kittenisstarstruck

[kittenisstarstruck]

i noticed ur asks r open but if this makes u uncomfortable feel free to ignore but i was wonddering if you could do a small daichi or sugawara x first year!fem! reaader??? and js in genral how'd their relationship would be like?

ty for taking the time to read this!

hmmmm wait maybe i've got something here >>

The first day of college was not going as planned.

You’d left your apartment early, map screenshot in hand, backpack packed the night before, and your brand-new shoes laced tight with quiet determination.

But all the planning in the world couldn’t save you from two things:

The confusing maze of campus buildings.

The twisted ankle you got from tripping over an uneven curb outside the admin building.

You’d tried to shake it off, of course. It wasn’t that bad. You could walk, technically. It just… hurt. A little more with every step. And now, as you stood between two nearly identical classroom buildings with no clear signage and your phone refusing to load the map, you were two seconds away from giving up and sitting on the nearest bench to cry.

“Hey,” a warm, low voice said from just behind you. “You okay?”

You turned around, startled—and looked up into the face of someone who could only be described as effortlessly solid.

Dark hair. Steady brown eyes. The kind of face that made you think this guy’s either a campus security officer or a golden retriever in human form.

“I—uh,” you stammered, taking a step back—and immediately wincing as your ankle reminded you it still wasn’t happy.

He noticed.

“Ankle?” he guessed.

You nodded, embarrassed. “Yeah. Slipped earlier. It’s not bad. I’m fine.”

“Right,” he said, clearly not convinced. “Let me guess. First-year?”

“…Is it that obvious?”

He grinned. “Only a little. And definitely lost?”

“Completely,” you admitted with a sigh. “I’m trying to get to Building H, room 217. Stats class. But this place is like a labyrinth and my GPS hates me.”

He chuckled, then slung his backpack higher on his shoulder. “I’m heading that way. Come on, I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know. But I want to.” He glanced down at your foot. “And you shouldn’t be wandering around alone with a bad ankle.”

You hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Okay. Thank you…?”

“Daichi. Sawamura Daichi.”

That name rang a faint bell—maybe someone had mentioned him during orientation? Regardless, you followed him, trying not to limp too obviously. He adjusted his stride to match yours without a word.

“Stats, huh?” he asked after a moment. “Brave choice for a first class of the semester.”

“I figured I’d get the suffering out of the way early.”

He laughed, a low, pleasant sound. “Smart. I took it last year—it’s not too bad once you get past the first few chapters.”

“Guess I’ll find out soon enough,” you muttered, then added, “So what year are you?”

“Third. Crim justice major.” He gave you a side glance. “If you ever need someone to help interrogate your stats professor, I’m your guy.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Noted.”

When you reached your building, he held the door open and waited while you limped through. The hallway inside was buzzing with students, but he kept a hand lightly on your elbow so you didn’t get jostled.

“Room 217’s up the stairs, but…” He glanced down at your ankle. “You sure you can make it?”

You looked up at the long staircase and winced. “Not… gracefully.”

He looked thoughtful, then offered, “You want me to carry your bag? Or you could lean on me.”

Your eyes widened. “You’d… let me lean on you?”

He gave a small shrug, easy and sincere. “Of course. I mean, unless that’s weird.”

“…No. Not weird.”

So, you did.

It was awkward for maybe two seconds—until he joked, “You’re light. Definitely under the weight limit.”

You laughed, and just like that, the tension melted. He helped you up the stairs, steady and patient, and even waited outside the classroom until you were fully seated.

“Thanks again,” you said, finally settling into your chair. “Seriously. I might’ve cried in a bush without you.”

He gave you a warm smile. “No problem. And hey—if you need help with stats, let me know. I still have my notes.”

Your heart did a small, unexpected flutter. “You’d tutor me?”

“Sure,” he said easily. “We’ll trade—I’ll help you pass stats, and you keep me updated on which campus vending machines are least disappointing.”

You grinned. “Deal.”

Daichi smiled one last time, then gave a small wave before disappearing back down the hallway.

And as the professor started setting up slides, you stared at the door just a second longer than necessary—ankle still aching, heart suddenly not quite so heavy.

If college was supposed to be the beginning of a beautiful new era, yours was off to a catastrophic start.

Your ankle throbbed from twisting it on a curb during the mad dash across campus. Your phone had 8% battery left. You hadn’t eaten since last night because your nerves made you forget breakfast. And your first class of the semester? Already started five minutes ago.

You tried to limp quietly through the hallway, heat rising in your cheeks as your shoe scuffed the tile with every uneven step. Room 204… 205…

“206,” you breathed in relief, grabbing the door handle.

And that’s when your folder, awkwardly tucked under your arm, slipped and exploded across the floor like confetti. Papers fanned out everywhere—syllabus, notes, and the little hand-drawn map of campus you were trying not to admit you’d made.

You just… stood there for a second. Hovering awkwardly in the doorway, blinking down at the mess.

“Wow,” you whispered under your breath. “I’m killing it.”

“Need a hand?” came a soft voice beside you.

You turned—and looked straight into the kindest gray eyes you’d ever seen.

The boy crouching to help gather your papers had silver hair, a soft sweater pushed up to his elbows, and a smile that somehow made your panic quiet down just a bit.

“I—I’m sorry,” you said immediately, dropping to your knees despite the flare of pain in your ankle. “I didn’t mean to hold everyone up—”

“Hey, you’re good,” he said gently, stacking your notes before offering them back to you. “Professor’s still figuring out the projector. You’re actually early, by college standards.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

“Mmhm. Trust me. No one’s judging you.” He paused, then nodded to your foot. “But I am a little worried about that limp.”

You froze, internally groaning. “You saw that?”

He grinned, tilting his head playfully. “Saw it. Heard it. Felt it in my soul a little.”

Despite yourself, you laughed.

“It’s nothing,” you added quickly. “I just… missed a step earlier. It’s fine.”

“You sure?” He opened the door for you and followed you inside. “Because if you faint from pain halfway through class, I’ll feel guilty for not insisting you see the nurse.”

You glanced at him as you made your way to a seat near the back, carefully lowering yourself into the chair.

“I’m really okay,” you assured. “It’s just… kind of a terrible first day.”

“Ah,” he said, sitting beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. “So you’re one of those first-years.”

You gave him a look. “Those?”

“The ones the universe picks on for no reason during the first week,” he said dramatically. “I was one too. Ripped my jeans, forgot my schedule, spilled coffee down the front of my hoodie. My reputation never recovered.”

You cracked a smile, shoulders relaxing for the first time all morning. “Glad to know I’m not alone.”

“You’re not,” he said warmly, then added with a little smirk, “But, since we’re classmates now, I feel like I should properly introduce myself.”

He held out his hand.

“Sugawara Kōshi. Second year. Bringer of good luck and extra pens.”

You took his hand, trying not to look too flustered. “(Y/N). First year. Disaster in human form.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Disaster.”

You snorted.

By the time the professor finally started the lecture, your ankle still ached, your phone was probably dead, and you still hadn’t eaten—but somehow, everything didn’t feel quite so awful anymore.

Not when Sugawara leaned over halfway through to whisper jokes about the syllabus margins.

Not when he offered to send you his notes afterward, just in case you missed anything.

Not when he waited after class and casually said, “I know the best vending machine on campus, by the way. Let me walk you there before you pass out.”

And definitely not when he added, just as you limped beside him:

“You know… first days suck, but they get better. Especially if you have someone to sit next to.”

[kittenisstarstruck]

RUNAAAAAA

RUNA YOU BLESS MEEEE

Sugawara is the kind of boyfriend who wakes up early just to tuck the blanket back over you before leaving for practice, kissing your forehead as softly as a whisper. He leaves you little sticky notes around the house—sweet nothings, corny puns, or reminders like “drink water, you adorable cryptid 💕” just to make you smile when he’s not around.

[kittenisstarstruck]

idk about yall but i WILL talk to the people who reply to my posts

i cant help it let's fangirl together

[kittenisstarstruck]

i noticed ur asks r open but if this makes u uncomfortable feel free to ignore but i was wonddering if you could do a small daichi or sugawara x first year!fem! reaader??? and js in genral how'd their relationship would be like?

ty for taking the time to read this!

hmmmm wait maybe i've got something here >>

The first day of college was not going as planned.

You’d left your apartment early, map screenshot in hand, backpack packed the night before, and your brand-new shoes laced tight with quiet determination.

But all the planning in the world couldn’t save you from two things:

The confusing maze of campus buildings.

The twisted ankle you got from tripping over an uneven curb outside the admin building.

You’d tried to shake it off, of course. It wasn’t that bad. You could walk, technically. It just… hurt. A little more with every step. And now, as you stood between two nearly identical classroom buildings with no clear signage and your phone refusing to load the map, you were two seconds away from giving up and sitting on the nearest bench to cry.

“Hey,” a warm, low voice said from just behind you. “You okay?”

You turned around, startled—and looked up into the face of someone who could only be described as effortlessly solid.

Dark hair. Steady brown eyes. The kind of face that made you think this guy’s either a campus security officer or a golden retriever in human form.

“I—uh,” you stammered, taking a step back—and immediately wincing as your ankle reminded you it still wasn’t happy.

He noticed.

“Ankle?” he guessed.

You nodded, embarrassed. “Yeah. Slipped earlier. It’s not bad. I’m fine.”

“Right,” he said, clearly not convinced. “Let me guess. First-year?”

“…Is it that obvious?”

He grinned. “Only a little. And definitely lost?”

“Completely,” you admitted with a sigh. “I’m trying to get to Building H, room 217. Stats class. But this place is like a labyrinth and my GPS hates me.”

He chuckled, then slung his backpack higher on his shoulder. “I’m heading that way. Come on, I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know. But I want to.” He glanced down at your foot. “And you shouldn’t be wandering around alone with a bad ankle.”

You hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Okay. Thank you…?”

“Daichi. Sawamura Daichi.”

That name rang a faint bell—maybe someone had mentioned him during orientation? Regardless, you followed him, trying not to limp too obviously. He adjusted his stride to match yours without a word.

“Stats, huh?” he asked after a moment. “Brave choice for a first class of the semester.”

“I figured I’d get the suffering out of the way early.”

He laughed, a low, pleasant sound. “Smart. I took it last year—it’s not too bad once you get past the first few chapters.”

“Guess I’ll find out soon enough,” you muttered, then added, “So what year are you?”

“Third. Crim justice major.” He gave you a side glance. “If you ever need someone to help interrogate your stats professor, I’m your guy.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Noted.”

When you reached your building, he held the door open and waited while you limped through. The hallway inside was buzzing with students, but he kept a hand lightly on your elbow so you didn’t get jostled.

“Room 217’s up the stairs, but…” He glanced down at your ankle. “You sure you can make it?”

You looked up at the long staircase and winced. “Not… gracefully.”

He looked thoughtful, then offered, “You want me to carry your bag? Or you could lean on me.”

Your eyes widened. “You’d… let me lean on you?”

He gave a small shrug, easy and sincere. “Of course. I mean, unless that’s weird.”

“…No. Not weird.”

So, you did.

It was awkward for maybe two seconds—until he joked, “You’re light. Definitely under the weight limit.”

You laughed, and just like that, the tension melted. He helped you up the stairs, steady and patient, and even waited outside the classroom until you were fully seated.

“Thanks again,” you said, finally settling into your chair. “Seriously. I might’ve cried in a bush without you.”

He gave you a warm smile. “No problem. And hey—if you need help with stats, let me know. I still have my notes.”

Your heart did a small, unexpected flutter. “You’d tutor me?”

“Sure,” he said easily. “We’ll trade—I’ll help you pass stats, and you keep me updated on which campus vending machines are least disappointing.”

You grinned. “Deal.”

Daichi smiled one last time, then gave a small wave before disappearing back down the hallway.

And as the professor started setting up slides, you stared at the door just a second longer than necessary—ankle still aching, heart suddenly not quite so heavy.

If college was supposed to be the beginning of a beautiful new era, yours was off to a catastrophic start.

Your ankle throbbed from twisting it on a curb during the mad dash across campus. Your phone had 8% battery left. You hadn’t eaten since last night because your nerves made you forget breakfast. And your first class of the semester? Already started five minutes ago.

You tried to limp quietly through the hallway, heat rising in your cheeks as your shoe scuffed the tile with every uneven step. Room 204… 205…

“206,” you breathed in relief, grabbing the door handle.

And that’s when your folder, awkwardly tucked under your arm, slipped and exploded across the floor like confetti. Papers fanned out everywhere—syllabus, notes, and the little hand-drawn map of campus you were trying not to admit you’d made.

You just… stood there for a second. Hovering awkwardly in the doorway, blinking down at the mess.

“Wow,” you whispered under your breath. “I’m killing it.”

“Need a hand?” came a soft voice beside you.

You turned—and looked straight into the kindest gray eyes you’d ever seen.

The boy crouching to help gather your papers had silver hair, a soft sweater pushed up to his elbows, and a smile that somehow made your panic quiet down just a bit.

“I—I’m sorry,” you said immediately, dropping to your knees despite the flare of pain in your ankle. “I didn’t mean to hold everyone up—”

“Hey, you’re good,” he said gently, stacking your notes before offering them back to you. “Professor’s still figuring out the projector. You’re actually early, by college standards.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

“Mmhm. Trust me. No one’s judging you.” He paused, then nodded to your foot. “But I am a little worried about that limp.”

You froze, internally groaning. “You saw that?”

He grinned, tilting his head playfully. “Saw it. Heard it. Felt it in my soul a little.”

Despite yourself, you laughed.

“It’s nothing,” you added quickly. “I just… missed a step earlier. It’s fine.”

“You sure?” He opened the door for you and followed you inside. “Because if you faint from pain halfway through class, I’ll feel guilty for not insisting you see the nurse.”

You glanced at him as you made your way to a seat near the back, carefully lowering yourself into the chair.

“I’m really okay,” you assured. “It’s just… kind of a terrible first day.”

“Ah,” he said, sitting beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. “So you’re one of those first-years.”

You gave him a look. “Those?”

“The ones the universe picks on for no reason during the first week,” he said dramatically. “I was one too. Ripped my jeans, forgot my schedule, spilled coffee down the front of my hoodie. My reputation never recovered.”

You cracked a smile, shoulders relaxing for the first time all morning. “Glad to know I’m not alone.”

“You’re not,” he said warmly, then added with a little smirk, “But, since we’re classmates now, I feel like I should properly introduce myself.”

He held out his hand.

“Sugawara Kōshi. Second year. Bringer of good luck and extra pens.”

You took his hand, trying not to look too flustered. “(Y/N). First year. Disaster in human form.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Disaster.”

You snorted.

By the time the professor finally started the lecture, your ankle still ached, your phone was probably dead, and you still hadn’t eaten—but somehow, everything didn’t feel quite so awful anymore.

Not when Sugawara leaned over halfway through to whisper jokes about the syllabus margins.

Not when he offered to send you his notes afterward, just in case you missed anything.

Not when he waited after class and casually said, “I know the best vending machine on campus, by the way. Let me walk you there before you pass out.”

And definitely not when he added, just as you limped beside him:

“You know… first days suck, but they get better. Especially if you have someone to sit next to.”

[kittenisstarstruck]

what is going ONNN why are you actually cooking lately what

i love you

awwwhh stapppp

[kittenisstarstruck]

tanaka does not get enough love, i actually adore you

HE NEVER HAS!

and he's so awesome too, it's so silly

You’re sharing a popsicle.

You take a slow, messy lick. Tanaka immediately short-circuits.

“You tryna start something?”

You: “It’s hot out.”

Tanaka: “I’m about to be hot and bothered if you keep doing that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You catch him wiping sweat with the bottom of his shirt, exposing way too much abs for this to be legal.

You: “You do that on purpose.”

Tanaka: “Oh absolutely. Did it work?”

It did.

And now you’re fanning yourself with a beach flyer while he just smirks.

[kittenisstarstruck]

Sick Days

How these sweethearts would take care of you when you get sick. Posting because i've been fighting the worst illness of my life and I need an outlet.

KUROO:

You barely register the sound of the front door shutting. Your head is heavy against the back of the sofa, wrapped in a cocoon of fleece and tissues and general misery. A sniffle escapes you before you can suppress it, and then—

“Hey, kitten.” Kuroo’s voice is warm, like the first few rays of sunlight through your curtains. “Still feeling like death’s less charming cousin?”

You don’t bother answering. Just nod weakly, snuggled deeper into your blanket. The TV plays some quiet background show you’re not paying attention to, more for noise than actual entertainment. He doesn’t ask again—he gets it.

A few minutes later, he’s kneeling in front of the coffee table, carefully ladling soup from a pot into your favorite chipped ceramic mug—the one with a little black cat on it. He holds it out to you, already blowing gently over the top.

“Made you the miso soup you like. The one with tofu and those seaweed things you like even though they’re kind of weird.”

You take the mug with both hands, letting the steam soothe your raw nose. “Thanks,” you croak.

Kuroo watches you like a scientist waiting for an experiment to confirm his theory. When you finally take a small sip and don’t immediately grimace, he relaxes.

“There we go. That’s the stuff, huh?”

You nod. The warmth of the broth spreads slowly through your chest, and for the first time all day, you don’t want to crawl out of your own skin.

He reaches over with a thumb and swipes at your mouth. “Soup casualty,” he murmurs, inspecting his fingertip like it’s part of the job. “Can’t have my patient getting soup stains on my couch.”

You blink at him, a little dazed. “I thought this couch was already ruined from that time you spilled ramen.”

Kuroo grins, entirely unrepentant. “That was character-building for the couch.”

You try to smirk, but it turns into a cough. Instantly, he’s pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders, tucking it gently under your chin like he’s wrapping a fragile parcel.

“You’re alright,” he says softly. “Just need rest. And more soup.”

You lean your head on the back of the sofa again, soup cradled against your chest. He sits down next to you, close enough for his thigh to press against yours, radiating that particular Kuroo warmth.

In a world that feels a little foggier, a little heavier today, Kuroo still manages to make things feel lighter. Sweeter.

Even the soup.

KENMA:

It’s raining outside, just enough to blur the windows, just enough to make the world feel far away. You’re nestled into the corner of the couch, swaddled in a blanket so thick it’s starting to feel like a cocoon. Your head is heavy, your throat aches, and nothing tastes right—not even the tea Kenma made you earlier.

You hear the soft tap of bare feet against the wood floors before you see him. He’s holding a small bowl of soup with both hands like it’s something precious.

“I didn’t know what kind you’d want,” he says, voice quiet like he’s afraid of disturbing you. “So I made the one my mom used to make me when I was sick. It’s... kind of simple. Just broth, noodles, a soft-boiled egg.”

You blink at him from your pile of blankets. “Sounds perfect.”

Kenma kneels beside the couch, placing the bowl on a small tray. Then, wordlessly, he helps you sit up, adjusting the blanket so it doesn’t fall off your shoulders. You murmur something that might be “thank you,” or maybe it’s just a tired sigh. He hands you the bowl and watches as you take a slow, tentative sip.

You hum quietly. “Warm.”

Kenma nods like that’s all he was hoping for.

But then you feel it—the tiniest drip of broth escaping the corner of your mouth. Before you can grab a tissue, he’s already leaning in, thumb brushing delicately over your skin.

“Got it,” he says, eyes still on your face, thumb lingering just a moment too long.

You blink at him. “You’re being really gentle.”

He shrugs, sitting back on his heels. “You look like you’d break if I poked you too hard.”

Despite everything, you smile. “Flattering.”

Kenma doesn’t smile back, but there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s trying not to. He pulls the blanket tighter around your shoulders again, tucking it in like you’re something he wants to keep warm and safe.

“I paused our game,” he murmurs. “I can keep playing solo if you want background noise. Or I can just stay here.”

“Stay,” you say, without thinking.

He doesn’t move. Just leans against the couch, close enough for your foot to brush his leg through the blanket.

You take another slow sip of soup.

In a fevered, foggy world, Kenma doesn’t ask you to feel better right away. He just stays, warm and quiet, until the soup is gone and your eyes start to drift shut. And even then, he doesn’t move.

LEV:

Your bedroom feels like a cave—dark, warm, and completely sealed off from the outside world. The blinds are half-closed, and your phone’s been untouched for hours. All you can do is lie there under too many blankets, alternating between being freezing and sweating, your head stuffed with cotton and your throat sore enough to make even a whisper feel like effort.

And then—

CLANG.

Something crashes in the kitchen.

You groan. Loudly.

A few seconds later, Lev pokes his head through your bedroom door. His silver hair is fluffed from rushing around, and he’s wearing an apron you don’t even remember owning. “Hi!” he says like he’s just come home from a long day and not like he’s been loudly destroying your kitchen.

“Are you… okay?” you croak, eyeing him like he might be carrying another metal pot behind his back.

“Better question is: are you okay?” he says, dramatically making his way over to your side. “You look kind of like a sad burrito. A sick-rito.”

You blink at him slowly. “Lev…”

“I know, I know. I’m not proud of that one.”

He sits carefully on the edge of the bed like you’re made of glass. In his hands is a bowl—some kind of soup. He holds it out to you like an offering. “I made you chicken soup. Kind of. It’s mostly broth and noodles and a suspiciously cube-shaped chicken I found in the freezer. But I tried really hard.”

You reach for it, but your hands are shaky. He notices, of course, because he’s watching you way too closely.

“Wait—no, don’t move. I’ll feed you. I got this.”

“I can—” you start, but he’s already sitting closer, blowing gently over the spoon like it’s something sacred. He raises it to your lips, one hand steadying your back.

You take a sip. It’s… not bad. A little salty. Very warm. Weirdly comforting.

“You’re not dying, right?” he asks, watching for your reaction.

You shake your head weakly. “Not yet.”

Lev grins. “Nice. Because if you die, I’d have to keep your plants alive, and we both know that’s not happening.”

You snort—then cough. He panics instantly, putting the bowl down and grabbing a tissue with so much force it tears in half.

Once you’ve stopped coughing, he tucks the blanket back up under your chin, brushing hair away from your face with a surprisingly gentle hand. “You’re gonna be okay,” he says, softer now. “You’ve got me. And soup. Mostly me, though.”

Your body aches, your nose is stuffed, and your brain feels like it’s been microwaved. But Lev is here, fussing over you with his weird soup and his lopsided apron and his warm hands.

And for the first time since this miserable flu took you down, you feel just a little bit better.

MORISUKE:

You don’t even remember texting him.

You just know that when your shift ended, and you slumped against the wall near the entrance of your workplace, head pounding and vision swimming, your phone slipped from your fingers—and the next time you looked up, Yaku was there.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just takes one look at you—damp forehead, pale face, sagging shoulders—and makes a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl.

“You should’ve called me earlier,” he says, not unkindly, but with that sharp-edged tone that always means he’s more worried than he’s letting on.

“Didn’t wanna bother you,” you mumble, voice like sandpaper.

Yaku raises an eyebrow as he opens the passenger door of his car and gently—gently—helps you in. “You think driving home half-conscious isn’t more of a bother?”

You blink up at him. “I wasn’t gonna drive. Just rest for a minute. Then maybe nap on the sidewalk.”

“That’s not the win you think it is,” he mutters, buckling you in.

By the time you make it home, your fever’s spiked and your limbs feel like they’re filled with wet cement. Yaku helps you inside with a firm arm around your waist, guiding you straight to the bed with no room for argument.

You think he leaves—but you’re not sure, because you blink and suddenly he’s back, slipping your shoes off with careful fingers.

“Soup’s on the stove. You’re not allowed to die before it’s done,” he murmurs, brushing your hair off your forehead.

You try to joke, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat in it. “It’s a please don’t scare me like that again, is what it is.”

Ten minutes later, he returns with a tray—tea, a warm towel for your forehead, and soup in a mug with a little crab on the side. He doesn't hover, but you can feel him near—watching your breathing, checking how much you drink, adjusting your blanket when you shift.

You whisper, “You're good at this.”

Yaku shrugs. “I’ve had to patch up plenty of idiots after volleyball practice. You're just my favorite one.”

Your heart flutters despite the flu.

He sits on the edge of the bed once you're settled, brushing a thumb over your temple. “Next time, just call me right away. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the day or if I’m in the middle of something. You’re not supposed to be out there pushing through this alone.”

You manage a weak smile. “Yes, Nurse Yaku.”

His lips twitch. “Damn right.”

And even though your head still aches and your throat still burns, the pain dulls a little—because Yaku is here, and you’re warm, and the soup tastes just a little better with him beside you.

[kittenisstarstruck]

Hard Learner

Tsukishima sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he glanced at the clock. Two and a half hours. That’s how long you had been staring at the same set of notes, chewing on your lip in frustration, groaning every few minutes when something still didn’t click.

At first, he had been patient—explaining things in different ways, breaking it down step by step—but you? You were over it. Your brain felt like mush, the numbers blurring together, and at this point, you were convinced you’d never understand.

"Again," he said, his tone bordering on exasperated as he tapped his pen against the textbook. "Walk me through it."

You groaned dramatically, letting your head drop onto the desk. "Tsukki, I swear, if I look at one more equation, I’m going to combust."

He huffed out a laugh, leaning back in his chair. "That would be entertaining."

You turned your head to glare at him, and he smirked, clearly enjoying your suffering a little too much.

"You’re so mean," you grumbled, crossing your arms. "I’m really trying, but I just don’t get it."

He watched you for a moment, tapping a finger against his bottom lip. Then—just as you were about to give up entirely—he shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours.

"Alright," he murmured, his voice dropping just slightly. "Maybe we need a different approach."

You blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of the way his gaze had darkened, the teasing glint in his golden eyes making your stomach flip. "...Different how?"

Tsukishima leaned in, his fingers grazing the inside of your wrist before trailing up your arm, slow and deliberate. His touch sent a shiver up your spine, and you swallowed hard.

"Clearly," he mused, his breath fanning against your ear, "words aren’t working for you." His fingertips ghosted along your shoulder before slipping beneath the collar of your shirt, barely there, but enough to make your breath hitch.

You felt your cheeks heat. "T-Tsukki—"

"Shh." His smirk deepened as he traced lazy circles on your skin. "Maybe if I reward you for getting the right answers, you'll finally pay attention."

Your pulse quickened, your frustration with studying completely replaced by something else—something heady and electric.

"...You think that’ll help me focus?" you murmured, tilting your head slightly, giving him more room to touch.

His fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face toward his. His eyes were lidded, his usual smirk softer, more dangerous.

"I know it will."

The textbook lay forgotten between you as Tsukishima leaned in, his lips brushing just barely against yours.

"Now," he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement and something darker, "let's see how fast you can really learn."

[kittenisstarstruck]

Sugawara is the kind of boyfriend who wakes up early just to tuck the blanket back over you before leaving for practice, kissing your forehead as softly as a whisper. He leaves you little sticky notes around the house—sweet nothings, corny puns, or reminders like “drink water, you adorable cryptid 💕” just to make you smile when he’s not around.

[kittenisstarstruck]

You tease him: “How would you even flirt?” Ushijima (deadpan): “I’d ask you to marry me. I don’t date for fun.” You: “…Excuse me?” Him: “You asked.” And then he looks at you like he means it. Now you’re the one flustered.

[kittenisstarstruck]

PART ONE + PART TWO

HOW THEY WOULD REACT IF YOU FELL OFF YOUR SKATEBOARD

Toru Oikawa:

Oikawa was mid-sip of his iced coffee, strolling back from the convenience store with the early evening sun dipping low behind the rooftops, when he saw you.

You were sitting on the curb with your skateboard discarded nearby and your knees… bleeding. Badly. There were scrapes on your palms, dust in your hair, and a furrow in your brows as you winced and stared down at your legs like if you glared hard enough, the pain would retreat.

“___?!”

The sound of your name in his voice—panicked, sharp, laced with more emotion than he usually let show—made your head snap up.

You blinked. “Oikawa—? Oh. Hey.”

He was already crouching in front of you before you could finish that casual greeting. His coffee hit the ground, forgotten. His warm hands hovered over your legs like he was afraid to touch you, eyes wide and full of frantic energy.

“What the hell happened?”

“I, uh… I hit a crack on the sidewalk and went flying,” you muttered, trying to laugh. “I’m fine. Just—”

“You are not fine.” His voice cracked, breath uneven. “Your knees are bleeding, you’re shaking, and you’re sitting here alone like—like this is normal?”

You frowned. “I didn’t want to bother you…”

Oikawa exhaled like you’d punched him in the stomach. “Bother me? Baby, you could call me from the moon and I’d start building a rocket. You think I wouldn’t drop everything for you?”

His voice was softer now, but no less intense. He took your hand—carefully avoiding your scraped palm—and brought it to his chest. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart under his shirt.

“You scared me,” he whispered, brushing his fingers against your temple where a faint bruise was already forming. “God, you scared the hell out of me.”

“…Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” He finally leaned in, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But you do have to let me take care of you.”

And he did.

He walked you home with your arm around his waist, skateboard tucked under one arm like a useless little villain he planned to scold later. He sat you on the bathroom counter, cleaned your wounds with hands that were trembling more than he’d admit, and kissed your cheeks between every bandage like it was the only medicine that mattered.

By the time he was done, your knees were patched, your heart was full, and Oikawa was wrapped around you on the couch, whispering something like:

“You’ve got to be more careful, angel. I already lose my mind when you’re five minutes late. I can’t take seeing you hurt.”

And for once, the drama wasn’t exaggerated. It was just love.

[kittenisstarstruck]

HOW WOULD THEY REACT IF YOU GOT HURT SKATEBOARDING

(yes i ate shit, no i don't wanna talk about it) (comfort)

Rintaro Suna:

Suna looked up from his phone as you limped through the door, a fresh scrape on your knee and a guilty look on your face. He blinked, taking in the damage before sighing. “Let me guess… tried to land a trick, didn’t stick the landing?” His tone was dry, but the way he immediately got up and grabbed the first-aid kit betrayed his concern. He crouched down in front of you, gently taking your leg in his hands as he examined the wound. “You’re a menace,” he muttered, dabbing at the scrape with an alcohol wipe. You hissed, and he gave you a flat look. “Don’t whine. This is what happens when you try to impress me instead of, I don’t know, staying upright.” But despite his teasing, his touch remained careful, his fingers brushing over your skin lightly. When he was done, he flicked your forehead playfully. “Next time, just tell me you want my attention. You don’t have to throw yourself at the pavement for it.”

Tetsuro Kuroo:

Kuroo’s eyes widened the second he saw you hobble through the door, a scraped knee and a slightly sheepish grin giving away your latest misadventure. “Ohhh, babe,” he sighed, striding over with a smirk that didn’t quite mask the concern in his eyes. “Did the skateboard win this round?” Before you could protest, he scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to the couch despite your weak protests. “Shhh, let me play doctor,” he teased, grabbing the first-aid kit. As he gently cleaned the wound, he shot you a look. “You know, if you wanted me to dote on you, you could’ve just asked. No need to sacrifice your knees for my attention.” He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before grinning. “But hey, at least tell me you landed the trick before wiping out?”

Kenma Kozume:

Kenma walked through the door, eyes glued to his phone, only to pause mid-step when he saw you sitting on the couch with a bandaged knee and a guilty expression. His gaze flickered from your face to the evidence of your latest skateboarding mishap, and with a small sigh, he set his phone down. “You fell, didn’t you?” he asked, voice quiet but laced with knowing. He didn’t wait for your answer, just grabbed a blanket and draped it over you before sitting beside you. “You need to be more careful,” he mumbled, gently poking your uninjured leg with his toe. He wasn’t the type to fuss, but after a moment, he grabbed his phone again and turned it toward you. “Wanna watch something while you rest?” It was his way of saying he cared—no teasing, no lectures, just quiet comfort and the promise of staying by your side until you felt better.

[kittenisstarstruck]

heavily inspired by this glorious gem right here

The strawberry-pink of the candy glistened as you slowly pulled the lollipop from between your lips, your tongue swirling around the glossy surface before it popped out with an audible smack. The sound cut through the quiet classroom, and Sugawara stiffened in his seat, his hand tightening around his pen.

Oh. Oh no.

He swallowed hard, forcing his gaze to stay locked on the open textbook in front of him. But it was no use. His mind had already started spiraling.

It was your fault, really. The way your tongue lingered just a little too long against the candy, the way your lips parted as you sucked it back in, hollowing your cheeks around the sweet treat—yeah, you were driving him insane.

His pants suddenly felt too tight.

Focus, Sugawara. You’re in class. Studying. Finals are coming up. Don’t be a creep.

But the soft, wet sound of the lollipop slipping past your lips once again made his self-control crack like glass. Against his better judgment, his eyes flickered to you.

And god, you knew.

You were leaned back in your chair, head tilted slightly as you lazily twirled the lollipop in your mouth. Your eyes—those mischievous, knowing eyes—met his, and you smiled around the candy. Slowly, deliberately, you let your tongue trace the curve of it before popping it out again, your lips glistening with a sticky sheen.

Sugawara’s throat went dry. His hand trembled slightly as he tried to refocus on his notes. But his brain? Gone. Absolutely fried. Because all he could think about was you doing that to him instead of the candy. Your mouth, your tongue, the way you’d look with your lips stretched around—

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, shifting in his seat as his pants grew increasingly unbearable.

You didn’t let up. Oh no, you were on a mission to ruin him today. When he dared to glance at you again, you held his gaze. With slow, intentional movement, you slid the lollipop from your mouth, a thin string of saliva following it, before you winked.

Sugawara nearly choked. His hand clenched into a fist against his desk, and his knee bounced as he fought to maintain some semblance of control. His mind was absolutely betraying him now—flashes of you on your knees, that same pink lollipop in your mouth, only it wasn’t a lollipop anymore—

“God, help me,” he whispered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut.

And then the worst thing happened.

You bit down on the candy, shattering it with a sharp crack, your teeth sinking into the sugary treat before your tongue darted out to catch the shards of candy that lingered on your lips. You licked them clean. Slowly.

A muffled groan tore from Sugawara’s throat, and his entire body flushed with heat. Nope. Nope. Nope. He shoved his chair back abruptly, ignoring the curious glance from Daichi beside him.

“Bathroom,” he muttered hastily before bolting out of the room, his too-tight pants a painful reminder of just how deep you’d gotten under his skin.

And the worst part?

As he glanced back one last time, breath ragged, he caught you smirking. Smug. Victorious. Like you knew.

And god, did he want to ruin you for it.

The second the bell rang, Sugawara was on you.

You hadn’t even gathered your things before his hand was curling around your wrist, his grip firm but not harsh. You blinked up at him, feigning innocence, but the heat simmering in his dark brown eyes told you he wasn’t buying it. Not after what you pulled in class.

“Koshi?” you asked sweetly, clutching your books to your chest.

He didn’t say a word. Just smiled that dangerously charming smile of his before tugging you out of the classroom and down the hall. Your pulse quickened, your skin buzzing with anticipation as he guided you through the empty corridors.

“Where are we—?”

“Quiet.” His voice was low, strained, and it shot straight down your spine.

Your stomach did a flip. Oh. Oh.

Sugawara never acted like this—always the gentle, charming boy with the easygoing nature. But right now? The tension radiating off him was like a live wire, and it was your fault.

You had barely made it two steps into an empty supply closet when he spun, crowding you against the closed door. His hand came up to rest beside your head, caging you in, and his eyes were burning into yours with something dark. Something dangerous.

“You think you’re cute, don’t you?” he asked, his voice like a low purr, smooth and deadly.

You swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you mean.”

His laugh was sharp, humorless. “Oh, please. You knew exactly what you were doing with that lollipop.” His eyes flicked down to your mouth, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Sucking it like that. Making those little noises. Watching me the whole time.”

Your heart hammered in your chest. “I-I was just eating candy—”

Sugawara laughed darkly, leaning in until his mouth was inches from your ear. His breath was hot against your skin when he murmured, “Don’t lie to me, baby.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

“And now…” His hand trailed down your arm, featherlight, until his fingers brushed your thigh. His touch was hot, his presence suffocating. “You’ve got me walking around like this.” His hips barely rolled forward, but you felt it—the unmistakable hardness pressing against his pants.

Your breath caught. Oh my god.

“Can’t even think straight,” he muttered darkly, his fingers gripping your thigh now. “All because of you.”

Your head spun. This was not the sweet, easygoing Sugawara you were used to. No—this was pushed-to-his-limit, wrecked-with-need Sugawara, and it was making you dizzy.

“I—” you swallowed hard, trying to find your voice, “—I didn’t mean to—”

“Bullshit.” His hand gripped your thigh harder, yanking it up so it hooked around his waist. You gasped as he crowded you further against the door, his forehead resting against yours. “You knew exactly what you were doing.” His voice dropped into a near growl. “You wanted me like this, didn’t you?”

Your breath came in short, shallow bursts. “Koshi, I—”

“Did it turn you on?” His nose brushed against yours. “Watching me fall apart like that?”

Your stomach twisted. “Y-Yes.”

A dark, pleased chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Yeah?” His lips ghosted over your jaw, his breath hot and heavy. “And did you think about what would happen if I finally got my hands on you?”

Your body throbbed. “Koshi—”

He didn’t let you finish. His mouth crashed against yours, hot and desperate. You moaned into the kiss, clutching his shoulders as his hands roamed—gripping your waist, sliding up your thigh, pulling you closer. His tongue licked into your mouth, and the taste of mint mixed with the lingering sweetness of the lollipop still on your lips.

God, you still tasted like candy.

Sugawara growled against your mouth, breaking the kiss only to rasp, “You like teasing me, huh? Getting me hard in the middle of class?” His teeth scraped your jaw, and you gasped when his hips rolled against yours, his arousal undeniable. “Bet you were thinking about me bending you over a desk, weren’t you?”

You whimpered. “K-Koshi—”

“You wanted me like this.” His voice was wrecked, his self-control hanging by a thread. “You wanted me desperate, didn’t you?”

You could barely think straight. “Y-Yes—”

His hand slid up your thigh, dangerously close to where you ached most. His voice was like gravel now. “So what are you gonna do about it, baby?”

And god, you were absolutely ruined for him now.

[kittenisstarstruck]

ur honor im obsessed

[kittenisstarstruck]

what's it called when cats make that grrr sound

grring ??

[kittenisstarstruck]

You stood by the edge of the pool, your fingers fidgeting with the strings of your bikini. The sun was high, the water was sparkling, and the laughter of your friends echoed around the backyard. But you felt rooted, caught between wanting to join in and the anxious voice in your head whispering about soft stomachs, thick thighs, and how your swimsuit hugged every curve.

And then, like a heat wave with a buzz cut and too much energy, Tanaka jogged up behind you.

“There she is,” he grinned, eyes raking over you like you were the only thing in sight. “Takin’ your time to bless the pool with your hotness?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to laugh it off, but your arms subtly moved to cover your stomach. He noticed—he always noticed.

His grin faltered, replaced by that familiar spark of protective softness he reserved only for you. He stepped closer, his hands sliding gently over your waist, fingers brushing over the exposed skin with the kind of care that made your heart flutter.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, sincere.

You hesitated, then shrugged. “Just… I dunno. I feel like everyone else looks better in their swimsuits.”

Tanaka blinked once, then twice, before leaning in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Okay, that’s illegal. You look incredible. Like, actually-unfair-to-everyone-else levels of hot. If I could frame you in this bikini and hang it on my bedroom wall, I would.”

You snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious!” he said, stepping back so you could see the absolute sincerity in his warm, brown eyes. “You’ve got the kinda body I wanna hold onto. Soft, curvy, strong; don’t even get me started on those thighs. You’re everything. And if you think I’m letting the pool enjoy this view more than I do, nope.”

Before you could argue or tease him back, he scooped you up bridal-style with ease, muscles flexing as he grinned at your squeal.

“Tanaka! Put me down—!”

He smirked. “Oh, I will.”

And then he cannonballed you both straight into the water.

You came up sputtering, laughing, soaked, and blushing as he swam up behind you, arms wrapping around your middle like a lifeline. He kissed your shoulder, then your cheek, then just rested his forehead against yours in the rippling sunlight.

“I don’t want you hiding,” he said quietly. “Not from me. Not from the world. You’re gorgeous, babe. Let ‘em see what I’m crazy about.”

And just like that, the water wasn’t the only thing making your heart race.

[kittenisstarstruck]

“Oh, the fan’s broken? Let me take care of it.” Cue: Tanaka on a ladder, shirt tossed over his shoulder, abs glistening. You know he’s showing off, especially when he keeps glancing over at you with that cocky little grin. “Babe, you okay down there? You look a little hot.”