loving him is a rose with thorns; beauty that makes me bleed. i wished for him with everything inside me. and the tragic thing is that i know he likes me too, but the echoes of our pasts deny us a happy ending.
i catch him looking at me with such bright eyes and i look away shyly, but i always find myself looking back because golden eyes like his deserve to be memorized.
oikawa who is convinced to go skiing with skier!reader. he can't ski, but doesn't want to look dumb, so he lies and says he's done double black diamond before. next thing you know he crashes during on green circle hill you two did as a warmup.
i ski and this has been on my mind for a few days now, he's such a loser
hELppppppppp this is so accurate HAHAH.
you know he absolutely said to iwaizumi before the two of you left “how hard can it be?” and iwaizumi just kept his mouth shut for the sake of ✨ free entertainment ✨ (knowing you’d be texting him videos of oikawa eating shit on bunny slopes all weekend)
adhd is procrastinating all of your work until the very last minute just cause you don't feel like doing it resulting in absolute panic as you slowly approach inexcapable dread
i used to think it was loud like fireworks. i thought it smelled like roses and lillies and candles. i thought it was bold like the color red and like fancy cars.
but falling in love with you is different. it's quiet.
it's like the two of us dancing to a new song. it's sweet the smell of your shirt and the feel of your hand in mine. it's soft like falling snow and the sound of you playing piano. it's innocent like the shine in your eyes and the curve of your smile.
bakugou who swears he’s not listening—always turns when you laugh.
𖦹 content. k.bakugou x reader. fluff.
It started as a small thing, something no one really noticed at first.
Whenever you laughed, Bakugou’s head would snap toward the sound. Instantly. Instinctively. Like someone had pressed a switch in his brain labeled you.
Didn’t matter if he was in the middle of eating, training, or yelling at Kaminari—his eyes would flick in your direction the second that soft, genuine sound left your lips.
At first, Kirishima thought it was funny.
“Dude,” he whispered one day during lunch, leaning close with that toothy grin of his, “you know your neck’s gonna break one day if you keep doing that.”
Bakugou scowled. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”
Kirishima raised an eyebrow, tilting his chin toward you where you were laughing with Mina across the table. Like clockwork, Bakugou’s head snapped around again.
Kirishima nearly howled.
“See?! Bro, you’re like a dog hearing its owner’s voice—”
Bakugou glared at him, but it didn’t help his case that you laughed again at that exact moment—and his eyes darted over again, completely betraying him.
Kirishima bit back a grin. “You don’t even realize it, huh?”
Bakugou grumbled, “Realize what?”
“That you don’t just turn your head when she laughs,” Kirishima said. “You smile.”
Bakugou clicked his tongue. “Tch. Shut up.”
But when he heard your laugh echo again, soft and bright, his head turned.
I’m obsessed with the telepath reader fics. They are so good! I was wondering if you could do one of sugawara cause you know his thoughts would be totally unhinged,Or Nishinoya cause I’m obsessed with him too 💕
Absolutely no rush at all, keep up the amazing work! 🥰
ferocity
— accidentally hearing kōshi’s brain is like opening 300 tabs of “how to kiss your crush without combusting on impact.”
sugawara kōshi x telepath!f!reader
c: fluff!!
AAAAAAA THANK U SWEET ANON, I LOVE U!
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you’ve had a crush on sugawara kōshi for approximately forever.
the kind of crush where your stomach does olympic gymnastics every time he looks at you, where you find yourself staring at the back of his neck in class wondering if necks have always been that… grabbable. you know, normal things.
but the problem is: sugawara is nice. so nice. dangerously, fatally, terminally nice.
he smiles at everyone, remembers their birthdays, helps kids with math problems like some sort of math fairy, and laughs at daichi’s dad jokes like daichi deserves that validation.
so your rational little brain went:
obviously, he doesn’t like me like that. he’s just Nice™. i am but one potato in his potato sack of kindness.
and then wednesday happened.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you wake up with the sudden, horrifying, not-at-all-normal ability to hear thoughts. which sounds fun in theory—like, hello superhero arc—but in practice? it’s basically shoving your head into a blender of intrusive thoughts.
tanaka’s brain? chaos and screaming.
noya’s brain? louder chaos and screaming with bonus acrobatics.
daichi’s brain? constant low-level panic, like a man who’s babysitting twenty toddlers who loves sucking volleyballs.
and then there’s sugawara.
you didn’t mean to peek inside, swear. you were just sitting there, doodling in the gym, when his thoughts suddenly slammed into you like a truck full of confessions.
‘don’t look at her legs. don’t. stop. legs are illegal. she’s literally just tying her shoe and you look like a pervert, oh my god.’
you freeze.
‘she’s so cute i could physically pass out. if i breathe near her will she know i’m in love with her? probably. she probably knows. wait no she doesn’t, she’s oblivious. god i love her obliviousness. i’d marry that obliviousness. i’d take it out to dinner.’
your pencil clatters to the floor.
‘do not imagine her sitting on your lap in front of the entire team. do not imagine—stop. stop. STOP. KŌSHI.’
you choke. actually choke. and suga, bless his heart, looks over immediately with genuine worry like he didn’t just think about you committing lap crimes.
“hey, you okay?” he asks, smiling, angelic.
his brain, meanwhile:
‘please say yes, please don’t die, i still haven’t kissed you and i’d never forgive myself if your ghost knew that.’
…oh. oh no.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
turns out sugawara kōshi is not just nice.
sugawara kōshi is feral.
every practice from then on is a battlefield.
you try to focus on anything else, but his thoughts are so loud it’s like someone left twenty radios on in the same room.
like during stretches:
‘holy arms. holy perfect arms. i want to bite. not in a cannibal way. in a sexy affectionate way. why am i like this.’
during drills:
‘if she cheers for me i’ll literally combust. no i’ll double combust. i’ll triple combust. spontaneous human combustion but make it love.’
and god help you the day you wore his jacket because you were cold:
‘marry me. marry me. marry me. i’ll buy a ring tomorrow. no. today. she’s never giving that jacket back and i don’t even care. take my whole wardrobe, take my whole life, i’ll live shirtless in the mountains if i must.’
the worst part is? he acts so normal.
you’d never know that his brain is basically a 24/7 shrine dedicated to you, featuring unhinged prayers and mental fanfiction.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
of course, it escalates.
you’re sitting on the bleachers one afternoon, flipping through your notes, when his thoughts start rolling in again.
‘her hair looks so soft. i bet it smells like heaven. if i got to bury my face in it i’d never recover. i’d ascend like a holy man.’
you snort, loudly. too loudly.
suga looks up from his water bottle, raising a brow. “what’s funny?”
his brain:
‘she’s laughing. is she laughing at me? god, she’s so cute when she laughs. i’d let her laugh at my funeral. i’d stage a funeral just for it.’
you almost slip off the bleachers.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
it doesn’t help that he is handsy.
not in a creepy way, just in a very sugawara way—leaning against your shoulder to peek at your phone, nudging you when you’re quiet, ruffling your hair when you nail a test.
‘don’t ruffle. don’t touch. STOP TOUCHING. she’s gonna notice you’re in love with her. wait. does she already know? no. she’s too oblivious. god i love her. oh no. oh yes. i’m doomed.’
and every time, you bite your tongue to keep from blurting ‘i can hear you, you chaotic man!’
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the moment it fully breaks you is after practice one day.
you’re both staying late—him working on serves, you scribbling homework—and he sits beside you, sweaty and unfairly gorgeous, and asks, “want to walk home together?”
his brain is screaming.
‘if she says yes i’m going to melt. like candle wax. i’ll be a puddle on the sidewalk. please say yes. i’ll carry her bag. i’ll carry her. i’ll carry the entire road home if she wants.’
you say yes. of course you say yes.
and the whole walk home you’re dying because he’s trying so hard to play it cool, hands in pockets, talking about teachers and volleyball and food.
but his mind is like:
‘hold her hand. hold her hand. HOLD HER HAND. oh god don’t hold her hand too aggressively, what if you break it? what if you hold it wrong? what if her hand is allergic to mine? i’d still hold it. i’d die holding it.’
you can’t take it anymore.
“suga,” you blurt, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.
he turns, smiling—bright, kind, deceptively normal. “yeah?”
you blurt the only thing you can: “i like you.”
for one blessed second, his brain goes dead silent.
and then it explodes.
‘SHE LIKES ME? SHE LIKES ME. OH MY GOD. BOOM SHAKALAKA YESS GAWWWDDD! THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE. NO THIS IS THE BEST DAY IN THE HISTORY OF DAYS. I’M GONNA FAINT. NO, DON’T FAINT, KŌSHI, KISS HER. KISS HER BEFORE SHE CHANGES HER MIND.’
before you can laugh, he grabs your face and kisses you like his brain has been threatening to for weeks—messy, desperate, sweet enough to rot your teeth straight out.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
later, when you’re both breathless and dazed, he whispers, “you really like me?”
and his mind, bless it, goes:
‘please say yes, please say yes, i’ll never be normal again if you don’t say yes.’
you grin. “yeah, i do.”
and his smile is so blinding it almost makes up for the fact that you’re going to have to live with his ridiculous, love-drunk brain screaming about you forever.
‘marry me. wait not yet. soon. but definitely marry me. oh god, she’s perfect. i’m so doomed. i love being doomed.’
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
and you think: maybe being doomed isn’t so bad when it’s sugawara doing the dooming.
hi hiii i loveeee the way you write suna!!! can you do one where reader has to share a bed with suna? all fluff ofc!!!!
velcro
— you share one bed with rintarō and he acts like you’re gravity, religion, and tax fraud all at once.
suna rintarō x f!reader
c: fluff!
thank yew ♡⸜(ˆᗜˆ˵ )⸝♡ and thank you for requesting, bby! mwua!
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
there’s only one bed. one.
a singular, pathetic rectangle of fluff sitting in the middle of the room like it knows exactly what it’s done.
“...we can share,” you say, voice easy, unconcerned, like you haven’t just ripped suna’s soul straight out of his body with a smile.
“yeah,” he replies, and if his voice sounds slightly strangled, that’s between him and god.
the air feels thick. like soup. anxiety soup. desire soup. pure suffering stew. suna stands there, arms limp at his sides, staring at the bed like he’s trying to math his way into celibacy.
he’s been through volleyball finals, national tournaments, and atsumu’s questionable karaoke nights—but nothing has ever tested his mental endurance quite like this.
you toss your bag onto the nightstand, turning around to grin at him. “you’re okay with that, right?”
no. he’s not okay with that. he’s so far from okay that okay has packed its things and moved to another continent.
but he nods anyway, because the sight of you smiling at him makes his brain short-circuit.
“sure,” he says, monotone, trying to hide the way his pulse sounds like a heavy metal drum solo in his ears.
you, in your oblivious glory, hum and start changing into your pajamas. in the same room. like it’s no big deal. like you’re not the most dangerous creature alive right now, soft and unbothered and trusting him.
he turns away instantly, jaw tight, eyes on the wall like it’s the most fascinating object in japan.
the wall doesn’t judge. the wall doesn’t tempt. the wall doesn’t have your laugh, your warmth, your everything that makes him want to tear his hair out and scream into the pillow.
“you can look, i’m not naked,” you tease, voice light.
oh, good, suna thinks blankly, so i can die with my eyes open then.
when you finally crawl into bed, you take the side nearest the window, tugging the blanket around yourself. suna hovers for a moment, debating whether he should sleep on the floor, where at least gravity will keep him humble.
but then you look up at him, eyes sleepy and trusting, and murmur, “come on, rin. it’s cold.”
and that’s it. that’s his downfall.
suna gets in carefully, like he’s defusing a bomb made of feelings and poor impulse control. the mattress dips under his weight, and suddenly, he’s too aware—of your warmth, of your scent (why do you smell like comfort and disaster mixed together?), of how close you are.
there’s maybe a handspan between you. maybe less.
he stares at the ceiling. doesn’t breathe. can’t breathe.
you shift, soft and sleepy, muttering something unintelligible before tucking your head against his shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
his entire nervous system just shuts down.
his heart? gone. replaced by a foghorn of panic and devotion.
his soul? left the chat.
his brain? buffering. endlessly buffering.
“you okay?” you mumble, voice muffled against his shirt.
he makes a noise that’s somewhere between a cough and a desperate cry for help. “yeah. fine. totally fine. i’m thriving.”
“you sound like you’re dying.”
because i am, he thinks, but all that comes out is, “mhm.”
you smile, half-asleep, and he feels the curve of it against his collarbone. “you’re warm. i like that.”
oh, cool. great. phenomenal.
you like his body heat.
he likes you so much he could combust and haunt this room forever.
suna has officially lost every shred of dignity he’s ever had. he’s lying perfectly still, trying not to move, breathe, or exist too loudly.
but then your hand—your traitorous hand—finds his shirt, fisting it lightly, keeping him close even in your sleep.
he thinks his heart skips a beat. then another. then maybe four.
you make a soft noise, snuggling closer, and suna’s entire body tenses like someone plugged him into a power outlet.
he wants to hold you back.
he wants to wrap an arm around you, bury his face in your hair, maybe whisper things he shouldn’t.
he wants to keep you like this forever—warm, peaceful, tucked against him, where no one else can touch you or even think about you.
he doesn’t. he can’t. because that would make him dangerous.
and he’s already toeing that line like a man who’s forgotten what boundaries are.
but then, you shift again, throwing one leg over his, effectively ending him.
his eyes fly open. “...oh, my god.”
you blink up at him sleepily. “hm?”
he looks at you—your messy hair, your sleepy eyes, your half-smile—and something snaps.
“nothing,” he whispers hoarsely, “just… trying not to pass away.”
you laugh, the sound soft and lazy, and it hurts.
it physically hurts to love someone this much.
“you’re so dramatic, rin,” you murmur, yawning. “goodnight.”
“yeah,” he breathes. “goodnight.”
he doesn’t sleep. not really.
he spends the night staring at the ceiling, every time you shift, he flinches like you’re detonating his nervous system.
when you breathe against his neck, he swears he sees god.
and then, around 3 a.m., something happens.
you murmur his name, voice fragile and drowsy. “rin?”
“yeah?”
“can you—hug me? just for a bit. can’t sleep.”
it takes him exactly zero seconds to comply. he moves like he’s been waiting all his life for this moment. his arm slips around your waist, his hand resting against the small of your back, pulling you close.
you sigh contentedly, pressing your face into his chest, and he melts.
completely. utterly. spectacularly.
you whisper, “you’re comfy,” and he swallows hard.
“yeah?” he murmurs, voice trembling slightly. “you too.”
“you smell nice.”
he might actually cry. right here. right now.
you drift off soon after, breathing soft and steady, while suna stays wide awake, mind spinning in a thousand directions.
you trust him so much it makes him feel sick with affection. it’s the kind of trust that makes his hands shake, that makes his heart ache with something sharp and unspoken.
he buries his nose in your hair. just once.
inhales quietly, reverently.
you smell like sleep and sweetness and something that feels like home.
he knows he shouldn’t think about keeping you here forever—wrapped up in his arms, safe and untouchable—but the thought creeps in anyway, soft and dangerous.
when morning comes, sunlight spills through the curtains, golden and gentle. you stir first, groggy, and realize how tightly he’s holding you.
“rin?”
he opens his eyes, blinking slowly, caught like a criminal.
“you’re... kind of hugging me like i’m gonna float away,” you mumble, cheeks pink.
he grins lazily, voice low and unapologetic. “yeah. can’t help it.”
you stare at him, half-amused, half-flustered. “you’re ridiculous.”
“probably,” he admits, tightening his hold for just a second. “but you’re warm.”
and when you laugh again, when your hand gently pats his chest and you don’t pull away—
that’s the moment suna rintarō decides that if he ever has to share a bed with you again, he’s not leaving a single inch of space between you.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the hotel room checked out at noon, but suna checked out of sanity somewhere around 11:47 p.m.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a: sorry everyone! i fell down 2 flights of stairs while i was omw to class but i still finished the day 😛
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