#Kōtarō Bokuto x reader

[honeesucker]

Catching your childhood friend masturbating in the Fukurōdani Academy bathroom during your reunion turns into a marathon you couldn’t have trained for...

Kōtarō Bokuto x Fem!Reader

 Content: all smut, no story.

"Ngh.. nhgg.. f-fuck-"

Bokuto groans while running his large hand up and down the hardened length of his veiny cock, locked in a bathroom stall in his school. He can't help himself when after a few years his feelings for you are still as strong as they were back in high school and seeing you in that black dress hugging the expanse of your body in every place he’s dreamed of kissing... well, he couldn’t help himself.

You had followed after him, noticing him running out of the auditorium at a break-neck speed, and seeing him avoiding all of his friends (and you) made you worry... it was when you heard some strange noises from the boy’s bathroom that you started to think he was crying. Too worried about Bokuto to care about walking into the men's room, you pushed open the door to realize the whimpering sounds you thought you heard wasn’t someone crying... but someone moaning. 

More specifically... moaning your name.

You know you should turn around, leaving him to his private moment... but the familiar sound of Bokuto’s voice heavy with lust and saying your name so sweetly... you couldn’t pass up on the opportunity handed to you on a silver platter. You softly closed the door behind you, and walked as silently as you could to the large end stall, hearing the lewd squelching sounds of him fisting his cock, the image in your mind sending jolts of desire straight to your core as you noticed the stall wasn’t fully closed... he must’ve been in such a hurry he didn’t notice it not lock behind him... and with a shaky hand you pushed open the stall door to see Bokuto with his black button-up shirt buttoned down to the start of his abs, his black slacks and belt undone and around his ankles as a sheen of sweat covered his skin, tears welling unshed in his eyes as he froze, his hand seizing the middle of his large cock as he slowly looked up at you, looking at him. Panic rose in Bokuto’s chest, you could see the moment he almost took his hand off himself, almost started apologizing, crying, begging... but you put a hand up, a gentle look on your face that held him back from speaking.

“Kō...” You say softly, opting to walk into the stall and lock it behind you this time. Bokuto hasn’t moved an inch, his chest heaving from his earlier exertion as he stared up at you wide-eyed. “D-Did... you say my name earlier?”

Bokuto couldn’t answer you, his throat dry and constricting as he tried to swallow his nerves, so he only nodded quickly. A soft, throaty ‘sorry’ leaving him as his tongue swiped across his lips. You take an experimental step forward, looking for any hesitation or lack of desire from him but finding none... you end up directly in front of him as you lean down slightly where he’s seated on a closed toilet, and grasp the spongy head of his cock as his body jolts up and he lets out a strangled moan.

“Do you wanna tell me what you were wanting to do with me?” You ask softly and the question makes Bokuto’s adam’s apple bob harshly as he swallows, nodding slowly as you rub your thumb along the underside of his cockhead, coming up to snag the leaking precum and swirling it as he shudders and sucks in a quick breath beneath you. “Tell me, please...”

“I was...” Bokuto started, weighing his options to tell you or not, worried over your reaction... soon realizing he may not have anything to worry about considering your hand was on his cock alongside his as he slowly started to move his hand back up and down his length. “I was thinking about lifting that dress up over the curve of your ass, bending you over the punch table and fucking you in front of everyone at the reunion.” Bokuto’s words shock you momentarily, but soon you’re smiling down at him, a soft whine leaving him as your hand leaves him, too... but his eyes widen with anticipation as he sees you lift your dress, revealing your glistening folds. He lets out a low growl, as you showed him the way your pussy swallows the black lace thong you were wearing... his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he reached forward now with the hand not fisting his cock, gripping into the plush flesh of your hip as he pulled you in between his knees. “Oh... my god...” He breathed, gripping your hip as squeezing with a near-bruising force as he bit his bottom lip, one hand on you, the other pumping his cock more and more.

“Well, as exciting as your fantasy is, Kō... will you settle for bending me over the sink? We can lock the bathro-!” You didn’t get to finish your sentence before Bokuto was on you, standing up and cupping your face with both of his hands as he kissed you hungrily. He slowly pulled you back with him as he seated himself down on the toilet again, pulling you into his lap as you stood above his cock, poised to plunge into your dripping hole... and with a small nod of approval from you and your help lowing yourself down onto his cock as the large head spread you open, pushing into your body you heard him groan, throwing his head back against the cool tile behind him.

"Mmm, fuck..." he groans, his hands gripping your hips tightly, pulling you down further onto him. "You feel so fucking good... You can take all of me, can't you?" He begins to thrust his hips upward, meeting your movements with matched intensity. The sound of your moans fills the small bathroom as you both find a rhythm, his cock pushing deeper and deeper inside you. 

“God, Kō... you’re huge... never felt so full before... ah!” Bokuto couldn’t help himself, loving the way you moan and whimper as he thrusts up into you...  groaning with each forceful thrust, relishing in the tight grip of your pussy around his thick, pulsating cock. His hips move with a primal rhythm, pounding into you relentlessly while his hands grip your waist possessively.  

"F-Fuck," he growls, his voice dripping with lust. "I want you to feel every inch of me, stretching you, claiming you as mine. You're taking me so well." Bokuto says before he leans in, biting down on your neck, leaving a mark of his possession as his pace quickens even more, his thrusts becoming harder and deeper. The bathroom walls reverberate with the sounds of your bodies colliding and the lewd squelches of your wet connection. Bokuto is so lost in the moment with you as a mix of pleasure and possessiveness fills him... hearing your soft, needy moans and feeling your pussy clenching around him. He takes hold of your hips tightly, keeping you in place as he continues to thrust into you with unrelenting force.

With each thrust, he drives himself deeper into you, the sensation of your tight walls gripping him sending waves of ecstasy through his body. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in the small bathroom as he picks up the pace, his hips colliding with your ass with increasing force. Bokuto keeps one hand secure on your hip, the other reaching down to find your throbbing clit. His touch is possessive, hungry; his fingers roughly rubbing quick circles against your sensitive nub, intensifying the pleasure and building your orgasm to new heights. He increases the tempo and depth of his thrusts, pounding into your pussy with an almost primal need. His fingers continue to stimulate your clit, rubbing it in a relentless rhythm, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"That's it," his voice is a deep growl, not unlike the delicious groans he lets out as he spikes a ball during one of his matches... "Let go for me. Cum on my cock."

“G-God... Kō , m’gonna cum...!” You cry out as he continues his assault on your body, his cock pounding into your core and his fingers driving you wild with pleasure as he continues his assault on your sensitive clit. The pressure builds inside you, the orgasm threatening to consume you entirely. And when it finally hits, it hits hard. You scream out Bokuto’s name as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes over you, your body convulsing in ecstasy. The tight grip of your pussy sends Bokuto over the edge as well, his own orgasm ripping through him. He groans loudly, his cock pulsating as he spills his hot load deep inside you. Breathing heavily, he keeps his grip on your hips, holding you close as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through both of your bodies. The sounds of your heavy breathing fill the bathroom, the air thick with the scent of sex.

Breathing heavily, he rests against you for a moment, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The pleasure slowly subsides, and he gazes at you with a mix of confusion and adoration.

“We... really just did that...” Bokuto said, sounding a little dumbfounded. “It happened?”

“It happened,” you smiled down at him as you stayed perched in his lap, his softening cock growing hard again buried in your pussy. You cup his face in your hands and lean down to kiss him softly. “It can happen again, if you want...”

[forusomimiya]

"Be quiet, my parents are home" Bokuto couldn't even keep his own promise. Not if he had a close-up of your ass going up and down on his cock. "Ive never wanted to fuck someone as badly as i want to fuck you rn"

You covered your mouth to stifle your moans as Bokuto took control of your ass, handling it as he pleased, jerking off slowly and pleasurably with it at the same time as his mouth watered as he admired his cock disappearing completely in your pussy. "Does that feel good?" a groan and your eyes rolling back served as your reply as he bottomed out. "So pathetic".

“Please— Don’t st-”

"Shut up and take it just like that baby, just like that!" his heart shrank at the thought that his parents might have heard you, which was no wonder when Bokuto set his feet up on the bed to fill you deeper as he was meant to, filling the room with dirty and noisy onslaughts. The night was long and he wasn't going to waste your visit. "Lay on me baby girl, 'cause I got more, I got— fucking more"

A chuffed smile shone on your face, Bokuto's touch on your body melting into his as he disappeared and became a bag of moans and whimpers lashing in your ear. "Give me all, birthday boy"

[hxltic]

imagine bokuto f-ing you so good from behind

you’re laid flat on your stomach, where he has two large hands digging into the small dip of your back. He’d already fucked you out, so now with every dragged curl of his hips, it feels ten times longer. He’d go slow before increasing speed.

Sweat is dripping down your body and wetting your hair. He does that lopsided full grin of his and brushes his own sweat droplets from his forehead, before shifting weight completely to his palms and slamming down almost fully parallel to your body. You were pinned. Your walls tugged against the length of him, massaging his cock in a way no fist can. You were tight but so fucking wet, and with every slap of his forgotten balls you get closer and closer to what,, your 4th orgasm?

“H-ah fuck! Oh m’god Ko-”

The bed rocks with every roll, your chin slowly falls with the weight of your head, and your eyes droop inconsistently. You start to mumble to no one into the covers.

“Mmph, fills s’gud,” you’d whine.

“Just hold out for me alright baby? You’re takin’ it like a fucking champ.”

He adjusts one hand to disperse along the whole portion of your back, allowing him to grab one arm and fold it into his hold. He copied the movements for the other while your hips naturally rise. You, him, and the bed bullied the supporting wall together, causing scratch marks of dark grey to stain it. With the loss of cognizance, you didn’t notice how he wasn’t as horizontal anymore, but was pressed more on his knees. The strength he even has to do that is insane— and honestly, you wish you could admit it—but you were too distracted by the slight upward angle this entailed.

If your eyes weren’t rolled back, they were now. Your jaw hung slack when they first shot wide, portraying on your face the exact feeling of ecstasy that ran through your veins. Bokuto noticed how you became stagnant for just a split second. Idle, even.

You then shivered and shook as you sporadically pushed your hips back in an escape. Of course, this was futile with no arms.

“H-Oh my fucking god Kotarō,” your voice was higher than he’d ever heard it.

He just roughed you up towards him, grabbing you by the fat of your ass connecting to your hips, and slipped himself back in like nothing happened. When you tried to wiggle away, you successfully got him to let one hand loose, but the consequence was that one shoulder was on the bed and the other wasn’t, so now your neck was craning to look at him by the side in doggy.

Thrusting into you in a new position where there was nothing left of his dick to see, you could’ve screamed. There was no buildup or anything, he hit the same spot about twice a second, but you were out of energy. In this moment he sacrificed speed for power. With a mindless, animalistic groan, you pushed against him from inside and came. The mixed-haired man smiled once white started to peek out whenever he thrusted. Your ass stained red along with your tightly held wrist.

So you laid there and took it all instead, half mentally here and half not. He only laughed that boisterous laugh from behind you and forced your hips down. They’d ricochet off, then return with momentum. It was hot and wet, a lewd scene with your mixed sounds and his loud grunts. And you know when Bokuto wants something, he goes all out.

He knew you knew the safe word, and he knew you knew when to use it; therefore, he’d fuck you until you could barely think. You loved it.

He’d taunt, “You tryna run away?”

“Hummph”

“sorry babe, what was that?”

“n’mm.”

“close enough.” he concludes breathlessly.

[haikyu-mp4]

Everything will be fine – Akaashi x reader wc 629 – f!reader, brother!Bokuto

Your older brother Bokuto was not disappointed – nor particularly surprised – when you and Akaashi ended up dating in your last year at high school. He was away for university by then and missed the two of you terribly, but at least your togetherness meant he could meet you both at the same time whenever he visited home! That’s double the time spent with both of you!

And when you and Akaashi graduated, you both got into universities in Tokyo, meaning Bokuto’s happiness only increased. Nothing could ever separate you now-

“Me and Keiji both got job offers here in Tokyo!”

For a second, he grinned widely at the great news, his hair pointed sharply to the sky. Then, slowly, he realised he had just accepted an invitation to play for the Black Jackals, who were stationed in Osaka. His hair melted into sadness, along with his whole demeanour.

You felt Akaashi tense beside you, his hand squeezing yours a little tighter while you pursed your lips, having handled this for much longer than your boyfriend.

“But I’ll be working in Osaka,” Bokuto reminded you, his sadness dripping from every syllable.

“It’s not even three hours with the Shinkansen, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi informed him. Naturally, he had made some calculations before giving this news.

Bokuto nodded and gave you a sorrowful smile. The rest of his expression was hardly working with him to convince you that he was okay, but he tried his best. “I just thought you two would both be freelancers and go wherever I go.”

You couldn’t help the small snort of laughter that slipped past your nose, making you lift a hand to try and conceal it. Akaashi smiled and stepped forward when he saw that Bokuto was about to tell you off. “Bokuto-san. I promise to take care of your sister.”

“I know that, Akaashi. But who’s going to take care of me? Who’s going to hold up the posters with my name at every game?”

Akaashi hesitated, looking a bit like a question mark when he answered. “Your other fans?”

Bokuto huffed and pouted. “They don’t count.”

“If I filmed that and posted it, you’d get cancelled so fast,” you mumbled from the side, already fed up with your brother’s nonsense (affectionately).

“You’re not taking my emotions seriously!” Bokuto accused you, which sounded exactly like it did when you were kids.

You stuck your tongue out at him. “Because everything will be fine!”

“It will?” Bokuto’s movements stuttered as he blinked at you owlishly, a nostalgic sense of positivity washing over him.

“Of course it will!” you repeated, voice a little lighter. A little more relaxed, like the words were filling the air and hugging all three of you. “We always work things out.”

Akaashi felt his shoulders lower as he admired you. You were everything he needed to fight his anxiety, and you proved time and time again that you were it for him.

It also seemed to have the same effect on Bokuto, who knew from all the years of sitting on the back of your bike while you gave your all trying to get him home after he scraped his knee, that you would do everything in your power to ensure it would, in fact, be okay.

“I already got us all rail passes for the whole year,” you said happily, shrugging. “Can you start being happy about our awesome jobs now?”

Bokuto used his strong arms to pull you and your boyfriend into a crushing hug, making you both groan despite the warmth in your hearts. “Oh my gosh, congratulations! What are your jobs?”

You nodded your head to gesture for Akaashi to start. “I’ll be an editor for Tenma Udai...”

“The mangaka?! Why didn’t you say that?!”

“…My bad, Bokuto-san.”

masterlist

requested by @nifflermini for my event, anything for you <3

[bokutoko]

ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ᴄʟᴇᴀɴᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ɴᴇᴡ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ, ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ʟᴏᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ʙᴜɢꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ…

you letting out a strangled scream at the sight of spiders, roaches, etc. you didn’t like bugs at all.

but of course, you hear the thump, thump, thump of footsteps down the hallway and bokuto comes to your rescue. the sweet boy wanted to help you move in, and you’re so glad he came. he dashes into your room with Raid in-hand.

“where is it?” he asks in a dramatic voice. you point behind your desk and step aside so your favorite bug-killer can spray the bug.

he winces in fear, seemingly spraying half the can of Raid (thankfully it was rosemary mint scented) on that one roach. it struggled but quickly died due to the force that is ᴋᴏᴜᴛᴀʀᴏ ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ.

“there,” he said with finality, “all good!”

you let out a sigh of relief, grateful that your boyfriend was the stronger one—or at least pretended to be the stronger one—out of the two of you.

“now, my payment for killing that bug is one kiss!” he announces, holding up one finger for emphasis. he’s absolutely ecstatic to get a taste of your lips and lip gloss again.

because bokuto is confident that he can handle any scary bug as long as it means he gets a little kiss from you.

your smile is barely containable as you bring his face down and press a gentle kiss against his lips. your hands cradle his face, your thumb caressing his cheek. pulling away, you whisper, “ya good now?”

he hums. “hmm…” his eyes narrow with a smile on his face, “i may need another one. the roach was bigger than i thought.”

maybe moving into a new place wasn’t so bad when bokuto was there, supporting you, loving you, and killing bugs for you every step of the way.

a/n: based off a true story i fear—SO MANY BUGS. i’m working on requests now :’)

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please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2024.

[ilylovelyz]

⍣ ೋ tell me

˚ · . bokuto x afab!reader

: ̗̀➛ public sex, manhandling, rough sex, squirting, biting, big dick!boku, jealousy, possessiveness, breeding, unprotected sex, bokuto thinks reader was flirting but she really wasn't

tell me, tell me tell me that you love me too

"kou.." you mewled out, hands flat against the cold locker in front of you, your chest pressed against the hard surface.

"tell me that you love me—hah, y/n..!" he groaned out, his hands gripping painfully onto your hips as he pounded into you from behind. your legs dangled pathetically in the air, being held up by him, too dumb with pleasure to actually hold yourself up.

"hah.." you huffed out, your teeth grazing over your index finger as you tried to muffle your shameful moans. you could even register what your boyfriend was saying, too focused on the delicious pleasure he was giving you, his thick cock stretching you out so well it had you seeing stars.

"y/n?" he cried out once more, pressing his chest against your back, slamming your body against the locker. he was frantic, his eyebrows furrowed as he awaited for your confirmation. one of his hands released from your hip, coming you to hold your own against the locker, pinning you in place.

he was on a high, nerves shot and heart beating so hard it had him nearly doubling over. just earlier, a considerably attractive guy had came up to you and had indulged in a friendly conversation with you, and to the insecure bokuto, it looked like he was flirting with, and worse of all, it seemed you were enjoying it.

he was quick to drag you into the locker rooms, roughly manhandling you against the lockers, biting and kissing your neck as he cried to you, begging for your attention.

"kou.. ishh too much.." you babbled out, your face was a met, smeared with tears, saliva and even your own snot. he's been fucking you regardless of how many times you've came, just wanting to hear you scream his name over and over and over again until he's satisfied and reassured.

"y/n, say that you love me." he whined once more, suddenly pulling out his cock from your abused pussy and grabbing you by your shoulders and whisking you around. he made you feel like a rag-doll, like you weighed nothing as he effortlessly lifted you and held you down on the benches. it hurt to be manhandled like this, but the feel of the sting as your back made rough contact with the scratchiness of the cheap metal had you yelping out with pleasure.

with a growl, he was already plunging his cock back into your poor cunt, resuming his unrelenting pace, his hand coming down to the back of your calf and lifting it up over his shoulder. he bent you in half, leaning down to shove his tongue down your throat, swallowing down every cry of his name.

you were weak against him, even if you wanted to, you couldn't, he used your own weight against you, overpowering you with ease as he fucked you. "y/n, you're mine." he grunted, pulling away so he could leave more love bites and hickeys on the soft skin of your neck. the next day, for sure, you'll have to hide yourself from all of the knowing stares they'll give, knowing that your boyfriend fucks you stupid.

he held himself up on one of his arms besides your head, his eyes glued to the way your pussy sucked him in. his cock twitched at the sight, a creamy ring forming around the base of his cock from your wet pussy, "fuck, y/n," he groaned, clenching his eyes shut when you got impossibly tighter around him, sending heavenly jolts of pleasure up his spine.

"nobody—ah-can fuck you like i do, y/n. you d-damn know that," he grunted, his thrusts loosing rhythm as he tried to draw out his oncoming orgasm. "huh? you know that right?" he said, his moving over to the side of your cheek, cupping it gently.

"yeshh.." you babbled, "love you kou.. love y' cock.." he cursed once more under his breath at your lewd words, his hand moving down from your face to your clit, rubbing rough circles onto your sensitive bud. "gonna breed 'ya— gonna breed your cunt so everyone knows who you b-belong to.."

he nearly doubles over when you cum for the nth time once more, squirting all over his lower abdomen and thighs, your back arching as your vision goes white. he slams his hand down onto the bench, holding on to dear life as he stuffed your cunt full of his seed. "f-fuck," he gasped out, his hips desperately humping slowly against yours like a bunny, his orgasm shaking him to his core.

he breathed heavily as he finally fell limp against you, his heavy body weight feeling like a big blanket. his head laid against your rapidly rising chest, his eyebrows still lightly furrowed as he still felt the lingering pains of jealousy within him, his lips mushed against your school's vest as he inhaled your sweet scent, now contaminated with the sick oder of sex, semen, and sweat.

"you're mine."

please like and repost with tags

[skiiyoomin]

Hey I just saw that your requests are open and the haikyuu brainrot is hitting me once more. Could I request some content energetic bbs Noya, Bokuto, and Hinata (separate) and the reader taking care of them when all that energy finally runs out and they crash? I'm in desperate need of fluff lmao

ღTaking care of them when they run out of energy

ʚContent: gn! reader, fluff

⤑Back to navigation

a/n yes ma´am 🫡 some fluffy energetic bbys brainrot coming right up. am i procrastinating my exams to do this? yes, yes i am

Nishinoya Yuu

Noya is like a literal babyyy. He loves loves lovesss when you pamper him and baby him. Especially during those moments where all he needs is a little silence and your comfort cause he doesn´t have one single ounce of energy left. He loves crashing down on the sofa, his head on your lap and your fingers through his ginger hair.

"Long day?"

Your soft honey like voice drifts to his ears, and all he can manage to respond is a small low hum.

He feels like he absolutely won in life when you not only move away to prepare a warm bath for him, but you also slip inside the tub behind him and wrap your arms around his torso. He melts like puddy when your soft hands begin to massage his scalp while you make sure the shampoo reaches his roots, and in his mind, he questions if that was what heaven felt like.

You had to coax him into getting out of the tub after a long while passed, your skin pruned and the bath no longer as warm. Though honestly, Noya could´ve stayed like that forever, however, the image of you cuddled up under the safety and warmth of the bedsheets sounded far more tempting. So, with groggy movements, he stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist.

He may be small, but he was not light, and in his dazed like state, he didn´t seem to remember as he all but plops down right on top of you. Were it any other day, you would´ve shoved him off, but the way his eyelids fluttered close and his lips seemed to be in a permanent pout were too cute. So, adjusting your position so you could at least breathe, you run your hand up and down his back, your other playing with his soft locks. And just like that, he was out like a light.

Bokuto Koutarou

You knew the second you started dating Bokuto, that you´d be in for a rollercoaster of emotions. You had become accostumed to his wide range of emtions that seemed to appear at the most sudden times. Nevertheless, there were days where his energy seemed to be on a constant low. He moved in slow sluggish motions and not a single thought seemed to pass through his mind.

You found out that one of his favorite things that you do at times like this is giving him a looong massage. His body would be flopped face down on the comfort of your bed while you oiled up his bare back. He´d expressed to you many times that he was convinced your hands were made by the very gods, because when they slowly massaged the tense muscled of his back, he felt like he was on cloud 9.

You´d make your way up until you reached his broad shoulders and neck. Small muffled groans would be heard from him every once in a while, but he´d mostly remain uncharacteristically quiet.

If he didn´t pass out from your massage, because trust me, he has passed out many times before, then you´d watch a random movie while he nuzzled into your warm body. His soft breaths tickled the sensitive skin of your neck and his buff arms wrapped around your body, like a bear engulfing you in a hug.

Every once in a while you´d press your soft lips to his forehead, or you��d run your fingers through his bicolored strands. And I can assure you that with a couple more sweet kisses, he´d be out like a light, his soft snores filling the silence of the room.

"I love you"

You whisper, pressing one last kiss to the crown of his head before you too, fall into deep slumber with your big baby in your arms.

Hinata Shoyo

If there´s one thing Shoyo loves more than anything in this world, it´s your cooking. And there´s nothing like your homemade food on a day where he can´t give his fullest.

He had spent the entire day jumping around, his energy at it´s peak. But the more it had dragged on the more he wished he could speed off back home and rest in your loving arms.

He was sprawled across the couch, his tired half lidded eyes boring into whatever was playing on the TV, he couldn´t even process anything. He feels the couch dip beside him, and when he turns his head, he finds you with a bowl of your homemade ramen in your hands. The steam wafted into the air and to his nostrils. He could already taste it in his toungue, making his stomach rumble.

However, he´s slightly surprised when you move the bowl away when he tries to reach out for it.

"Let me take care of you"

Is all you mutter. That´s how he finds himself curled up on the couch while you feed him the ramen, making sure to blow on the food each time you picked up a portion of it.

His heart fluttered when you pampered him this way. Or when you put away the bowl after he eats it all up and when you pepper slow kisses around his entire face. They werent rushed or overwhelming like they normally were. No, these were precise, like you were deliberately making sure to kiss every inch of his skin.

During these times, he absolutely needs to be the little spoon. He likes the feeling of being taken care of. The way your arms would wrap around his torso, your warm breath tickling the nape of his neck and making his spine shudder ever so slightly.

It´s in these moments where, as he´s drifting off to sleep with, he really feels an overwhelming sense of love and adoration for you

[foreveia]

in full bloom ⤨ akaashi keiji

⨭ genre; fluff, college!au, flower shop!au, valentine's day special!

⨭ pairing; akaashi keiji x fem!reader

⨭ word count; 4.9k

⨭ descriptions; akaashi comes into your flower shop every day and buys you a single flower, and now that it’s valentine’s day, you finally find out why.

⨭ warnings; painfully sweet tooth rotting fluff, profanity (?)

⨭ a/n; part 1 of my valentine's day special drop !!! in other words here's some painfully fluffy romance to cushion ur valentines (if ur single) or be an extra gift of the day (if, unlike me, ur not). lucky u guys—i'm so painfully single that i pumped two of these bad boys out. <3

song i listened to writing this: 'happening again' by katherine li

one.

Working the morning shift usually sucks. Working the morning shift alone usually extra sucks. 

But in this case, morning shifts at Furudate Flowers are actually quite lovely: it’s always calm, domestic, peaceful, still in the way only early mornings can be. For four blissful hours in the morning between 7 AM and 11 AM, it’s just you and the blossoms in bloom—no chaos, no rush, no impatient customers tapping their feet like you’re the only obstacle between them and a groundbreaking love confession. Just the quiet hum of soft jazz playing over the shop’s speakers, the crisp morning air filtering through the half-cracked window, and the comforting scent of earth and petals settling into your skin like a second layer. It’s almost always empty.

Almost.

“Good morning,” Akaashi greets, voice smooth as always, as he steps up to the counter. 

8:30 AM, on the dot. He’s never late, never early. Just always right on time.

“Morning,” you reply cheerfully, setting down the small notepad you had been scribbling new orders in. “What’ll it be today?”

He doesn’t answer, but you don’t need him to: you already know what’s coming. He’s made it a daily routine, as he has for the last month or so, coming in the shop and really taking his time to scan the selection, head tilting slightly as he considers his options. It’s something you’ve come to expect—this quiet deliberation, the way his eyes flick over each flower like he’s searching for something more than just petals and stems. You’re half-starting to think he goes through this whole process just to mess with you.

But, finally, he reaches out and plucks a yellow tulip from its vase, holding it up for you to see.

You raise a brow. “Going for something bright today?”

He hums in response, resting his elbow against the counter as he spins the flower between his limber fingers before calmly asking, “What does it mean?”

“There’s sunshine in your smile,” you respond instantly; you don’t even have to think about it. 

Akaashi blinks. Then—the smallest, softest twitch of his lips. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close, something just as pretty.

You don’t get a chance to comment on it, though, because he does what he always does: gently tucks the flower into its brown paper wrapping, smooths out the creases, and, without hesitation, extends it toward you.

“For you.”

Your fingers pause before taking it, eyes flicking up to his face. “Y’know, most people buy flowers for themselves or for other people,” you muse thoughtfully, twirling the tulip by its stem. It’s gorgeous, even as it’s a few days away from full bloom. “You’re the only one who buys them for the florist.”

Akaashi doesn’t falter. He doesn’t even look embarrassed or sheepish, like you might’ve expected someone else to. Instead, he just shrugs—calm, composed, like this is the most natural thing in the world. “You’re the only florist who can tell me what they mean.”

It’s such a simple response. So straightforward. So… Akaashi. And yet, your heart does something annoying. You promptly tell it to shut up.

Instead, you exhale a small, amused huff, shaking your head as you slide his receipt across the counter. “You’re either a hopeless romantic,” you start, watching as he reaches for his wallet to slide over a five dollar bill. “or a weirdo. I’m still trying to figure out which.”

Akaashi tilts his head, considering. Then, as he tucks his change back into his pocket—just before he turns toward the door—he says, “Maybe both.”

And he heads out, just like that. 

You glance down at the flower, then at the others on the shelf, the budding collection in various stages of bloom. 

You’re not sure what to make of it. It’s not like you mind the attention (he’s kinda cute), but you can’t figure out the angle. Is this some elaborate inside joke you’re not in on? A weirdly prolonged experiment? A test to see how long it takes for you to lose your mind? 

Or is it… flirting?

The windchimes by the door jingling snaps you from your thoughts. It’s another customer, here to pick up a bouquet, and you’re reminded that you are in fact on the clock and at your job. As attractive as Akaashi is and as sweet as his flower routine is, you have priorities, and right now, it’s on getting that bag.

So you sigh, setting the tulip down carefully before turning back to the register, and decidedly, push him to the back of your mind.

two.

Akaashi is beginning to think this might be the worst idea he’s ever had.

Or, at the very least, the most pathetic.

This thought occurs to him as he sits at a too-small table outside the university café, half listening as Kuroo and Bokuto argue about dinner plans while Tsukishima makes quiet, cutting remarks in between bites of his meal. It’s the usual nonsense: who’s cooking, who refuses to cook, why Kuroo swears that his econ degree is better than business majors but can’t manage to budget their groceries for the week. Akaashi is used to the noise, the way their conversations spiral into oblivion. Normally, he’d step in, smooth things over, steer the conversation back on track.

But today, he’s distracted.

He drums his fingers against the table, thinking about this morning. The flower shop. The way your eyes lit up when you saw the yellow tulip. The soft hmm you made when you twirled it between your fingers. He wonders if you kept it. If it’s sitting in a cup of water somewhere behind the counter. If you even care enough to keep track of the others.

His friends, unfortunately, notice this brooding.

“You’re quiet today,” Tsukishima notes, barely looking up from his book. It’s not an accusation as much as it’s an observation.

Bokuto perks up immediately. “Ohh, you’re right! Akaashi, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re thinking about the florist,” Tsukishima deadpans, spearing a cherry tomato with his fork.

Kuroo’s eyes light up. “Ohhh, that’s what this is about? Your little crush on the flower shop girl?”

Akaashi doesn’t respond. Which, in hindsight, is the worst possible thing he could do, because his silence is basically an admission of guilt.

Kuroo grins. “Damn. So, what’s the update? Have we reached the realization phase yet, or are we still on ‘maybe if I give her flowers for long enough, she’ll develop psychic abilities and confess first’?”

Akaashi frowns. “You know, I don’t actually need your input on this.”

“Sounds like you do. Your method is tragic,” Kuroo snorts.

Akaashi pinches the bridge of his nose, willing himself to be patient. He’s beginning to regret ever telling them about this.

Bokuto pats him on the back, offering brute affection as he always does. “Has she said anything? Did she give you any signs?” 

“I don’t know,” Akaashi sighs, drumming his fingers against the table. 

“You don’t know?” Kuroo echoes, brow furrowing in disbelief. “You’ve been giving her flowers every morning for over a month, and you don’t know?”

Again, Akaashi fails to respond, only offering a half-hearted shrug.

Tsukishima finally looks up from his book, resting his chin on his palm. “So… your plan is to keep giving her flowers and hope she figures it out?”

Akaashi presses his lips together. “It’s… a gradual approach.”

“It’s an unclear approach,” Kuroo cuts in with a slight scoff. “You can’t expect her to read between the lines forever.”

“If it were me, and I was getting free flowers every morning with no explanation, I’d just assume you liked messing with me,” Tsukishima supplies unhelpfully. 

Akaashi frowns at that. Because… is that what you think? That he’s just messing with you? That it’s some elaborate joke? A weird habit?

Bokuto, still ever on his side, shakes his head. “No way. I think she knows it means something.”

“Then why hasn’t she said anything?” Kuroo raises a brow.

“Why hasn’t he said anything?” Tsukishima counters, flipping a page in his book.

Kuroo turns back to Akaashi, clearly delighted by this new angle. “That’s a good point. Why haven’t you said anything?”

Akaashi exhales slowly. He could answer that. He could admit that despite his usual confidence, this whole thing is different—because it’s you. Because he likes the way you talk about flowers like they hold real meaning, because he likes the way your brow furrows in quiet concentration when you’re wrapping bouquets, because he likes—

Well. That’s the problem, isn’t it?

He likes you. He has, for longer than you could know, which makes saying any confession absolutely terrifying.

Kuroo watches his expression shift and leans back, arms crossed. “Okay, look. Hypothetically speaking, if you did confess, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Akaashi doesn’t hesitate. “Rejection.”

“Okay, besides that—”

“Humiliation,” Tsukishima supplies.

“Besides that—”

“The crushing weight of knowing he misread every interaction and made a complete fool of himself in front of the girl he likes?”

Akaashi takes a slow sip of water. “Thank you, Tsukishima.”

Tsukishima shrugs. “Just saying, it’s a risk.”

“But what if,” Bokuto starts, leaning forward, eyes bright, “she does like you back?”

Akaashi pauses.

It’s not like he hasn’t considered it. There have been moments—tiny, almost imperceptible things. The way you smile a little brighter when you greet him. The way your fingers linger when he hands you a flower. The fact that, despite the shop’s wide variety of customers, he’s the only one you tease, the only one who gets a huff of amusement when he asks about each flower’s meaning, just so he gets to hear you talk about it in that sweet, enthusiastic way of yours.

It could mean something. It could also mean absolutely nothing. The uncertainty is paralyzing.

Kuroo, seeing the hesitation in his expression, grins. “Alright, new strategy. Pick a flower that spells it out for her. Something so obvious she has to get it.”

“Something that means ‘I love you’ or something!” Bokuto agrees.

Akaashi glances between them, unimpressed. “You want me to go from subtle daily gifts to I love you overnight?”

“Bold moves, man,” Kuroo says, smirking. “They get results.”

Tsukishima, surprisingly, doesn’t dismiss the idea outright. “You could do something a little more direct,” he muses. “Even something simple. Just make sure there’s no room for misinterpretation.”

Akaashi exhales, tilting his head back against his chair. “You all make this sound so easy.”

“That’s because it is easy,” Kuroo says, stealing a fry off his plate. “You’re the one making it complicated.”

Akaashi doesn’t argue. Because, really, they’re not wrong. He is making this complicated. One flower a day. One careful selection every morning. And yet, if you still don’t know… well, maybe it is time to change something. 

Across the table, Kuroo and Bokuto are grinning like they’ve already won.

“You’re thinking about it,” Kuroo announces. “I knew we’d get through to him.”

“I believe in you, Keiji,” Bokuto says, clasping a hand on his shoulder. “Make us proud.”

Akaashi just sighs, shaking his head.

But later, as he walks across campus on his way to his next lecture, as he pulls out his phone and scrolls through a list of flower meanings, as his thumb hovers over one in particular. He realizes, reluctantly, annoyingly, begrudgingly, that his idiot roommates might have a point.

Maybe. Just maybe.

three.

Evening shifts at the flower shop are chaos incarnate. 

It’s the kind of chaos that makes you miss your quiet, peaceful mornings. Instead, you’re knee-deep in last-minute Valentine’s panic, dodging frantic couples, watching bouquets disappear faster than you can restock them, and narrowly avoiding an existential crisis over whether red roses are actually romantic or just wildly unoriginal.

At least you have Yachi and Kiyoko, your favorite two co-workers, to suffer with.

“Everyone’s really revved up for Valentine’s,” you say, finally watching the clock tick to 9 PM so you can flip the Come in! sign on the door. “It was actually crazy today.”

“That’s what happens when you work at a flower shop in February,” Kiyoko hums, wiping down the counter with methodical ease. “Not that it’s a bad thing.”

“I almost got trampled when we restocked the red roses,” Yachi mutters, sinking onto a stool near the register. “One guy was so desperate, he tried to haggle. Like we’re some kind of flower black market.”

You snort, rubbing your temples. “Yeah, I had a couple who came in fighting, stopped long enough to pick out a bouquet, and then continued arguing while paying. The romance is thriving.”

Kiyoko shakes her head, but there’s an amused glint in her eyes. “Valentine’s does things to people.”

Probably one of the sole perks of being single: not having to worry about Valentine’s Day and its expectations as encouraged and promoted by capitalism. You even offered to work the day-of, considering that it’ll just be a whole day of fulfilling orders that have already been wrapped and arranged throughout the rest of the week. There’s several bouquets already ready, that just need to be handed over to whatever happy person they’re going to—it’s the kind of thing that, despite your loneliness, makes the day just the slightest bit endearing. 

You sigh, stretching your arms over your head. “At least that’s the last of it for today. I might actually get home before midnight.”

Yachi peeks at the leftover stems and petals scattered across the counter. “You still have to clean up, though.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Kiyoko finishes wiping down the last of the workspace before leaning casually against the counter. “So,” she says, tilting her head and peering at you over the rim of her wireframes. “What flower did Akaashi give you today?”

“A yellow tulip,” you answer, gesturing to where you’ve arranged the collection of flowers he’s gradually gifted you into a small bouquet. It sits in an ornate glass vase on a shelf behind the counter, just slightly out of customer view, but from where your co-workers are standing, they can clearly see the new addition, proudly displayed in the middle of the bouquet like a golden gem.

Yachi, predictably, gasps. “You kept them? I didn’t know that!” She practically launches herself over the counter to get a better look, clutching her hands to her chest; you forgot that it’s been a while since you worked a shift with her, your schedules rarely seeming to overlap. “Oh my god, that’s so romantic.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “I mean… what else was I supposed to do with them? It felt weird to just toss them out.”

“But you arranged them,” Yachi insists, turning to Kiyoko for backup. “Look at this! She made it into an actual bouquet!”

Kiyoko, ever composed, simply tilts her head in consideration. “It is a little telling.”

“It’s not telling anything,” you argue, leaning against the counter. “It’s just… I don’t know. He gives me flowers every morning, and it’s a nice routine.”

Yachi wiggles her fingers dramatically. “A romantic routine.”

Kiyoko hums. “It’s certainly an interesting one. And you’re sure he’s just being friendly?”

You hesitate. Because, really—are you?

“I mean… maybe?” you say, trying not to sound too uncertain. “I don’t know. He’s really calm about it. Never acts embarrassed. Never even hints that it means anything.”

“No way!” Yachi shakes her head, her blonde ponytail swishing. “No way. Guys don’t just casually give a girl a flower every day for a month and not mean something by it.”

Kiyoko nods. “She has a point.”

You groan, rubbing your face. “But what if it isn’t romantic? What if I get my hopes up and it turns out he’s just… like that?”

Yachi places a gentle hand on your arm, looking dead serious. “If he was just like that, he’d be giving everyone flowers.”

“And yet, you’re the only florist he buys them for,” Kiyoko adds.

That thought makes something flutter in your chest. You shove it down. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, twirling a stray petal between your fingers. “It just… it doesn’t feel like a confession. I think you guys are reaching.”

Yachi gasps, scandalized. “Reaching? No, you are in denial.”

“I mean, what if he just likes flowers?” you try, grasping at straws. “Or what if he’s just being nice?”

Kiyoko gives you a look. The kind of look that says she sees right through you and your bullshit.

Yachi, meanwhile, clutches her heart dramatically. “You cannot be serious.”

You huff, shaking your head as you start gathering stray petals into a pile. “Look, I’ll admit it’s kind of cute. He… is pretty cute.”

Yachi blinks, before she points at you, “Oh my god, you do like him!”

You pause, mouth opening—then closing. Okay. Fine. Maybe you do like him. A little.

He’s attractive. He’s polite. He listens when you talk about flower meanings and never rushes you when you’re busy. There’s something deliberate about the way he does things, something intentional. And that’s what’s so frustrating—because if this is flirting, if this is some kind of long-winded confession, then it’s frustratingly vague.

So you just sigh. “Even if I did like him, it’s not like I’d do anything about it.”

Kiyoko hums. “And what if this is him doing something about it?”

You stare at her.

Yachi nods aggressively. “Exactly! This could totally be him making the first move!”

You hesitate, fingers lingering over the pile of petals. “But then… why hasn’t he just said something?”

“Maybe he’s nervous. Maybe he doesn’t know how you feel,” Kiyoko offers with a small shrug. 

Yachi grins. “Or maybe he’s just waiting for the perfect time to confess.”

“You’ve been reading too many romance novels.”

Yachi doesn’t even deny it. Instead, she beams, taking your shoulders in her hands and shaking you a bit. “Listen, if he comes in tomorrow, and his flower has a romantic meaning,” she pauses, largely for what seems like dramatic effect. “I win this argument.”

You snort. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

As if that’s gonna happen.

***

When the bell above the door jingles the next morning, Akaashi steps in like clockwork. He scans the rows of flowers once, twice, before finally, leaning over and picking out a single red camellia. 

I love you.

Your breath hitches.

God, Yachi is going to be insufferable.

four.

The life sciences library is, without a doubt, the best one on campus.

Not just because you’re an assistant there, and not just because it’s the only one on campus with a café: because it’s the one in the very center of campus square, making it the best place for people-watching. And right about now, mid-February when the entire campus is blooming with romance, it’s the best time for it.

You come in, dropping off your bag with purpose behind the check-in desk, muttering a small greeting to Makki—he’s sitting behind the computer with a face of purpose, though he’s really just playing 2048 (you’re not sure why he’s pretending to be locked in; it’s not fooling anyone). Mattsun pages through an old encyclopedia someone left on the drop off counter. Somewhere in one of the sections, you spot Iwaizumi shelving books, and Oikawa predictably distracting him from doing so. 

It’s a normal day. Just you and your band of library assistants, who really do everything in their power to avoid responsibility. 

You settle in behind the desk, tapping the keyboard to wake up the circulation computer. There are a few books waiting to be checked in, but nothing urgent, so you take your time, stacking them into neat piles. It’s quiet—save for the faint hum of the café, the occasional rustle of pages, and Oikawa’s exaggerated sighs as Iwaizumi pointedly ignores him in favor of shelving books correctly.

Routine. Normal. Everything as it should be.

And then, as you reach into your bag for a pen, your fingers brush against something soft. Something delicate.

You blink, pulling it out.

The red camellia.

The petals are still perfect, even after being tucked between your planner and a stack of readings. You must’ve slipped it into your bag absentmindedly before heading to campus, but now, seeing it again under the library’s cool fluorescents, it catches you off guard.

The meaning lingers. I love you.

You should stop thinking about it.

But it’s hard, especially here, where romance feels unavoidable. From your spot at the front desk, you can see couples huddled over textbooks, murmuring in hushed voices. Someone just dropped off a stack of biology books, a bright pink sticky note still attached to the top one, scribbled with something that looks suspiciously like a love confession. Even Mattsun, who barely looks up from his encyclopedia, lets out a low whistle when he spots a couple sneaking a kiss behind the botany section.

“Valentine’s,” he comments idly. “Can’t escape it.”

You hum noncommittally, fingers still curled around the camellia.

Makki finally pauses his game to glance over. “What’s that?”

You hesitate before answering. “A flower.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I have eyes. I meant, why do you have it?”

You should brush it off. Say it’s nothing. But the weight of it feels heavier today—the quiet way Akaashi had handed it to you, the way his fingers lingered just a second too long.

“…Someone gave it to me,” you say finally.

Makki and Mattsun exchange a look, and you realize your mistake immediately.

“Akaashi, right?” Makki says, smirking.

You stiffen. “How did you—”

Mattsun grins. “You think we don’t see him in here all the time? Guy spends half his life reading in that corner.” He gestures vaguely toward one of the back tables near the windows. “It’s honestly embarrassing how obvious it is.”

Your face warms. “It’s not—”

“Relax,” Makki interrupts, leaning back in his chair. “It’s kinda cute.” Then he snorts. “Though, if you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m starting to think you’re a lost cause.”

You groan, dropping your forehead onto the desk as he and Mattsun laugh. 

“Do you really think it means something?” you ask quietly after they finally stop making fun of you. 

Mattsun raises a brow, flipping the encyclopedia shut with a thud. “You’re joking, right?”

Makki leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk like he’s about to break the most obvious news in the world. “He’s been giving you flowers for a month.”

You shift uncomfortably, tracing a fingertip along the edge of a petal. “Yeah, but—”

“But what?” Mattsun interrupts. “You think he’s just doing it for fun? Some kind of—what, botanical enrichment project?”

“Oh, I’d love to see that research paper. ‘Floral Gifting and Its Effects on Clueless Library Assistants,’” Makki snickers.

You scowl, but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you. “…It’s not like that.”

Mattsun sighs dramatically, tossing the encyclopedia back onto the counter. “You’re killing me. I mean, if some guy was giving me flowers every day, I’d at least start questioning my life choices.”

“You don’t have any,” Iwaizumi calls from the stacks, not even looking up.

Mattsun gestures vaguely in his direction. “Exactly. And yet, even I know what’s going on here.”

Makki hums, tapping his fingers against the desk. “Listen. I don’t know what’s going on in that overcomplicated brain of yours, but if it were me, I’d start thinking about what I want.”

You hesitate. That’s the problem, isn’t it? You have been thinking about it—more than you’d like to admit. About the way Akaashi looks at you when he hands you a flower, like he’s waiting for something. About how, lately, you’ve started waiting for it too.

Mattsun stands, stretching lazily. “Anyway, I give it two days before he gives up on subtlety and just confesses outright.”

Makki grins. “You’re being generous. I give it one.”

They wander off before you can argue, leaving you alone at the desk, still holding the camellia between your fingers.

You should put it away.

You should really stop thinking about it.

But instead, you turn it over in your hands, feeling the softness of the petals, the steady thump-thump of your heart a little too loud in your ears.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ve been a little slow to catch on.

five.

Valentine’s Day is always a steady hum of movement.

The real rush had been in the days leading up to it—four days of wrapping, arranging, preparing. Now, on the day itself, there’s nothing left to scramble for. Just bouquets waiting in labeled slots, each one tagged with a name, a time, a destination. Customers filter in throughout the morning, exchanging receipts for flowers, smiling as they walk back out into the crisp February air.

It’s not chaotic, not like the frantic energy of last-minute shoppers earlier in the week. It’s gentle. Purposeful. A day of fulfillment rather than panic.

By midmorning, most of the orders have already been picked up. You stand behind the counter, the lingering scent of roses and eucalyptus settling into your skin, fingers lightly tapping against the register as you watch the occasional customer come and go.

And then, at exactly 8:30 AM, the bell above the door chimes. You don’t have to look up to know who it is, because Akaashi Keiji is nothing if not consistent.

But when you do, you’re taken aback. Today, for the first time in over a month, he hasn’t come in with his hands shoved in his pocket, ready to pick out a flower for you. Matter-of-fact, he’s not even holding a single flower. 

He’s holding a bouquet.

Your breath hitches.

It’s beautiful.

You inhale sharply. Your fingers curl slightly against the edge of the counter.

“Good morning,” Akaashi says, voice as smooth and even as always. But there’s something beneath it this time, something quieter, heavier.

You stare. You don’t mean to, but you do, because he’s standing there with a bouquet in his hands and a look in his eyes that makes your heart feel like it’s folding in on itself.

Finally, after a very long moment, you find your voice. 

“You—you brought flowers,” you say, dumbly.

Akaashi exhales a small, amused breath, tilting his head slightly. “I did.”

“For me?”

A ghost of a smile. “For you.”

Your brain is working slower than usual. Maybe it’s the boredom post-morning, maybe it’s the sheer absurdity of seeing him standing there, framed by the morning light, holding a bouquet like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like it’s meant to be in his hands.

You glance down at the arrangement again, eyes flickering over the petals, cataloging their meanings instinctively.

Pink peony—Romance, prosperity, a happy life together.

White gardenia—You are lovely.

Baby’s breath—Everlasting love.

Red camellias—I love you.

Your stomach flips.

Akaashi shifts, carefully adjusting the bouquet between his fingers. “I, um.” He pauses, choosing his words cautiously. “I’m not the best at expressing things. Not in the way I should.”

You blink at him.

He doesn’t look nervous, exactly—Akaashi Keiji doesn’t do nervous—but there’s a certain deliberateness to the way he speaks, the way his fingers tighten slightly around the stems, the way his eyes hold yours like he’s making sure you hear him.

“The flowers,” he continues, “have been saying it for me.”

Oh.

Oh.

Your breath catches. The weight of the past weeks—the past month—settles all at once; every morning encounter, every carefully selected flower, every soft, fleeting moment that felt like nothing and everything all at once.

You should’ve known. You should’ve realized sooner.

Akaashi watches you carefully, his expression unreadable, but there’s something expectant about the way he waits. As if he’s prepared for anything—for rejection, for silence, for something in between.

You exhale, a half-disbelieving laugh slipping out before you can stop it. Your fingers finally reach forward, brushing against the edge of the bouquet, skimming over the soft petals. You don’t know what to do with all the warmth curling in your ribs, with the sudden overwhelming feeling of affection, so you simply say, “You could’ve just asked me out, you know.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “I know.”

“Would’ve saved you a lot of money on flowers.”

“Probably.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

You shake your head, still absorbing, still processing the fact that this is happening. Akaashi Keiji has been confessing to you for over a month without saying a word.

And yet, now that he’s here, standing in front of you, looking at you like this moment has always belonged to the two of you, you think that you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Slowly, carefully, you take the bouquet from his hands. The weight of it feels right in your grip, like something meant to be held. And then, just as carefully, you turn toward the arrangements behind the counter, fingers brushing over familiar stems until you find what you’re looking for.

A single red chrysanthemum.

Love reciprocated.

You pluck it from its vase, hold it up between you. Akaashi’s eyes flicker down to the flower. You watch as the realization settles, as something in his expression shifts, as the tension in his shoulders melts.

Then, finally, he smiles. Small, barely-there, but real, soft, familiar.

And for the first time, it’s you who hands him the flower, as you murmur back, “It’s for you.”

⨭ closing notes; my best friend proof read this and she was so mad i didn't write their valentines date lmao so pretend that they go on some sweet lil excursion as seen off camera. ANYWAY love u all love keiji love that lowk this is my first valentine's single in a hot minute and im still hot and funny i hope (jk humble me rn)

[shoothingstarlie]

OIKAWA, keishin ukai, TANAKA, kuroo, nishinoya, bokuto, atsumu, tendou.

[xfgpng]

“she ride me like a p✰rnstar”

his legs won’t stop shaking, groaning loudly as you kiss the head of his cock. he feels so good but way past overstimulated and he can hear ringing in his ears. he hears how you giggle, your own legs shaking and you struggle to crawl up to kiss his lips.

he can feel the phantom sensation of your pussy gripping his cock, balls still so heavy. he only ever feels this way with you and you drive him crazy every single time. he can’t get enough of how you ride him, using him like one of your toys and he lays back, taking everything.

the way your nails dig into his chest, leaving marks that always gets him so fucking hard. his grip on your hips is tight and it hurts but you love it. you want him to lose control and fuck you like he hates you.

how can he not fall in love when you kiss his tip after every fucking round, every time. he’s so whipped and even when he knows he’ll end up shooting blanks, he can’t stop.

he loves being inside you, it’s so wet and warm and if he’s whining, whimpering, he doesn’t care. he wants you to know just how good you make him feel.

“so good — fuckfuckfuck baby” he moans, his eyes so glossy from unshed tears and god he’s so pretty like this.

| bokuto, sakusa, osamu, kakucho, mikey,& ran

[crushmeeren]

♡ Master List Link

☽ Bokuto / Fem Reader

⇢ Everyone involved in this fic is aged up/18+;

⇢ Warnings; oral sex (blow jobs/pussy eating), car sex, riding, small amount of anal play, mating press, kissing, praising

Koutarou who is the sweetest man alive. Who you’re unconditionally in love with, but…is an airhead. I.e., he loses his phone all the time and often forgets plans he’s already made. Who somehow drops his wallet down a hole at the top of a parking garage that’s 30 feet deep while planking but miraculously finds it lying on a car below?? Who you’ll always help find his shit either way.

Koutarou who enjoys wearing a variety of colors and whose wardrobe resembles a rainbow. Whose favorite color is baby blue. Who once got his face painted with a rainbow on it at the fair and looked so cute you couldn’t help but blush.

Koutarou who practically vibrates with excitement when he spots you watching his games from the stands. Who smiles so broadly you fear his cheeks may split. Who waves at you in the middle of a play and runs into the net by accident.

Koutarou who turns a sweet shade of pink when you wear his jersey to the game. Who picks you up in a sweaty bear hug and squishes the air out of your lungs after the match is over. Who chatters excitedly in your ear as he carries you a few feet and who only sets you down when Hinata rescues you by reminding him they have to go change.

Koutarou who gets into certain self-deprecating moods sometimes but lets you help him feel better. You let him talk it out and spending as much time with him as he needs. You whisper words of support and encouragement as you poke the dimples on his cheeks, which gets him to giggle and smile almost every time.

Koutarou who likes listening to hip hop, and surprisingly, hair metal. Who loves singing in the car and has an astonishingly beautiful singing voice. You love watching him as he drives. He gets so into the music, wiggling in his seat and singing to you. Who loves Paramore because you showed them to him.

Koutarou who takes up half your bed when he sleeps. Who is so fucking tall and thick. You love it, using him as your own personal blanket. Who does get super sweaty in the middle of the night, which forces you to roll away so you don’t melt to death.

Koutarou who absolutely loves holding your hand. Who laces his warm fingers through yours and tugs you in every direction no matter where you are. Who leans in so close to speak that you can see his snowy eyelashes. Who never fails to make you flush white hot when he looks at you with stars in his eyes.

Koutarou who is always the life of the party. Everyone loves the fucking ace, he just radiates positive and happy energy. Who has people drawn to him as if they’re moths to a flame. Who has a revolving door of people that want to speak with him. You don’t mind, he comes home with you a night either way.

Koutarou who introduces you to Kuroo. Who he has remained friends with after high school. Kuroo is a sly bastard who you’ve grown quite fond of and have become close friends with. You instantly clicked over your combined efforts to tease Bo.

Koutarou who loves taking hot showers with you. Who likes to hug you under the warm spray and allow it to relax both of you. Who talks about his day and asks you about yours. If you end up on your knees sometimes that’s neither here nor there.

Koutarou who is stupid hot when his hair is down. When the soft strands frame his cheeks you can’t help but stare at him until he asks if there’s something on his face. You tell him how amazing he looks, which makes him blush a rosy pink and drag you into his lap to make out.

Koutarou who beams at you when you call him by his last name. Don’t get him wrong, he enjoys when you call him Koutarou, but he can’t help the flash of heat that shoots between his legs when he hears your sweet voice calling him Bo.

Koutarou who loves you so wholeheartedly he may burst at the seams. Who is your best friend. Who you can be completely yourself with and who supports you in everything you do. You know in your bones that he’s your one and only. Who has been secretly planning on proposing to you for awhile and most definitely cries when you say yes.

Koutarou who is buff. Who is a great deal taller than you. Who is packed with muscle and his cock is, to say the least, thick. Who is just the right length that makes you feel as if you could take him multiple times over without hurting.

Koutarou who gets rock hard whenever you kiss his neck. Who gasps, whining and squirming underneath you when you sink your teeth into the muscle covering his pulse point. Who tilts his head to the side and melts when you leave hickies. Who tries his best to cover it up the next day but Miya Atsumu teases him at practice anyways.

Koutarou who only really curses during sex. Who is unable to stop the nasty words from leaving his mouth. You think it’s the biggest turn on when he can’t help but whimper a soft “fuck,” when he gets his dick inside you for the first thrust.

Koutarou who loves when you suck his cock. Who enjoys when you’re on your back and he straddles your chest. Who thrusts into your mouth from above and moans when you grip his ass to help him along. Who braces a hand against the wall, one hand in your hair as he watches his dick shine with your saliva as it repeatedly disappears between your lips.

Koutarou who likes to suffocate between your thighs. Who begs you to sit on his face and who grips your hips and forces you to rub your clit over his tongue. Who covers his finger in your slick and teases your rim until you cry out his name cum on his tongue.

Koutarou who was nervous when you suggested having sex in his car, but now he’s addicted. Who can’t do anything but hold your waist and whimper “yeah just like that pretty girl,” as you hold onto his shoulders. You use your feet and thighs to bounce on his cock in the drivers seat that’s been pushed all the way back.

Koutarou whose toes curl, cock twitching as his eyes either stayed glued to where your pussy sucks him in or the way your tits bounce in his face. You can’t help but tilt your head down to stare just the same.

Koutarou who whines high pitched and moans in your ear when he fucks you in missionary. Who folds you into a mating press and babbles about how good your pussy is. Who shivers as he tries to hold back from cumming too quickly. Who circles your clit and makes you squirt in this position.

Koutarou who sits back on his calves and grips your tits, fucking into you and curling his hips upwards to make you gasp and cry out his name. Who tells you how pretty you look underneath him and how much he loves when you cum on his cock.

Koutarou who almost cums instantly when you praise him for being so good at fucking you.

Koutarou who whispers how much he loves you and flushes pink when he starts to cum. Whose heart thumps wildly in his chest and who buries his face into your neck as he whines and fills you to the brim.

Koutarou who can never resist resting all his weight on you afterwards. Who snakes his arms underneath you and snuggles you tight as you both soak in the post orgasm glow. Who helps you clean up afterwards, and who gets you some water before you both take a nap or go to bed for the night.

[bookskeepers]

it's simple, you think. after all, it has to be simple -- the way he controls his body, his movements, his form with so much precision. the way he vaults into the air, one arm up, tilting wherever the ball is. the way the smirk appears on his features when he spikes yet another one of the opponent's returns, the way he glances at where you're seated in the audience to make sure you witnessed his scoring.

your loving boyfriend, number 12 on the MSBY Jackals, makes volleyball look so easy. so easy, in fact, that you begin to think that maybe volleyball isn't that hard; that it's a sport anyone could be good at. even you!

it's this thought process that leads to your post-game activity: you and bokuto, squaring up against each other on opposite sides of a practice court, him holding the yellow-and-blue striped ball under one arm.

"i'll go easy on you," he promises, his voice carrying easily over the distance. you can still see the faint sheen of sweat from his game, and you wonder if perhaps this is unfair to him since he's probably tired out from his match.

your eyes follow his figure as he backs away until he's standing outside of the court lines. they follow as he tosses the ball up, backing up a few steps before running forward with a majestic leap and hitting it with what you think is all the power in his body.

it moves so fast you barely have time to lift your hands in front of your face, to protect your nose from the impact. the ball slams against your palms, leaving them red and stinging as it falls to the ground. you faintly hear bokuto's "oh no!" in the background accompanied by the patter of feet as he runs over to you.

"are you okay?!" he asks, panic evident in his tone as he takes your hands in his, inspecting your facial features for any sign of damage.

your face is fine, luckily saved by your instinct of covering it with your hands. the same can't be said for your faithful shields, though -- they're bright red, and even bokuto's gentle caress makes you wince.

"i accidentally did not go easy on you," bokuto confesses in a whisper. "i put 100% instead of, like, 25%! oh no, oh no, what if your hands are broken? what if you never want to play volleyball again?"

"ko," you manage to say between his constant concerned babble. "i'll be fine, i'll ice them at home."

he seems to calm slightly at this, before looking at you with tear-filled eyes. "but will you still want to try to play volleyball again? it made me so happy when you asked, because i really love volleyball and playing with you is a really fun concept, because i love you, and i love sharing the things i love with the people i love and--"

you silence his chatter with a soft kiss. "of course we can try playing volleyball again. i've got the best mentor in the world for it, right?"

bokuto's cheeks are dusted with a light pink as a smile breaks out on his features, replacing his previous look of worry and concern. "right!"

[khrysomallos]

i saw a tiktok today comparing possessive vs protective boyfriends and it got me thinking something about a protective bokuto and mmmmmm

when people first meet bokuto, they typically peg him as the “golden retriever” boyfriend (don’t get me wrong he totally is). but he’s much smarter than people give him credit for. so much smarter.

bokuto is confident in himself, he’s confident in his relationship (unless in one of his moods.. ya know) and he trusts you whole heartedly.

you’re out at a bar with a group of people, a mix of your friends and bokuto’s. you’re at the bar getting some drinks for the table when someone slides onto the stool beside you. the stranger looks you up and down and begins a conversation. “haven’t seen you around here before, where you from?”

you answer, as it’s not in your nature to be inherently rude. “i’m visiting a friend,” you smile politely and look to the person beside you. a tall man, with a fairly slender build. his hair is neatly swept to the side.

“from out of town then? let me treat you to some home town hospitality then,” as he flags down the bar tender.

you shake your head, telling the man that you’ve already ordered a few drinks for you and your friends. he pushes on, insisting he gets you a drink - which in turn ends up being a shot. he pushes the shot glass towards you, his snake like eyes narrowing as he sticks his tongue out to tease you. you’re frustrated he isn’t catching onto your polite rejections.

“c’mon pretty, let loose and have some fun.”

you shake your head, “thank you for the offer, but i’m here celebrating my friend tonight. i’m flattered but i’m not interested, really.”

it’s as if this much more blatant rejection eggs the man on more.

bokuto, from across the bar, sits silently as he watches the interaction. he’s leaned back in his chair, slowly stirring his straw around his cup. he’s well aware of how good you look tonight, and he’s well aware of the fact that everyone checks you out as you walk by. it gives him a boost of pride knowing you’re going home with him. they can look all they want.

his eyes assessed every shift in your body language. he sees your eyebrows furrow, the way you’re leaned away from the man. how you take slow controlled breaths to regulate your frustration, he knows that to be a tell from your years together.

kuroo leans towards him, “aren’t ya gonna go over there?” and points his head in the direction of the bar.

bokuto shakes his head, “they’re more than capable of handling themselves. i don’t need to do anything,” he lets out a long breath himself.

kuroo’s eyebrows raise, “you’re better than me. if kenma was getting hit on infront of me, i would be sliding in to introduce myself.” he chuckles to himself and nudges kenma, who just snorts.

“he can try but they’ll rip a strip off him if they need too,” bokuto continues to watch the interaction between you and the stranger. the man presses on, pushing the drink towards you and waving to the bartender again even though you’ve turned down the drink. bokuto never worries in these situations, he knows you can handle yourself, and he would never want to overstep a boundary of you taking care of something.

so he waits. he watches.

his jaw tightens as he watches the next interaction. he sees the man place his hand on your lower back. his eyes darken, he could care less about this stranger. what bothers bokuto, what makes his eyes narrow, is the way you flinch and move away from the touch, how you push out your hand, hitting the man’s chest to create space between the two of you. you begin to say something, pointing your finger at him like you’re about to lecture him. but then man doesn’t respect the space, moving closer and leaning down to speak into your ear. bokuto’s hand tightens around his glass.

he waits. he watches. he assesses.

you take a step back, and that’s when you give the man a shove with both hands. bokuto smirks.

the man shakes his head in disbelieve, and begins saying something. you finally look over to your boyfriend, with tight lips and pleading eyes. your face says everything it needs too. a silent call from across the room.

bokuto would never step in by taking over something you were dealing with. he knows you’re more than capable. he also knows there are times when you’re just too overwhelmed and need help. those are times where he’ll step in, only when you ask.

bokuto throws back the rest of his drink before excusing himself from the table.

[pfpanimes]

⌕ haikyū!! • bokuto.

like or reblog if you save/use. 🤍

[bokutoko]

ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ ʙꜰ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ ౨ৎ

cw: ts!bokuto x f!reader (he calls reader ‘pretty girl’), slightest bit suggestive?

- his love languages are physical touch and quality time. sweet boy loves giving you some much-needed cuddles at night after a long day, catching a whiff of your shampoo as you spoon in bed. he listens to you vent/yap about your day as you snuggle (if you feel up for it). if you don’t want to talk, he sits in silence with you, his fingers gently drawing little shapes on your tummy beneath your nightshirt (aka his shirt that you stole). he also loves running his thumb along your knuckles—it’s instinct at this point.

- and he loves when you touch him too!! holding his hand, kissing his cheek, his jaw, his neck… the love languages he likes to receive are words of affirmation and physical touch (with quality time right behind). so he always loves when you offer him a pick-me-up and a little peck on the lips (or a sloppy make out sesh) after having a bad practice.

- he loves when you wrap your arm around his bicep when you walk together. he feels his heart flutter when you also lean into his bicep as you walk. he lives for that shit 100%.

- he loves to delicately trace your figure beneath the sheets as you sleep, telling himself “five more minutes won’t hurt…” as he worships you with his eyes. yeah, and that’s how he’s late to practice—he tells himself five more minutes about 4 times and suddenly he has eighteen minutes to shower, dress, and drive to practice. you were just too breathtaking to look away from, with how the early morning sunlight making you look like an angel.

- imagine him accidentally waking you up when he gives you a soft kiss goodbye before leaving for an early morning practice. he’s on time this time! you give him a little grumble, and he coos a soft, “sorry, go back to sleep, pretty girl” with another little peck on the forehead before tiptoeing out the door.

- he always loves to see you at his games so he can receive some victory kisses afterwards (or consolatory kisses when they lose…). but at the olympics, he runs up to you when japan wins the gold and gives you the biggest, sweetest kiss for all the world to see (the alchemy style).

- he LOOOOVES when you run your fingers through his hair when it’s down/freshly washed. this man melts when you gently play with his hair between your fingers absentmindedly. he’ll have his head in your lap as you both watch a show/movie, relishing the feeling of your touch on him.

- he loves running his fingers through your hair as well, gently tucking it behind your ear and whispering a soft, “you’re so beautiful” as he stares at you with the most lovesick gaze. he loves seeing the pretty blush settle over your cheeks, how your face heats up after the simplest compliments.

- he’s genuinely so emotionally intelligent—much more than people give him credit for. the man knew when he was sad and hid beneath tables/told his team to not toss to him in order to not affect the game. so he definitely knows emotions can be finicky in high stress environments. because of this, he can read you like a book and know exactly what you need when you need it <3

bonus:

- he actually likes his titties to be squeezed like stress balls. it makes him giggle (he’s only a little ticklish).

a/n: first time writing hcs… don’t hate me i tried my best

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please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2025.

[cindol]

bokuto is the type of husband that must be completely away from the kitchen when you’re cooking on holidays but specifically on christmas.

every christmas since he’s been apart of the msby black jackals his teammates would come over for christmas to celebrate it with you and bokuto but not only were they for pure enjoyment but to keep a watchful eye on bokuto as he tried to sneak into the kitchen to see you make your infamous roasted pork loin and christmas fruit cake.

before bokuto could even sneak to the kitchen to smell the good aroma of your pork loin cooking in the oven atsumu caught him by the back of his shirt.“tsk tsk tsk, not so fast there owl boy, your wifey said none of that trying to sneak and take a bite like last time.”

bokuto only sighed at the blonde miya twin grabbing him by the back of black v neck then dropping him on the living room floor.“i was only gonna take a small bite! and you guys are so dramatic, only took a slice of the fruit cake last time..”