Wee woo :3

Eden || Minor || They/She || Traditional artist

[elysian-edenx3]

Blog Intro! Eden || Minor || She/They || Non- Binary || Aroaceflux Lesbian || 27/6 || 🇵🇭 & 🇦🇺 || Yumejoshi || Looking for people to put in the taglist! || divider credits: @viviansturns|| Dni - Tags - F/Os and sharing status - Taglist

[showhay]

YAAAY REQUESTS ARE OPEN JUST WHEN I HAD SUCH A FLUFF/COMFORT IDEA

so I was thinking about Insecure!Suna(highschool!) something like Atsumu OR SOMEONE makes a "joke" about Suna's bad posture and the way "he always looks tired/has tired eyes" :(( and he didn't care about how he looked before of course! but ever since his teammates started teasing him he's been overthinking and I think it would be really cute to see reader reassuring Suna in some way !

*Just a reminder: YOUR WRITING IS ABSOLUTELY COMFORTING AND SWEET HON!!💗❗

insecurities

— if rintarō had a dollar for every time some idiot pointed out his “tired eyes,” he could probably buy a new spine to fix his so-called posture—and yet, he’d still rather spend it on you.

suna rintarō x f!reader

c: full of fluff!! slight bullying, profanities (mostly from your dear author)

THANK YEW BBY, YOU’RE SO SWEET MWUAH 😚

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

you know how most people get insecure about normal things—like breakouts, a bad haircut, or that one shirt that shrank weird in the wash? suna rintarō is not “most people.” he is tall, lean, objectively attractive in a lazy kind of way, and devastatingly good at volleyball. he has the aura of someone who doesn’t even have to try, which is precisely what made everyone’s favorite class clown, daisuke, pick him as his next comedic victim.

because daisuke, curse his tragically morbidly unfunny shit looking soul, had decided that suna’s posture was an untapped goldmine.

“yo, suna,” daisuke had called across the classroom that day, grinning like he’d just invented stand-up comedy. “you walk like a shrimp that gave up on life.”

the class had laughed. suna had smirked, shrugged it off, because he always shrugged things off. if apathy were a sport, he’d have been mvp every season.

but daisuke hadn’t stopped there. why? because daisuke is a fucking prick who hasn’t looked at himself in the mirror for years since he looks like a failed abortion flushed down the toilet.

“and bro, your eyes—do you ever open them all the way? you look like you’re always five seconds from keeling over.”

more laughter. suna hadn’t flinched outwardly, but inside? it stuck. the words clung to him like static, rewiring his brain every time he caught his reflection. suddenly his trademark slouch wasn’t effortlessly cool, but pathetic. suddenly his “tired eyes” didn’t make him mysterious—they made him look… well, tired.

he hated how it followed him. in the mirror brushing his teeth, in the dark screen of his phone before it lit up, even in the glass window of the convenience store. everywhere, he started to see what daisuke had said.

and for someone who’d never cared about appearances, it was infuriating. worse, it hurt.

so, naturally, on a thursday evening, suna shows up at your doorstep looking like a man whose spine just filed for divorce.

“rin?” you blink, toothbrush still in hand. he doesn’t answer, just slips past you, closes the door, and immediately collapses onto you like you’re the only thing holding him up.

he smells faintly of cologne and lingering gym sweat, his hoodie warm from the night air, his arms clamped around your waist like you’re oxygen.

you drag him with you to the bathroom. “hi?” you laugh softly, spitting your toothpaste back into the sink with one hand while steadying him with the other. “what’s going on? you okay?”

his response is a muffled groan into the crook of your neck. after you finish brushing your teeth, you both went out and layed down on the couch.

you frown, threading your fingers through his hair. “rin, talk to me.”

finally, he pulls back enough for you to see his face. and god, it breaks your heart. normally, suna’s expression is neutral-bordering-on-bored, that lazy smirk lurking at the corner of his lips. but right now? his brows are furrowed, his jaw tight, his eyes—those same ones you adore—searching yours like he’s lost at sea.

“do i look… bad?” he blurts.

you blink. “what?”

he swallows, shifting uncomfortably, suddenly fascinated by the floor. “i mean. daisuke keeps saying stuff. about my posture, my eyes. i didn’t care before, but… i dunno. now i can’t stop thinking about it. like maybe i really do look like crap. like… gross.”

you gape at him. “gross?”

he winces. “yeah.”

and that’s it. that’s the moment you mentally draft daisuke’s obituary.

“rintarō,” you say, voice sharp enough that he looks back at you. “that’s the dumbest thing i’ve ever heard in my life.”

“it’s not dumb,” he mutters, scowling. “everyone keeps pointing it out.”

you cup his cheeks, forcing him to hold your gaze. “listen to me. you don’t look bad. not even close. you look like you. and i happen to be stupidly in love with you, so i think that’s the hottest thing in the world.”

he stares, caught between disbelief and wanting to melt.

you lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth. “your posture? perfect.”

he snorts, but you cut him off with another kiss to the other side of his mouth. “you slouch into me like i’m your personal pillow. do you know how cute that is?”

“cute,” he repeats, deadpan, but his ears are going pink.

“the cutest,” you insist, pecking his jaw, then the bridge of his nose. “and your eyes? don’t even get me started. those ‘tired’ eyes are what made me fall for you.”

“what?” his voice cracks just slightly, betraying how badly he needs to hear this.

you smile against his cheek as you pepper kisses all over his face. “they make you look soft. they make me feel safe. and the way you look at me with them? like i’m the only person in the world? rin, that’s not tired. that’s love.”

suna goes completely still, then exhales shakily. his hands tighten on your waist, pulling you flush against him.

you don’t stop. your lips trail from his forehead, to his temples, to the tips of his lashes. “i love your eyes.” kiss.

“i love your posture.” kiss.

“i love every single thing daisuke made you second-guess.” kiss, kiss, kiss.

by the time you pull back, he’s staring at you like you’ve just rewritten reality.

“you’re ridiculous,” he says, but his voice is thick, and his eyes are glassy.

“takes one to know one,” you tease, smoothing his hair back.

he kisses you then—slow, deep, the kind that feels like he’s trying to brand the reassurance into his skin. his hands cradle your face like you’re fragile, even though he’s the one unraveling.

when you break apart, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“if you think i look good,” he murmurs, “then i don’t care what anyone else says.”

you grin, brushing your thumbs across his cheeks. “rin, you don’t just look good. you look like the love of my life. and honestly? that’s hot.”

he laughs—really laughs, warm and low and unguarded. and it’s addictive, the sound.

after that, he refuses to let you go. if you sit, he sprawls across your lap like a very large cat. if you shift, he adjusts with you. you try to reach for the remote, and he whines until you keep one hand in his hair.

“clingy,” you tease.

“shut up,” he mutters, but he buries his face in your stomach, mumbling something suspiciously like, “mine.”

the rest of the night is quiet, save for the soft hum of the tv you’re both not watching. every so often, he tilts his head up just to kiss you again—your cheek, your hand, your collarbone, like he’s making up for every second he wasted doubting himself.

and each time, you kiss him back with all the reassurance he’ll ever need.

daisuke can run his mouth forever, but it doesn’t matter. suna has you. and as long as your hands are in his hair, your lips pressed against every corner of his insecurities, he’ll never believe he’s anything less than perfect again.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a: he js told me that he’s prepared once i cheat. brother pls 🙁 i can’t fight all my demons telling me to strangle you

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners. (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

iloveu

[showhay]

hiii nique 💗 i hope you're having a good day, morning or night, now, this might sound strange but in my country we greet friends and family by kissing their cheek... so, i wanted to request a yaku x foreign!reader fic where she greets him with a kiss on the cheek, out of habit, and the rest is up to you... 💗

cheek kiss

— morisuke was sure he’d ascended after you kissed his cheek, until kuroo’s face appeared and proved it was purgatory at best.

yaku morisuke x foreigner!f!reader

c: fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff

THIS IS FUN! THANK U FOR REQUESTING BBY MWUAH 😚 ‼️

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

he wasn’t the type to lose his balance easily. yaku was a libero, after all—reflexes sharp, eyes sharper, footing steady even in the most desperate dives. but all of that failed him spectacularly the second you showed up in the gym, standing next to coach nekomata like some kind of ethereal visitor from another dimension.

the whole team turned when the coach cleared his throat. “this is my granddaughter,” he introduced, puffing his chest out with the kind of pride that made kuroo whisper to kenma, ‘wait, since when did coach have a foreign granddaughter? is she imported or something?’

you bowed slightly, your smile warm, your accent lilting as you greeted them. the boys waved back in varying degrees of enthusiasm—bokuto would’ve waved so hard his arm came off if he were there—but it was yaku who froze.

because you looked right at him.

and yaku swore that you didn’t just look—you saw. saw him in a way that made his heart trip over itself, like someone had hit it with a volleyball at full speed.

then came the real disaster.

“ah, so you’re yaku, right? the libero?” you said brightly, walking over before his brain could reboot. your hand wrapped around his arm and—oh, heavens above—you leaned in and kissed his cheek, chirping, “it’s so nice to meet you!”

the poor boy dropped like a sack of rice.

literally.

straight to the ground.

a collective gasp echoed in the gym, followed by kuroo choking back laughter like he was trying to swallow a dying hyena. kenma just blinked. lev, meanwhile, screamed, “YAKU DIED! SHE KILLED HIM WITH LOVE!”

you froze, hands flailing, panicking as nekomata sighed so hard it sounded like centuries of disappointment condensed into one exhale.

“ah, y/n,” the old coach muttered, rubbing his forehead. “in japan, you don’t just kiss people on the cheek without asking. especially not when you’ve just met them.”

“eh?!” your eyes went wide, cheeks heating up. “but that’s normal where i’m from! it’s a friendly gesture!”

“friendly?” kuroo wheezed, tears in his eyes. “if that’s friendly, then what does dating look like? CPR?”

you glared, but the damage was done. the nekoma captain was already scribbling “how to die via cheek kiss” into his mental blackmail list.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

when yaku finally came to, the first thing he noticed was warmth. soft warmth. and a heavenly scent—something sweet, something not from the dusty gym.

his head shifted slightly, and his vision cleared.

you.

his head was on your lap.

oh.

oh.

so this was heaven.

an angel had guided him here. he’d died a noble death, slain by affection.

“am i—” he croaked, voice hoarse. “—dead?”

your laugh bubbled out, bright as sunlight, and he swore he could rest there forever.

“no, silly,” you said gently, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “you fainted.”

fainted.

right.

because you kissed him.

the realization nearly killed him a second time.

“no way this is heaven,” kuroo’s voice drawled nearby, and yaku’s entire body went rigid. “heaven wouldn’t include me.”

“or me,” lev chimed in. “wait—yaku-san, if you died and went to heaven, why am i here too? oh god, am i dead too?!”

“you’re not dead, lev,” kenma muttered without looking up from his phone. “though yaku probably wishes he was.”

laughter erupted from the team, and yaku sat bolt upright, face redder than his libero jersey.

“shut up!” he barked, voice cracking slightly, which only made them howl louder.

but then you tilted your head, concern softening your expression. “are you okay? i didn’t mean to scare you.”

scare him? no, you’d obliterated him. his entire nervous system had fried like a bad power line, and his heart was still trying to recover. but he nodded furiously, too whipped to let you think you’d done anything wrong.

“i-it’s fine!” he squeaked, waving his hands. “i’m totally fine! never better! you can—uh—you can do it again if you want!”

a silence fell.

kuroo choked. lev gasped. kenma even raised an eyebrow.

you blinked, lips twitching like you were trying not to laugh. “but… didn’t coach say not to?”

“don’t listen to him!” yaku blurted, then immediately slapped his hands over his mouth, mortified. “i mean—uh—not that you should ignore your grandfather, b-but—!”

“yaku wants to die again,” kuroo stage-whispered, earning a smack from yaku’s flailing arm.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

from that day onward, yaku was a disaster.

whenever you so much as looked his way, his knees buckled like some shoujo anime protagonist. you said “good morning” and he nearly fell into the net. you handed him a towel and he clutched it like a holy relic, later hiding it under his pillow so he could smell the faint trace of your perfume.

the team noticed, of course.

“dude,” kuroo smirked one day, “if she says ‘nice to meet you’ again, will you just explode? because i’ll buy popcorn for that.”

yaku growled, ready to tackle him, but the threat was undermined by the fact that you walked in just then, and he immediately straightened, smoothing his hair like a man possessed.

“hello, yaku,” you said cheerily.

he froze. his heart stopped. the world tilted.

“—yaku.exe has stopped working,” kenma deadpanned, not even looking up.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the peak of the comedy came during a match warm-up.

you leaned over the railing, calling out encouragements, and yaku, desperate to impress, went for a spectacular save. he dove beautifully—until he realized mid-air that he’d just launched himself directly into the bench.

“OH MY GOD HE’S SACRIFICING HIMSELF FOR HER,” lev screamed.

yaku hit the floor with a grunt, staring at the ceiling lights. “worth it,” he muttered under his breath.

and when you ran down to check on him, kneeling beside him with that same worried expression, he decided then and there that even a hundred concussions would be worth the sight of you hovering over him like that.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

in short, yaku morisuke was utterly, hopelessly, fatally done for.

the libero who prided himself on reflexes and composure had been reduced to a trembling mess, undone by one cheek kiss from coach nekomata’s granddaughter.

and every time he caught himself daydreaming about it—imagining your smile, the warmth of your lap, the way you looked at him like he mattered—he only thought one thing:

if this wasn’t heaven, he didn’t mind.

as long as you were here, he’d happily live in this chaos forever.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a: didn’t think of the time. i’ll post more later, i have to devour the food ദ്ദി๑>؂•̀๑)

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners. (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

iloveu

[showhay]

notice me!

kuroo tetsurō x oblivious!f!reader

please notice tetsurō before he juggles kenma and fukunaga for attention. wc: 1.8k

kuroo tetsurō had spent approximately four business days drafting the letter, destroying enough notebook pages to clear out half the amazon rainforest just to ensure his handwriting didn’t look like a chicken had dipped its feet in ink and had a seizure across the page.

the letter was, without a single ounce of exaggeration, a masterclass in classical romance. it was the kind of prose that would make sixteenth-century poets throw their quills into a well and give up. he’d written about the way your laughter sounded like the exact resonant frequency needed to shatter his ribs from the inside out. he’d compared your eyes to the stable nucleus of an atom—the only thing holding his chaotic, electron-cloud of a brain together. it was poetic. it was devastatingly tender. it was enough to make a grown volleyball captain weep into his knee pads.

and, with the tactical precision of a stealth bomber, he had slipped it directly into chapter four of your organic chemistry textbook during study period while you were distracted trying to untangle your wired headphones.

he’d gone home that night, buried his face into his pillow, and kicked his legs like a victorian maiden who had just been perceived by a duke. he fully expected a text by 8:00 pm. a tearful confession by 8:30 pm. perhaps a marriage proposal by next tuesday.

instead, you showed up to school the next morning, aggressively yawning, and used that exact textbook as a makeshift shield against the morning sun while sitting on the brick wall outside the gym.

kuroo watched you from five feet away, his soul slowly evaporating from his body like rubbing alcohol left out in the sun. you didn’t even open the book. you just used the heavy-weight cover to fan yourself when the humidity hit. the actual love of his life was using his bleeding-heart declaration of eternal devotion to circulate lukewarm morning air onto her collarbones.

“you look like you’re tracking a gazelle,” kenma murmured from beside him, eyes glued to a handheld screen. “and not in a cool, predator way. more like a very sad, hungry dog.”

“she didn’t read it,” kuroo whispered, his voice cracking like a dry twig. “kenma. the paper density alone should have changed the gravitational pull of the textbook. how did she not feel the shift in equilibrium?”

“maybe she just hates chemistry.”

“impossible,” kuroo hissed, clutching his chest. “i’m chemistry.”

phase two required a complete lack of subtlety. if you wouldn’t stumble upon his heart by accident, he would simply have to leave breadcrumbs.

the next afternoon, you opened your locker to find a small, neon-pink post-it note stuck directly onto the metal grated vents. written in shaky, black sharpie was a clue that looked less like a romantic hint and more like a ransom note from a criminal who specialized in stem subjects:

‘the elements of life are carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, and oxygen. but the element of my life is currently trapped on page 142. look closer, or i will literally spontaneously combust on the cafeteria floor.’

you blinked at the sticky note. you reached out, peeled it off, and stared at it for a solid three minutes. kuroo, who was hiding behind the corner of the hallway with his face pressed so hard against the brickwork that his nose was flattened, held his breath. this was it. the catalyst. the moment you would pull out the textbook, flip to page 142, and realize that he was completely, utterly, and devastatingly yours.

instead, you let out a soft snort, muttered, “yaku must have lost a bet to standard level science,” and stuck the pink note onto the front of your binder because you liked the shade of neon.

from behind the wall, kuroo felt his knees give way. he slid down the bricks until he was sitting flat on the linoleum, a hand dramatically draped over his eyes. his heart was performing a full, aggressive drum solo against his sternum, furious at the rejection it hadn’t even technically received yet.

by day three, the desperation had reached a critical mass. kuroo tetsurō was a man possessed by a singular, burning directive: make the prettiest girl in the third-year corridor realize that he wanted to hold her hand until their joints turned to dust. he couldn’t function. he missed three consecutive serves in practice because he kept visualizing the exact layout of page 142 and wondering if he should have used a highlighter.

“if you don’t fix whatever is rotting your brain, i’m going to set your shoes on fire,” yaku warned during evening clean-up, leaning heavily on a broom. “you’ve been staring at that volleyball like it owes you alimony.”

“it’s an intellectual standoff,” kuroo said, his voice hollow as he rolled a ball between his palms. “a battle of wits. she’s testing my resolve, yaku. she’s checking to see if my devotion can withstand the vacuum of her absolute oblivion.”

“she doesn’t know you left a note, does she?” kenma called out from the bench, not looking up.

kuroo threw himself backward onto the polished gym floor, starfish-ing beneath the bright fluorescent lights. “i made it so obvious! i used neon! i referenced atomic structures! what else does she want from me? a billboard? a sky-writer? should i tattoo the chemical equation for dopamine onto my forehead?”

the next morning, he forfeited all remaining scraps of his dignity. if poetry wouldn’t work, and clues wouldn’t work, then raw, unadulterated public exposure would have to suffice.

you walked down the science wing at 7:50 am, holding a half-eaten convenience store bun, only to find a small crowd of second-years hovering around your locker. they were whispering, giggling behind their hands, and pointing at the metal door.

as you approached, the crowd parted like the red sea, revealing the monstrosity kuroo had unleashed upon the school infrastructure.

there, stuck entirely to the center of your locker with roughly four entire rolls of heavy-duty, industrial neon green painter’s tape, was the original, beautiful, cream-colored love letter. it was trapped beneath a lattice of green adhesive so thick it looked like it could withstand a category five hurricane. and slapped right on top of the whole mess was a giant piece of cardboard ripped from an old volleyball equipment box, featuring a frantic, jagged scrawl:

“please for the love of god notice my affection. page 142 was an innervation of my entire soul. i’m begging you to interact with this literature.”

you stood frozen, your bun halfway to your mouth.

from the far end of the hall, leaning against a drinking fountain with his arms crossed in a position he clearly thought looked casual but actually made him look like he was suffering from severe muscle spasms, was kuroo. his signature bedhead seemed even more chaotic than usual, a few strands sticking straight up like frantic antennae. his face was completely flushed, a deep, dark crimson that started at the tips of his ears and pooled all the way down into the collar of his school uniform.

you looked from the neon green monstrosity on your locker, to the heavy-grade paper trapped underneath, and then finally down the hall at him.

the silence stretched. a second-year student cleared their throat nervously.

slowly, you walked over to the locker. instead of tearing the cardboard off, you carefully slipped your fingers under the edge of the painter’s tape, working at the thick adhesive until you managed to pull the cream-colored letter out from its bright green cage. it was a bit crinkled at the borders, but the elegant, sweeping ink was fully intact.

you flipped to the back, your eyes scanning the dense, beautiful paragraphs where he had written about how your presence made his brain short-circuit like a faulty capacitor. you read the lines where he confessed, with terrifying honesty, that he spent his biology lectures drawing the exact curve of your shoulder blades in the margins of his notebook.

your chest did something strange—a sudden, warm domain expansion that felt remarkably like a small firework detonating right behind your ribs. your face grew hot, the heat spreading rapidly across your cheeks as the sheer weight of his ridiculous, beautiful, overwhelming feelings hit you full-force.

you folded the paper carefully, tucked it into your blazer pocket, and began marching down the hallway straight toward him.

kuroo’s eyes widened. the cool, leaning posture evaporated instantly. he straightened up so fast his spine made an audible clicking sound, his hands dropping to his sides like a soldier caught off guard. “uh. hey. so. the tape is entirely bio-degradable, if you were worried about the school property damage—”

you stopped right in front of him, reached out, and grabbed the lapels of his uniform jacket, tugging him downward so he was forced to bend his absurdly tall frame until his face was level with yours.

“you absolute menace,” you breathed, your voice a mix of a breathless laugh and total disbelief. “you could have just told me you liked me during lunch. you didn’t need to sacrifice a perfectly good moving box.”

kuroo stared at you, his eyes auditing your lips and then back up to your eyes, his brain completely liquefying under the proximity. up close, you could see the tiny, frantic flutter of the pulse point in his throat.

“but the prose,” he squeaked out, his voice a full octave higher than normal before he cleared his throat and tried to recover his usual low drawl. “the prose was exquisite. i compared you to a stable isotope. that’s high praise coming from a guy who fails literature.”

“it was incredibly dramatic,” you agreed, your thumbs brushing against the fabric of his blazer. “and it’s the most beautiful thing i’ve ever read. even if it was buried under three pounds of adhesive.”

kuroo’s expression softened, the frantic, manic energy draining out of him all at once, replaced by something so profoundly tender and vulnerable it made your stomach do a backflip. he reached up, his large, warm hand covering yours where you held his lapels, his thumb gently smoothing over your knuckles.

“so,” he whispered, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through his nerves, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. “does this mean the experiment was a success? are we experiencing a mutual reaction?”

“we are,” you said, letting go of his jacket only to slide your fingers into his, locking your hand with his large, calloused one. “but you’re still helping me scrape that green tape off my locker before the vice principal sees it.”

kuroo let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed down the corridor, squeezing your hand so tightly it felt like he never intended to let go, his chest swelling with enough joy to lift a house off its foundations.

n: my beloved @ryomenlettuce asked for this, huehuehue.. it’s from my scrapped ideas 

© showhay — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.

iloveu

[thypaperkwenn]

childhood friends to lovers...

[idiakisser]

found you

(ignore how i forgot his shark teeth)

[feefal]

Daydreamer anatomy☁️

These individuals tend to have their head in the clouds, and are reported to prefer the escapism of fiction over reality.

[f9lix]

OUTFREAKED !

akaashi x fem!reader

IN WHICH — your boyfriend, keiji akaashi, manages to catch you off guard each time

EXTRA — crack, established relationship, fluff, slight ooc (he’s supposed to be a lil weird), based on these two requests (1 & 2)

A/N — no harm was caused to any fictional bird in this smau. molting is a thing and birds do drop their feathers naturally. any complaints should be directed to @lovedlorned, my vet wife 🙈 also, im still working on the suna obsession au, this is me clearing out my drafts !

click here for more works ♡

TAGLIST (comment or fill out this form to be added) — @lovedlorned @kagstobioisthelightofmylife @imallamaninjaistg @suoyato @iwillnoteatdogs @jiacheriee @huhyeni @radioactivefarts @ollysbeard @telepatiiaaa @sunnyl1ght @catgvrl

[gh0stfl0wer25]

Il how my academic teachers introduce themsleves with slides and give a lot of info about themselves and then my art teachers (most of them) are like "hello I am mr./ms./mrs. Blah blah blah. I do this. I work in this. I may or may not have kids. That's all you're getting I will remain an enigma to you until one event happens in your life and we end up building a close bond where I relate to you and your experiences as a young artist."

[kos-tyan]

bro is fighting for his life but the sneaky pinky is too close to the danger zone

[velvetterabby]

Infinity ♾️ miku

[anilameart]

❤️‍🔥 Mavuika ❤️‍🔥

[dxnut00]

haiiii!!!👋👋👋

[larskukka]

Mother’s warmth

[kirislut]

nekoma vbc with a bookworm manager

request from anon: Nekoma with a bookworm manager? Like if the team are out together and they walk past a bookstore, she’ll slow down while eyeing it (me 🤡) and Kuroo or Kenma have to grab onto her hand or sleeve and pull her back with the rest of the group (“Wait lets go for a bit!” “No, you just told us last week that you need to start reading the books you have at home”) and she’ll walk into practice all proud like “Guess who just bought TWO books for $26, that’s the price of one in a regular store! I love secondhand stores” (also me two days ago, yes I’m very proud of my purchase) and she’s just always reading. Who’d ask her about the latest book she’s reading, who’d ask for/give recommendations, who’s arm or jacket would she hold to guide her while she walks and reads (first time she does this to Taketora he nearly cries I just know it), who buddy reads with her (aka they read the same book together, kind of like how you watch a show with a friend and tell them not to “go too ahead of you”) and anything else you can think of!

a/n: i’m assuming you wanted a fem reader since you used fem pronouns! so i hope you like it hehe, i need to read books more T-T

pairings: nekoma vbc x fem!reader

warnings: none!

taglist (open): @katsushimaa @animatedarchives @peach-pops @deephasoceanmagic @goopyartiste @sugas-sweetheart @shoutamajiki @justamultifandomfan16 @spookykiri @yee-harr @colorseeingchick @tetsurolls @meliorist-midoriya @olsenholic @ordinary-ace @bunnythepipsqueak @sushii10 @sunseteyes @aaakaaashii @aizawaslovebot @rousouhouuu @eighth-wanderer @combat-wombatus @anikazoldeck

the nekoma vbc has wanted a manager for a long time, we all know this

so when you showed up they were so excited! not to mention you were really cute, however their excitement wavered when they noticed how you always had your nose poked into a book

they still thought you were very cute don’t worry about that hehe

when you walk home with the boys, there’s this one bookstore you always pass

and every single time you always slow down and eye up the books at the front window to see if there was nothing new

but kuroo will always grab your sleeve and drag you away from the bookstore as you whine about just window shopping

though he always reminds you that you have lots of books at home you still need to read, but you’ll just end up going there on the weekend anyways without the boys pfft

during practice kenma will have tell you to put your book away, but this is only because kuroo used to tell you but you stopped listening to him so he threatened to take kenma’s handheld console if you were still reading during practice and no one wants to deal with an angry kenma 

boy will fight you, no hesitation, he needs to game

yaku is your book buddy, the two of you would be exchanging recommendations and sometimes even read a book at the same time so you can talk about it together

book buddy goals honestly

but also i can see yaku being kinda picky about the books he reads so sadly you both don’t read the same books to often and also because volleyball does take up a lot of his time

the person you talk to about your books is lev! but not intellectually ya know,, he just really likes to hear about cool stories!

so during breaks or whenever you guys walk home or hang out you’ll summarize the latest book you’ve been reading, but it has to be interesting enough for lev because if not he will zone out

he doesn’t mean to though he just doesn’t find it interesting!

 fukunaga always lets you hold onto him as you read, inuoka actually used to be your walking stick but he kept reading your book as well and ended up running into things and people

so fukunaga gladly volunteered to be your new walking stick

lev once threw your book at yaku in frustration and kai and kuroo had to hold you back from possibly murdering lev because he disrespected your book 

for your birthday the team all pitched in to get the author of your favorite book/book series to sign a copy of one of their books for you to have

aND they even all read it so that they can finally talk to you about it

they felt bad for not knowing your favorite book/book series so now you guys all geek out and talk about it!!

[seleneelune-deactivated20251014]

[weaseltotheface]

Everybody say "thank you south america" for the humble potato

[weaseltotheface]

Actually let's get specific with it

*checks wiki*

Everybody say thank you indigenous people of present-day southern Peru and extreme northwestern Bolivia from 7-10,000 years ago for the humble potato