lit?” you asked, more to ground yourself than anything else.

“Unfortunately,” he replied in a grumble, barely glancing at you.

Your eyebrows lifted. Rude.

With his attitude being your first impression of him, you decided to observe him more. He was tall, lanky, and had a mouth that just looked like it was made for snide remarks. The glasses perched on his nose gave him a false sense of kindness and soft mannerisms that didn’t match the bored, piercing look in his eyes. Something about him made your skin prickle.

You offered your name, trying to make small talk as you continued to wait because maybe he wasn’t so bad after all and you were just making assumptions?

He just nodded. “Tsukishima.” No first name. No smile.

You stood there, dumbfounded at his tone and right then and there, you decided immediately: you didn’t like him.

-

It didn’t take long for things to even more of a sour turn. 

As if the universe didn’t hate you enough, he was in so many of your other classes.

Tsukishima always had something to say. Always has something to argue,  Whether it was during lecture discussions, group debates, or casual commentary in the hallway— he had the annoying ability to make you feel like your ideas were isiotic even when you knew they weren’t.

You'd raise your hand in class, offering a passionate argument on a literary theme, and before you could even finish, his voice would cut in with a counterpoint all while in a calm, quiet, irritatingly confident tone of voice. 

The first time he challenged you outright during a discussion, it was in front of the packed lecture hall in your literature class. You’d barely finished your point about the topic when his voice cut in, quoting some stupid philosopher and immediately shifting the room's attention. A couple students murmured in agreement. Your professor nodded thoughtfully. Your face burned. Your blood boiled. He didn't raise his voice or get defensive. No, he just smirked and quoted some cheesy line like it was meant to start your downfall. And that smug look on his face? Infuriating.

“You know, not everything has to be a competition,” you muttered as you passed him after class.

He barely looked up from his phone. “I’m not competing. I’m just right.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, whipping around to glare at him.

He finally looked up, calm as ever, and added with a tilt of his head, “Unless you're admitting you lost?”

From that moment on, it was war.

The rivalry was public and relentless. Classmates groaned whenever your hands shot up at the same time. Your professors, amused and slightly exhausted, began using you two as examples for everything from "healthy debate" to "spirited academic disagreement."

You upped your game, citing more sources, editing your arguments to perfection. But no matter what you did, he met you move for move, like you were playing the world’s longest game of chess. Once, you caught him leaving the library at 3 a.m. the night before a major presentation. He smirked and said, "Just making sure I stay one step ahead of you."

You hated how good he was. Hated how much you wanted to beat him. Hated how thrilling it was every time he pushed you to be sharper, quicker, smarter.

And worse of all is how you hated how alive it made you feel.

-

It was like you had the worst luck. After break you walked into a class and there he was again, sitting front row.

You both ended up in the same science Gen Ed class and the professor, clearly having heard of you two, paired you together for the semester long project.

“This is going to be fantastic,” you said, voice flat with sarcasm.

Tsukishima didn’t look up from his laptop. “Can you manage to not be dramatic for these next few months?”

“Can you manage to not be an asshole?”

He smirked again. Of course he did.

Still, you met at the library that weekend, both too stubborn to back out and too competitive to risk a low grade. The air between you was filled with unspoken tension, but neither of you dared acknowledge it. You were both too proud to admit it mattered. An hour in, you were dividing the workload, building out the outline, arguing over methodology but either way  you were still working and efficiently at that.

And then something shifted.

“You’re not completely hopeless,” he said, glancing at your screen.

“Wow,” you deadpanned. “How very kind of you.”

You said it with a sneer, but your stomach fluttered anyway.

Over the next few weeks, the library became your routine. He brought drinks, you brought snacks. You debated over formatting, but shared surprising laughs during breaks. You found his dry sense of humor addictive. And he didn’t just tolerate your sarcasm— he matched it.

Sometimes, you caught him looking at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle, eyes flicking to your lips, lingering on your hands as you gestured, taking in your every move like there was something deeper underneath he couldn’t quite put his finger on. And sometimes, you looked back, wondering how someone so infuriating could start to feel like a comfort.

One night, you left the library late. The air was cold, and you’d forgotten your jacket. Without a word, he shrugged off his hoodie and handed it to you.

You wore it for three days before giving it back. He never askedabout it.

-

It hit you on a Thursday night.

He was sitting across from you, eyes squinting slightly behind his glasses as he read over your notes. His hair was a mess. He looked exhausted but determined. Your knees brushed under the table but neither of you pulled away.

Suddenly, it wasn’t just friendship. It wasn’t rivalry. It was him. Everything about him. The way he furrowed his brows in concentration, the way he remembered throughout the weeks that you liked matcha more than coffee, the way he made space for you at the table like it was second nature at this point.

You were in trouble.

You told yourself it was just circumstance. That it would pass once the project was done with. But it only got worse.

He started texting you just to ask you about your day or just send you random articles about topics you both talked about the day prior. He dragged you to a science museum for your project but ended up wandering the exhibits with you like it was a date. He brushed your shoulder, lingered when he handed you notes, stared at your mouth a little too long when you talked or smiled.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said one night on your walk home.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I don’t hate this.”

Your heart clenched painfully. Because you didn’t hate it either. And that’s what terrified you.

But it was also everything else.

You noticed the little things. How his fingers would tap when he was trying not to say something. How he sat closer to you every week, until your bags touched. How he rolled his eyes at you in class, but smiled when you laughed at something dumb. He didn’t flirt but that is only because he didn’t know how. But his affection was in the details.

You found yourself rereading your text threads just to feel close to him whenever you wouldn’t meet up. You looked for him first in every room. You caught yourself doodling his name in the margins of your notes and hated that you’d become that person.

Then one night, he handed you a USB drive, silent and unreadable.

“What’s this?” you asked.

“The photos from the museum. You said you wanted to use them in the presentation.”

You opened the files later that night, expecting exhibit photos.

Half of them were of you.

Candid, focused, smiling. You hadn’t even known he was taking them.

And that’s when you knew,

You were in love with him.

And maybe he felt it too.

But that maybe is what drove you away.

-

You panicked. Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to put up your walls before you fell any deeper. So you skipped your next meeting. Left his texts on read. Started arriving to class late and leaving early. You convinced yourself it was necessary to keep things from getting complicated, from becoming real. But it already was

You started skipping study sessions. Delayed your replies to his texts. Avoided eye contact in lectures. Told yourself you were just keeping things in check, keeping things safe.

Except it wasn’t safe. It was lonely.

Every second you spent apart from him felt like you were being punished for wanting something you didn’t deserve. Your chest ached with words you couldn't say, and your throat burned with the effort of pretending you didn’t care. You told yourself it was better this way and that the line between rivals and something more was too blurry, too risky. That Tsukishima Kei would never look at you that way.

But when you saw him across the room, laughing with someone else, you felt hollow. And when you heard his name but not his voice, it was a reminder of everything you were pushing away.

Tsukishima noticed. Of course he did.

He caught you outside lecture one day, voice sharper than anything you’ve heard from him before.

“You’re avoiding me.”

You didn’t answer. Just shifted your weight awkwardly.

“Why?” he pressed.

“I’m just… busy.”

“Bullshit.”

You flinched. His eyes burned into your own.

“Why does it matter?” you snapped.

He looked like you’d slapped him.

“Because I thought we were… something,” he said, voice low, almost hoarse. “I don’t know what, but… not just rivals anymore.”

You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t bear to see that hurt look in his eyes. So you turned and walked away.

But with every step, it felt like something inside you was unraveling.

You couldn’t sleep that night. Every sarcastic comment, every stolen glance, every near-confession played on a loop in your mind like a movie you couldn’t pause. You kept telling yourself it was better this way, clean lines, no blurred boundaries but all it felt like was losing.

Because for the first time, you didn’t want to win anything.

You just wanted him.

-

A few days passed since you walked away from him.

You didn’t see him in the library. You didn’t get a single message. Your matcha tasted worse. Everything felt heavier…weirder.

You saw him sitting on the library steps one evening, framed by golden light from the tall windows behind him. The campus was quiet, wispy pink clouds scattered the sky, and he looked so still, so unlike his usual collected self. He looked up as you approached, headphones around his neck, a question in his eyes that he didn’t voice. You didn’t need him to. You already knew.

“I miss you,” you said, voice trembling.

He blinked slowly, like he was trying to make sense of your presence.

“I was scared,” you admitted. “Of you. Of me. Of what this was turning into. It was easier to pretend it didn’t matter.”

“But it does,” he said softly.

You nodded. “It really, really does.”

Silence settled between you like snow.

Then, “I thought I was the only one,” he confessed. “Thought I was misreading everything. That I ruined it.”

“No,” you breathed, and reached for his hand. “You didn’t ruin anything. I did. And I want to fix it.”

He looked down at your joined hands, then up at you, something unreadable in his expression.

“I didn’t know how to stop needing you,” he said, voice low. “Even when you pulled away.”

You leaned your forehead against his. “Then don’t stop.”

And when he kissed you, it was like everything you’d been running from caught up to you all at once. The longing, the fear, the electricity of what had always been there. It was messy, and warm, and real.

You laughed against his lips.

“What?” he murmured.

“I still kind of hate you,” you whispered.

“Good,” he said. “Because I love you.”

[starlit-whisper]

"THE WEIGHT OF A SINGLE WORD"

Some wounds aren’t carved by time, but by words that can never be taken back.

With Tsukishima, you never expected sweet words or grand gestures. His love was quiet, hidden in the smallest things: lending you his scarf when you forgot yours, waiting for your texts late at night even if he acted like it was an inconvenience, adjusting his long strides so you could walk beside him.

But lately, those quiet things had stopped.

It wasn’t sudden. It was gradual, like sand slipping through your fingers. The dinners where he used to ask about your day turned into evenings where he scrolled through his phone, barely responding. The small touches—his hand brushing against yours, his chin resting on your shoulder—became rare.

And then came the words.

One night, you were sitting together in his apartment. You had been telling him about something that happened at work, a funny story you thought he’d like. But halfway through, he sighed and muttered under his breath— “Do you ever stop talking?”

You froze.

He didn’t even look at you. Didn’t see the way your throat closed, the way your chest ached at the sharpness of it. He just kept scrolling through his phone like it didn’t matter. Like you didn’t matter.

You laughed it off, because what else could you do? “Sorry… guess I ramble sometimes.”

But that night, you lay awake next to him, eyes open, staring at the ceiling while his back faced you. You replayed the moment over and over, hearing it louder each time. Do you ever stop talking?

And slowly, you did.

You stopped telling him about your day. Stopped sharing your excitement, your fears, your small joys. You grew quieter, careful, walking on eggshells so you wouldn’t be “too much.” And he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, but said nothing.

The apartment grew silent. Not peaceful silence, but heavy, suffocating silence.

And the worst part? You still loved him. Even when he made you feel unwanted. Even when your laughter died in your throat. Even when the person you once were—bright, talkative, alive—faded into someone quieter, smaller, dimmer.

One evening, as you were washing dishes, he glanced at you and frowned. “You’ve been quiet lately. It’s weird.”

You almost laughed at the irony. Instead, you whispered, “You told me I talk too much.”

For the first time, he froze. He remembered. The offhanded remark, the look on your face. And suddenly, he realized: you had taken it to heart. You had believed him.

But by then, it was too late.

Because you weren’t the same anymore. And no matter what he said, no matter how he tried to take it back, Tsukishima knew he had killed something fragile between you—not with a fight, not with a breakup, but with a single careless sentence that lingered like poison in the air.

[icreamcake]

no matter what, tsukishima kei will always run to you…

“i don’t love you,”

he couldn’t get those words out of his head. no matter the situation tsukishima kei knows those words shouldn’t have left his mouth. especially when he didn’t mean it.

tsukishima couldn’t believe how easy it was for you to say you’d be passing on this opportunity, a chance to turn your dream into reality. why? all because you wanted to be with him, to remain at his side.

god, he loves you, he’s been in love with you since the moment you walked into his first year of his junior high class with a bright smile and friendly greeting. so yes, a selfish part of him did want you to stay, to continue being with him. but not at the cost of your dreams— of your future.

the middle blocker glances up at the clock set in the center of the school’s gym. tsukishima uses the towel in his hands to wipe the sweat off his face, eyebrows furrowed together in deep thought.

would he make it? if tsukishima ran out of the gym and straight to your house, would he get a chance to take it all back?

“stop thinking about it and go,” his captain, daichi spoke up breaking his younger teammates’ train of thought. he hadn’t realized the looks of concern from everyone on the team, the way their eyes practically begged him to do what he needed to do.

that’s all it takes for tsukishima to sprint out the gym, the sudden cold air hitting against his warm skin sends shivers down his spine. he runs past the strangers on the street, hoping over anything and everything that gets in his way.

tsukishima doesn’t let himself stop, it doesn’t matter if his legs begin to hurt, or if his entire body feels as if it’s about to collapse. he can’t let you leave thinking he isn’t completely and utterly in love with you.

the blonde is so focused on you, he doesn’t notice the familiar car of your parents’ driving past him.

you notice him, as you always have.

your eyes grow wide as you realizes he’s running in the direction of your home. “stop the car!” you shout startling your parents, your father doesn’t hesitate to listen to your instructions. both of your parents turning to look at you with worried expressions, you say nothing and rush out of the car.

you don’t hesitate to take off after him, nor do you hesitate to scream his name at the top of your lungs. tsukishima stops in his tracks at the sudden sound of your voice calling his name. his head whips around in your direction, he doesn’t give himself a second to catch his breathe. you watch him sprint to you in full speed, his arms wrapping around your body to pull you into his chest.

his hand strokes the back of your head, “i didn’t mean it, i didn’t mean what i said.” the sound of his voice cracking, and the way he tries holding you closed than you already are leads to the tears sliding down your face.

your own arms wrap around his large frame, “i know.”

“i love you.”

you ignore the call of your name coming from your mother as you step away from his arms. tsukishima watches your fingers fiddle with the back of your necklace, you remove the jewelry from your body before stepping close to him.

“i’ll see you again.” you place the necklace in the palm of his hand before stepping on your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek.

tsukishima watches you head in the direction of your car, his own tears fighting to be set free. he does his best to remain calm, to seem as if everything will be alright. but you know he isn’t okay. you notice in the way his eyes anxiously flicker from your car to the ground, the way he tries to steady his breath, and the way his hands are tightly clenched together at his side.

you let out a shake breath turning away from the back window of the car. the second you do, tsukishima lets out a gut wrenching sob with his hand holding your necklace close to his heart. it doesn’t matter how many years go by, tsukishima kei will always be in love with you.

all he can hope is that you’ll feel the same way.

© iCREAMcake, 2026. do not repost, edit, copy, translate, feed or copy into Al or plagiarize my works.

[ellipsis9]

I think I've already requested this but since I'm not sure and you're back now I'll just ask again:

I would love it if you could write a reader×Seungmin (or Felix (but if you think there's another member who suits better feel free to ignore my suggestion)) first love story where they both start having feelings for each other. But since it's her first time feeling like this she is super scared and backs away anytime he makes a move because she's scared it's not what she wants + she doubts whether she's even good enough for him.

Don’t pull away

Seungmin x f!reader

Synopsis: Falling for Seungmin should feel easy, especially when he’s nothing but gentle, patient, and quietly devoted. But for the first time, your feelings are too real to ignore, and every soft glance or almost-touch sends you running before he can get too close. When Seungmin finally confronts you about pulling away, the truth comes spilling out: you’re scared you’re not good enough for him. But Seungmin isn’t willing to let you believe that. Not when all he wants is to love you exactly as you are.

Cw: none just fluff!

a/n: haii im so sorry i didn’t get to you request beforee. But i hope you enjoy it, this was super fun to write!!

wc: 2,034

౨ৎ

Seungmin had a way of caring that made it impossible to pretend he didn’t.

He never announced it. Never made a show of it. He just remembered.

He remembered that you liked your coffee with more milk than coffee, that you always forgot your scarf even when the weather was cold enough to bite, that you hated walking too close to the road. Somehow, every time the pavement narrowed, he ended up on the outside without saying a word.

It should have been easy to ignore.

It was not.

“You’re staring,” he said, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

You blinked. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m admiring the streetlights.”

“At eye level?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile already tugging at your mouth. “You’re so annoying.”

Seungmin grinned at that, small and pleased. Not smug. Just warm enough to make your chest ache.

He held out the paper bag in his hand. “Here.”

You took it carefully. Inside was your favourite pastry from the convenience store, still warm.

Your heart did something stupid.

“You didn’t have to get this.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you?”

He shrugged, looking ahead again. “You looked sad today.”

The words were simple. Gentle. Too gentle.

Your fingers tightened around the bag.

That was the problem with Kim Seungmin. He noticed too much. He noticed the silences you tried to hide inside jokes. He noticed when your smile came a second too late. He noticed when you were tired before you admitted it to yourself.

And lately, he had started noticing the way you pulled away.

You hated yourself for it.

Because you liked him.

You liked him so much it scared you.

It had started slowly, or maybe it had always been there and you had only recently become brave enough to name it. It was in the way your eyes found him first in a crowded room. In the way his laugh made everything feel lighter. In the way you saved things throughout the day just to tell him later, because somehow telling Seungmin made them matter more.

But whenever he got close, whenever it felt like he might feel the same, fear climbed into your throat and stole all the air from your lungs.

So you ran.

Not far. Never far enough to lose him.

Just enough to make sure he never got the chance to decide he regretted wanting you.

The first time, it had been during a film night.

You had been sitting on the sofa in his living room after everyone else had slowly disappeared, leaving only you and Seungmin under the dim yellow light. The film was still playing, though neither of you had been paying attention for at least twenty minutes.

Your shoulder had been pressed against his.

Then his hand had shifted.

Barely.

His pinky brushed yours, soft and tentative, like a question he was too careful to ask out loud.

Your entire body froze.

Seungmin noticed immediately. Of course he did.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded too fast. “Yeah. I’m just thirsty.”

You stood before he could say anything else, nearly tripping over the blanket tangled around your legs. You laughed it off, disappeared into the kitchen, and stayed there long enough for the moment to die.

When you came back, he had moved slightly away.

Not enough for anyone else to notice.

But you noticed.

The second time, he told you that you looked pretty.

It was raining, your hair was a mess, and you were wearing one of his hoodies because he had insisted you’d get sick walking home without it.

“You look cute,” he said, voice soft, almost shy.

Your stomach flipped.

So you snorted and said, “You need your eyes checked.”

His smile faded a little.

“I mean it,” he said.

You looked away. “Don’t.”

You hadn’t meant for it to come out so sharp.

Seungmin went quiet.

After that, he stopped saying things like that.

And now, walking beside him with the warm pastry in your hands and his jacket around your shoulders because he had given that to you too, the guilt pressed heavier than the cold.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said.

“I’m always quiet.”

“No, you’re not.” He looked at you then. “Not with me.”

Your throat tightened.

There it was again. That softness. That careful honesty.

You forced a laugh. “Maybe I’m tired.”

“Maybe,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

The walk back to your apartment was shorter than usual. Or maybe you were just too aware of him beside you. Too aware of the way his hand swung close to yours but never touched it. Too aware of the space he was leaving because you had taught him to leave it.

When you reached your building, you turned quickly.

“Well. Thanks for walking me back.”

Seungmin didn’t answer right away.

He stood under the streetlight, hair slightly damp from the misty rain, hands tucked into his coat pockets. His expression was calm, but his eyes weren’t. They were searching yours, patient and tired and a little hurt.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

Your pulse jumped.

“About what?”

He gave you a look. Not annoyed. Not angry. Just knowing.

You hated how gently he saw through you.

“About you running away from me,” he said.

The breath left your body.

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

You looked down. “Seungmin…”

“I’m not trying to corner you.” His voice softened immediately. “I just need to understand. Because every time I think we’re getting somewhere, you disappear. And I keep wondering if I did something wrong.”

Your head snapped up. “No. You didn’t.”

“Then what is it?”

You opened your mouth.

Nothing came out.

Seungmin took half a step closer, then stopped, as if remembering. As if even now, he was giving you room to choose.

That almost broke you.

“I like you,” he said quietly.

Your heart stuttered.

His cheeks were pink, but he didn’t look away.

“I thought maybe you liked me too,” he continued. “Sometimes it feels like you do. And then I reach for you, and you pull back like I’ve scared you.”

Your eyes burned.

“You do scare me,” you whispered.

Something flickered across his face.

You rushed to explain. “Not because of anything you’ve done. You’re not scary. You’re… you’re the opposite, actually. That’s the problem.”

His brows pulled together. “How is that a problem?”

“Because you’re good to me.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, and suddenly there was no stopping it.

“You’re so good to me, and I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know how to just accept it without waiting for the moment it changes. Every time you look at me like that, I start thinking you’ll realise you made a mistake.”

Seungmin’s expression softened.

You wiped quickly at your cheek, embarrassed by the tears that had escaped.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” you admitted. “Not properly. Not like this. And I keep thinking maybe I’m not good enough for you. Maybe you just haven’t noticed yet. So when you get close, I panic. I pull away before you can.”

There was a long silence.

Then Seungmin said your name so softly it hurt.

“Can I hold your hand?”

You looked at him through blurry eyes.

He waited.

No pressure. No teasing. No impatience.

Just Seungmin, standing in the rain, asking instead of taking.

You nodded.

He reached for your hand slowly, giving you every chance to change your mind. His fingers wrapped around yours, warm and steady, and you realised with a sharp ache in your chest that you had spent so long fearing this feeling you had forgotten you wanted it.

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” he said.

You blinked. “What?”

“You don’t get to decide you’re not good enough for me. That’s my choice.”

More tears slipped down your face.

“And I already chose,” he added.

Your lips trembled. “Seungmin…”

“I like you,” he said again, firmer this time. “Not some perfect version of you. Not the version you think you need to become before someone can love you. You. The person who overthinks everything. The person who pretends she isn’t cold when she’s shaking. The person who laughs at my jokes even when they’re not funny.”

A wet laugh escaped you.

His mouth curved.

“They’re usually funny,” he said.

“They’re really not.”

“See? Mean.” His thumb brushed carefully over your knuckles. “And I still like you.”

The laugh broke into something closer to a sob.

Seungmin’s face softened again. “You don’t have to stop being scared all at once. I’m not asking you to. Just… don’t run without telling me why. Let me stay. Let me prove I mean it.”

Your chest ached so badly you pressed your free hand against it.

“What if I mess it up?”

“Then we talk.”

“What if I get scared again?”

“Then I’ll remind you.”

“What if you get tired of me?”

His eyes grew serious.

“I won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know myself,” he said. “And I know you.”

The certainty in his voice was quiet, but it settled over you like warmth.

He lifted his other hand, then paused. “Can I?”

You nodded again.

He touched your cheek gently, wiping away a tear with his thumb. The contact was so tender it made your eyes close.

“You’re not hard to love,” he whispered.

That was the sentence that undid you.

For so long, you had carried the fear like a secret. That being wanted was temporary. That being known was dangerous. That if someone came close enough, they would find every uncertain, fragile part of you and decide it was too much.

But Seungmin was looking at you like he had already seen it.

And he was still here.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know that too.”

You opened your eyes. “I really do like you.”

His smile returned slowly, soft and beautiful. “Good.”

You stared at him. “Good?”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Your face warmed despite the tears. “You confessed first.”

“I did. Very bravely, actually.”

You laughed again, and this time it came easier.

Seungmin squeezed your hand. “So?”

“So what?”

“Will you let me take you on a date?”

Your heart fluttered.

“A real one?”

“As opposed to all the fake dates we’ve apparently been going on?”

You frowned. “Those were not dates.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I bought you food, walked you home, gave you my jacket, and listened to you complain for an hour about your neighbour’s dog.”

“That is friendship.”

“That is devotion.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away.

Seungmin looked pleased, then a little shy. “A real date,” he said. “No running away. And if you get nervous, you tell me.”

You looked at your joined hands.

For once, the fear was still there, but it wasn’t louder than everything else.

It wasn’t louder than his warmth.

It wasn’t louder than the way he waited.

It wasn’t louder than the part of you that wanted, desperately, to stay.

“Okay,” you whispered.

His eyes lit up. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay. I’ll go on a date with you.”

Seungmin’s smile widened, and it was so sweet, so openly happy, that you wondered how you had ever convinced yourself he was anything but sincere.

“Can I hug you?” he asked.

You stepped into him before you could overthink it.

His arms came around you carefully at first, then more securely when you melted against him. He was warm, solid, real. His chin rested lightly against the top of your head, and you felt him exhale like he had been holding his breath for days.

“I’m proud of you,” he murmured.

“For crying in the middle of the street?”

“For staying.”

You closed your eyes.

Your hands clutched the back of his coat.

“I’ll try,” you whispered.

“That’s enough.”

And maybe, for the first time, you believed him.

Because Seungmin didn’t ask you to be fearless.

He only held you a little closer, right there under the streetlight, and made fear feel like something you didn’t have to carry alone.

[miustronomy]

ʚɞ artist/idol!𝓱yune x gn!𝓻eader

hyunnie finds your sketchbook ?!

a/n - first post new acc yay !!!! drawings arent mine all of them r from pinterest

[kikimonharichan]

Tsukishima Kei Texts

There will be swearing in these

[zmbkats]

BF TEXTS W TSUKISHIMA !!

໒꒱ ‧₊˚ kei tsukishima x reader

cw: joking ab breaking up, very stupid roblox games, suggestive texts from reader, tsuki being a big ole baby who misses his gf, job mention, plotting to put tsukishima in a sexy nurse costume 👅

©️ guttrbug 2026

don't steal plz ❤️

[realcube]

TEXTS WITH TSUKISHIMA

tags/tws — swearing, reader gets called a princess, sassiness & my first tumblr smau lol

[kawoala]

⁝ TSUKISHIMA KEI 𝜗𝜚 boyfriend texts 𝜗𝜚

ᰔ content warning ; smau 、 profanity 、 a touch of yachi x yamaguchi 、 sarcasm 、 he loves u, promise 、 shit talking is his love language 、 sassy tsuki.

[ctrlkenma]

TEXTS W TSUKKI! 𖤐

fem!reader, established relationship, college!kei, he's a huuuuge tsundere, yamaguchi mentions

© ctrlkenma, 2025.

[nimuete]

𐙚 BOYFRIEND TEXTS , KEI TSUKISHIMA

summary : texts with your boyfriend, tsukishima !

genre : fluff

note : GAHH I DIDN'T NOTICE I SPELLED HEAR INSTEAD OF HERE (； Д)ﾟ ﾟ

mlist ♡

©nimuete , do not plagiarize, repost it somewhere else, or translate my work please !

[rielovesphel]

texts with tsukishima kei pt. 2🐶

tsukishima x reader trying to flirt with bro in text (he's your classmate) part 1 ☁️ part 3 grah i dont think this is good but genuinesly cant think; last chat isnt gender neutral

steal or ai = you gonna catch these hands (doi, not saying my work is good enough for that, but please dont) i woke up so good yesterday, found out i got a 94 or above on my overall report card. CHEER FOR MEEEE!!!! also the cookie pic is from pinterest, i'll put the link here

[tunaperson]

Texts between Kei Tsukishima and his weird neighbour part 2

part 1

gn reader

[tunaperson]

Texts between Kei Tsukishima and his weird neighbour

part 2

gn reader

The note was taped to his window and said "like this?"