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foreveia · 3 months ago

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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.

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)

222 notes · View notes

zumicho · 11 months ago

Text

everyone adores you (at least I do)

m.list

♥︎ .ᐟ.ᐟ BOKUTO KOUTAROU X GN READER DRABBLE

TAGS / CWS : plenty fluff! here’s my lil treat to u :)

────────────────────────

bokuto loves like it’s breathing.

he loves with all 5.

1. gift giving, the heart shaped eraser he gave you in fifth grade. everyone else got rectangles and squares.

2. words of affirmation, the way he beamed when you first called him kou, instead of bokuto. now he refuses to let anyone but you call him that. constantly calling you petnames.

3. acts of service, making you breakfast even if he burns it, learning the recipes and putting it before brushing his teeth, or taming his bedhead — because you’re his first priority.

4. physical touch, never not touching you. he acts like he would die if he wasn’t. the pinky linking, head leaning, and the big warm hugs, even when he’s sweaty and sticky after a match (you let him anyway)

5. quality time, he watches all your stupid movies and shows with you every weekend after practice. will call you to ask what snacks you want him to bring home. “my fridays belong to you, babe.”

koutarou’s the loudest in the room—the brightest, the goofiest. the sun spills out of him and the moon wishes it could shine as big.

not a single soul in this world doesn’t adore bo.

and you’re okay with that. you’re okay with sharing. because his type of love is meant to be shared, not kept. you refuse to cage him and give in to the selfish desire for that light to be yours and yours alone.

little do you know, you’re the one he chooses.

you’re the one he adores.

you, are the light

in his universe.

────────────────────────

author’s note: dedicating this one to myself i love him sm i cant even put it into words :( everything everything about this

#bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #bokuto oneshot #haikyuu #hq #hq oneshot #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu fic #hq x reader #hq x you #hq x y/n #bokuto x you #fukurodani #Spotify

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missmadella · 21 days ago

Text

To loud for Love (Bokuto x Reader)

Summary: You loved Bokuto quietly, from high school to pro league— through heartbreak, through his toxic relationship, through everything. He never noticed. Until one stormy night cracked everything open.

You were always the one who supported him the most.

Words: 8493

You hadn’t meant to stay late that day.

The rain had come out of nowhere — a sudden spring storm that turned the sky dark and made the hallways buzz with static and thunder. Your club meeting had been cancelled last minute, and by the time you realized the buses were already gone, you were soaked from running across the courtyard.

You ducked into the gym for shelter, the one place that still had lights on.

And there he was.

Bokuto Koutarou. The third-year ace. Golden boy of the volleyball team. Loud, reckless, brilliant.

He didn’t notice you at first — no one did. You sat on the bleachers, dripping and trying not to shiver, while the team ran drills. His laugh echoed across the court like sunlight — bright, warm, impossible to ignore.

“ONE MORE! I’m feelin’ it today, Akaashi!”

You saw the setter — calm, cool Akaashi — nod once, his movements sharp and practiced. Another spike. Another perfect hit. Bokuto beamed.

You didn’t realize you were smiling until he caught your eye.

He turned mid-stride, eyes lighting up like someone had just handed him a puppy and a cupcake all at once.

“Hey! You! Are you okay?”

You blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah, you!” He jogged over, towel around his neck, hair a mess, sweat clinging to his jaw. “You look like a drowned cat!”

You let out an embarrassed laugh, brushing your wet hair behind your ear. “Yeah, uh. Got caught in the rain. Just waiting for it to pass.”

“You should’ve come in sooner! We don’t bite.” He grinned. “Well, I don’t. I can’t speak for Konoha.”

“Hey!” someone yelled from the court.

“See?” Bokuto winked. “You hungry? We’ve got snacks.”

You tried to protest, but he was already grabbing his bag and pulling out a crushed convenience store pastry — a chocolate-filled bun, half-smashed but still in its wrapper.

“Here. Emergency sugar. You need it.”

You stared at it, then at him. “You’re just… giving me your snack?”

“Course I am!” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Can’t have anyone passing out in my gym.”

Your gym.

He sat beside you, not caring that you were soaked or that his hair was still damp with sweat. He just was — fully, comfortably, unapologetically there.

You nibbled on the pastry while he talked. About volleyball. About class. About how the school vending machines never stocked his favorite juice. You barely said a word, just nodded and listened.

You thought: How can anyone be this full of life and not burn out?

And then:

How could anyone ever tell him to be less?

___________________________________________________________________________

You walked home together that day. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and he insisted on walking you to your street, even though it was out of his way.

He asked if you liked owls. You said yes — mostly because you knew he did.

“I think I like you,” he said suddenly, then laughed when your eyes went wide. “I mean — not like that! I mean, you’re cool. You listen really well. And you laughed at my ‘cat’ joke.”

You laughed too, trying to hide the twist in your chest.

“Yeah. You’re… pretty easy to like, Bokuto.”

“Really?” he asked, hopeful, eyes wide.

You nodded.

“Cool! You should come watch a real match sometime. When I’m really on fire.”

He threw his arms up dramatically, mimicking a jump serve in the middle of the sidewalk. You smiled through the quiet ache in your chest.

That was the moment.

The exact second your heart decided.

And you knew — whether he ever looked at you like that or not — some part of you would always belong to Bokuto Koutarou.

___________________________________________________________________________

“Catch!”

You barely had time to register the voice before something soft smacked into your chest.

You looked down — a melonpan bun, still in its wrapper.

“Breakfast!” Bokuto called from across the courtyard, grinning like he just solved world hunger. “You skipped it again, didn’t you?”

You laughed. “How do you know that?”

“You always get this pouty look in class when you’re hungry. Super tragic.” He puffed out his cheeks dramatically. “Like this.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was already doing that thing — that fluttery, warm squeeze that had become way too familiar lately.

You watched as he bounded over, hair catching the morning sun, eyes crinkling from how hard he smiled.

And just like that, it hit you.

Oh.

I’m in love with him.

The thought stopped you cold.

Not a crush. Not some passing thing.

You were in real, awful, aching love with Bokuto Koutarou.

And he had no idea.

___________________________________________________________________________

You didn’t realize Akaashi was nearby until you felt his presence beside you, quiet and unbothered as always. He stood under the shade of the sakura trees, hands in his pockets, watching Bokuto enthusiastically try to convince a squirrel to come closer.

“You’ve got that look again,” Akaashi said softly.

You blinked. “What look?”

“The kind people get when they’re trying not to fall apart.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

Akaashi didn’t press. He just stood there, calm as ever, letting the silence settle between you like snow.

You stared at your shoes.

“Is it that obvious?” you asked finally.

“To most people? Probably not. To me? Yeah.”

You let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“It usually doesn’t work that way.”

Bokuto called your name again — waving now, a leaf stuck in his hair from chasing the squirrel. You waved back without thinking, smile automatic, heart aching.

“He’s not trying to hurt you,” Akaashi said gently. “You know that, right?”

You nodded. “He’s just… being him.”

“And you love him for it.”

The words sank into your bones, even though they were already carved there.

“I do,” you whispered.

Akaashi didn’t say anything for a while. Then, softly:

“You’re not alone, you know. Even if he never sees it… I do.”

You turned your head to look at him, surprised.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he said, giving you the smallest, most sincere smile. “And for what it’s worth… you’re not too much, either.”

You didn’t know you needed to hear that until he said it.

Bokuto came jogging back toward you, grinning wide, holding up his phone.

“I got a picture of the squirrel!!” he said triumphantly.

You smiled through the ache.

“Of course you did.”

And that was how it was — back then. You, falling in love quietly. Bokuto, shining like the sun. Akaashi, watching the whole thing like a steady moon, always there to catch the shadows you tried to hide.

___________________________________________________________________________

What you did not expect was how much hurt you would get.

It was a barbecue.

The kind of casual, end-of-summer thing where old teammates and mutual friends sprawled across picnic benches and plastic chairs, everyone drinking too much soda and pretending they weren’t all dreading the next chapter.

You hadn’t seen Bokuto in a few weeks — training camp, he said — and you tried not to count the days. But when you spotted his head above the crowd, hair a little longer, eyes as bright as ever, your heart gave the same stupid lurch it always did.

He saw you and lit up.

“Y/N!!”

His hug was full-body, chaotic, perfect. You clung to it for half a second too long, not ready to let go.

And then he pulled back, grinning.

“I want you to meet someone!”

You knew before he said it. You just knew.

“This is Emi! My girlfriend.”

Your stomach twisted, but your face held the smile you’d been practicing your whole life.

She stepped forward — tall, elegant, the kind of girl who looked like she belonged in every room she entered. Her smile was dazzling.

“Y/N, right? Koutarou talks about you all the time. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Her voice was warm. Genuinely so. She didn’t hesitate to hug you — not the fake, half-hearted kind either. She smelled like vanilla and something expensive.

“He told me you used to bring him snacks during practice,” she said, laughing. “That’s so cute. He never shuts up about how much he misses that.”

Your throat closed.

“Yeah,” you said. “He likes the melonpan with the chocolate chips.”

“Ugh, I tried one — way too sweet for me,” she said, scrunching her nose, but still smiling. “But I guess that’s Koutarou, right? Always going over the top.”

Bokuto laughed. “Hey! Over the top is my thing!”

You laughed too, even though something inside you curled up like paper under a flame.

She was sweet. Funny. Perfectly polite.

But something in her eyes — something sharp, a flicker of calculation behind the warmth — made your skin crawl. Like she was seeing through you and cataloguing your place.

Still, she held your hand for a beat too long and said,

“I hope we get to hang out more. You’re important to him.”

And that was it, wasn’t it?

Not “I can’t wait to know you.”

Not “I’m happy to be friends.”

Just a quiet warning wrapped in sugar.

You smiled.

You didn’t say anything.

Because Bokuto was happy. Or at least, he looked it. And what right did you have to ruin that?

You spent the rest of the evening sitting between conversations, laughing at jokes that didn’t reach your eyes, watching the way she looped her arm around his and whispered things in his ear.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That as long as you got to stay in his life, that was enough.

But that night, lying in bed, you replayed her voice again and again.

“You’re important to him.”

And for the first time, you wondered how much longer that would be true.

You thought you could handle it.

You told yourself — over and over again — that it was enough just to be in his life. To hear your name in his laugh, to have him fling an arm around your shoulders like nothing had changed. To have him still text you when something reminded him of you. To have him still care.

But the truth was quieter. Meaner.

Because he wasn’t texting you as much.

Because when he did talk, he talked about her.

Because when he laughed, it wasn’t always with you anymore.

You weren’t losing him, not really.

You were just… being replaced.

And smiling through it.

It wasn’t that Emi was unkind.

She wasn’t.

She remembered your name, asked about your classes, even complimented your shoes once. Every word was soft and golden, like honey dripping from a spoon. Sweet enough to stick.

But it always felt like you were standing just outside the circle. Not exiled — not fully — but not quite in it either.

She was good at that.

And Bokuto? He didn’t notice. Or maybe he didn’t want to.

He still hugged you tight and ruffled your hair and called you “my favorite melonpan buddy.” But then she’d call his name, and he’d look back — and that look in his eyes, the one that used to land on you like sunlight, would drift away.

And you’d pretend not to notice.

One night, after a group dinner, you stayed back to help clean up. Akaashi was there too — stacking plates in his calm, quiet way, watching you from the corner of his eye.

You didn’t say anything at first.

But he did.

“You’re allowed to be hurt, you know.”

Your fingers froze around a glass. “What?”

“You don’t have to act like it doesn’t bother you.”

You swallowed. Your throat burned.

“He’s happy,” you said, voice thin. “That should be enough.”

“Is he?”

That stopped you.

You turned to look at him. Akaashi’s gaze wasn’t judging. Just… knowing.

“She’s nice,” you said weakly.

“She’s polite,” he corrected. “That’s not the same thing.”

The silence sat heavy between you.

“She makes him feel like he has to be less,” you whispered. “And I… I can’t tell him that. What if he thinks I’m jealous? What if I lose him completely?”

Akaashi dried his hands on a towel. Stepped closer.

“You’re already losing pieces of him,” he said gently. “By pretending none of this hurts.”

You stared down at your feet.

“I don’t know how to stop.”

“Then let it hurt,” he said. “At least it’s real.”

That night, you lay in bed staring at your phone.

No new messages.

Just a saved one from weeks ago.

Bokuto: You’re one of my favorite people in the world, you know that?

You closed your eyes.

And let it hurt.

__________________________________________________________________________

Things only got worse from there. The way he started looking at her and not at you, how your heart ached more with each passing day — that hurt the most. But the worst part was the slowly growing, passive-aggressive comments she directed at you. They dripped from her voice, masked in sweetness, but you could hear the underlying bite. It didn’t just make you sad; it made you angry. And, little by little, you began to resent her in a way you never wanted to feel.

But the hardest part of all was how she made Bokuto feel like he was too much. That was the real knife in your chest. The fact that she was changing him in ways you couldn’t undo — that upset you the most.

And then it began

It started small.

A sigh from her when he interrupted her story — not playful, not teasing. Sharp.

A twitch of her jaw when he laughed too loud in a quiet room.

A glance across a crowded gathering that made him shrink a little, shoulders curling inward, voice dipping softer.

He never said anything.

But you noticed.

You always noticed.

You watched it happen in pieces.

At first, you told yourself maybe they were just different. Maybe opposites attract. Maybe she didn’t mean it like that.

But over time, Bokuto changed.

Little things.

He stopped blurting out jokes mid-conversation. Stopped sending long, excited texts about random things like a new owl video or a cool new energy drink flavor. Started asking “Was that annoying?” after telling stories.

That one hurt most.

He never used to ask that.

And you’d smile — reassure him — tell him, “Never. You're the best part of every story.”

But the worry would still linger in his eyes, like he was trying to hold himself back from being too much.

Like someone had made him believe that he was.

You didn’t see the worst of it until one night after a match — he didn’t play well, off his game, shoulders slumped.

She barely looked up from her phone when he walked over.

“Hey,” he said, voice small. “Did you see the—?”

“Yeah. You were kind of all over the place today.”

“Right.” He tried to laugh it off. “I guess I was kinda... too fired up?”

“You always are,” she said flatly. “It gets old, Koutarou.”

He laughed again — but quieter. That kind of laugh people do when they’re pretending it didn’t sting.

You felt it in your bones.

You met his eyes across the room. And even though he smiled at you, it didn’t reach all the way.

And then one day, he stopped smiling at all.

At least, not the same way.

And you couldn’t help but wonder — how much of himself had he given up, just to be loved by someone who only wanted a quieter version of him?

___________________________________________________________________________

The café was warm, cozy — quiet jazz playing, low lighting, soft clatter of cups.

But the silence between them was sharp.

You sat two tables away. Not eavesdropping — not really. But close enough to hear the edges of their conversation.

Bokuto’s back was to you. Her face wasn’t.

She looked bored.

His hands moved as he spoke, excited about something — maybe a new campaign, a match, or a show he’d started watching.

You watched him gesture, eyes lit up, trying to pull her into it.

And then she said it.

Flat. Careless.

“God, Koutarou. Do you ever stop talking?”

He froze.

It was just a second. A beat.

But it was loud.

You saw his hand falter mid-air. Saw the way his eyes dropped to the table. Saw him shrink.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I just thought it was cool.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s exhausting sometimes. You’re always on. Like… not everything needs to be a performance.”

And that was it.

That was the moment.

You watched the light drain from his face — like someone had turned down the dimmer on the sun.

You stood up before you knew what you were doing.

You couldn’t stay in your seat.

You couldn’t pretend everything was fine. Not when his whole world had just cracked, and you were sitting idly by, watching it happen.

You stood, your chair scraping against the floor, heart pounding against your ribs. You walked over to their table, not really knowing what you were going to say, just knowing you had to say something.

Bokuto hadn’t noticed you yet — his eyes were still lowered, his shoulders hunched as though trying to make himself smaller, quieter. You knew he didn’t deserve to feel like that.

Emi, on the other hand, noticed immediately. Her gaze flickered over to you, and for a second, there was something cold in her eyes. But she quickly masked it with a tight smile.

“Hey, Y/N,” she said sweetly, as if nothing had happened. “Did you need something?”

You looked down at Bokuto, who hadn’t looked up at you yet, his hands fidgeting with his drink, tapping nervously on the rim.

Your throat burned.

You could see it now. You could see how uncomfortable he was around her. How she was making him smaller, quieter, less him. And you were done pretending you didn’t see it.

You cleared your throat. “I think... I think Koutarou deserves better than that.”

Her smile dropped for a second, a brief flash of annoyance before she masked it again. “Excuse me?”

You ignored her, speaking directly to Bokuto. “You don’t have to be quiet for anyone. You’re not too much, Koutarou.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise, like he hadn’t expected to hear those words. His mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“I just…” You faltered for a second. “You shouldn’t have to shrink yourself for anyone. Not for her.”

You didn’t care how this came out. Not anymore. Not when you saw how much he was hurting.

Emi’s eyes narrowed. “I think you’re out of line.”

You didn’t look at her. Your focus was on Bokuto, whose face was frozen, torn between confusion and something else — something deeper.

“It’s not you, Emi,” you said softly, but firmly. “I’m not saying anything about you. I’m just saying…” You swallowed hard. “Koutarou’s loud. He’s messy. He’s too much. But that’s him. And he deserves someone who can love him just like that.”

The table was silent for a beat. You could hear the background hum of the café, the clink of cups, the soft murmur of conversation. But it all felt like it was happening too far away.

Bokuto was looking at you now, eyes wide, unblinking. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words weren’t coming.

“I don’t…” he started, then trailed off. His voice cracked, and you hated hearing it. “I didn’t think it was that bad. I just… I thought maybe I was doing something wrong.”

Your heart twisted. He thought he was doing something wrong.

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” you said gently, but your words came out thick with the emotion you’d held in for so long. “You’re you. And you don’t have to change for anyone. Not for her. Not for anyone.”

You wanted to reach out, to hold him, but you didn’t. You didn’t know if it would make it worse.

Emi stood abruptly, a sharp gesture that made the glass in front of her rattle. She threw a glance at you, then at Bokuto.

“I think I’m done here,” she said coolly. “Koutarou, I’ll see you at home. Don’t forget to be on time for practice tomorrow.”

Her words stung, but you didn’t let your face show it. You stood your ground, keeping your gaze locked on Bokuto, hoping he would understand.

She walked away, not sparing another glance at either of you. The door to the café chimed as she left, and the air between you and Bokuto felt heavy, thick with all the things that hadn’t been said.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Finally, Bokuto exhaled, a shaky breath escaping his lips. His voice was small, unsure.

“Did she… really say that?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

He stared at his drink, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“I don’t… I didn’t even realize it was happening,” he admitted, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. “I just thought I was being too much for her...”

You sat down beside him, not saying anything at first, just letting the silence hang there. His words echoed in your mind — too much for her. And you wanted to shout that he wasn’t, but you didn’t. Because maybe he needed to hear it from someone else. From someone who wasn’t so tangled up in everything.

“You’re not too much, Koutarou,” you said softly. “And you don’t ever have to be quiet. Not for her. Not for anyone.”

He sniffed, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t know what to do. I just… want things to be okay. I want to make it work.”

Your heart ached. “Maybe she’s not the one who can let you be who you are.”

There was a long pause, and when he finally spoke again, his voice was thick with something else — vulnerability, regret.

“I don’t know if I can keep pretending this is working. I don’t know what to do.”

You gave him a small, understanding smile. “Whatever happens… I’ll be here, Koutarou. You don’t have to do it alone.”

For the first time in a long while, he looked at you — really looked at you — his eyes filled with something raw and real. Maybe it wasn’t love, not yet. But it was something. Something that felt like a promise.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

___________________________________________________________________________

The rain beat down against your window, the heavy drops tapping rhythmically against the glass, almost like a heartbeat you couldn’t escape. The wind howled through the city streets, making the whole apartment feel like it was shaking in time with the storm. The weather mirrored the chaos in your chest — the tension you hadn’t quite shaken, the ache of everything you hadn’t said yet.

You lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. It was one of those nights where the silence of your apartment was louder than the rain outside, and the stillness made it impossible to avoid your thoughts.

Bokuto was on your mind, as he often was.

You thought about his smile, the way it reached all the way to his eyes, how he used to brighten up a room with just his presence. You thought about how much he had changed, how his laugh wasn’t as loud anymore. How she — Emi — had quieted him, made him second-guess himself. You thought about the way he had looked at you earlier, in that café, when you told him he didn’t need to shrink himself for anyone.

You wondered if that would be enough to make him realize that he wasn’t the problem. That it was her.

You sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to push the thoughts away.

But then, the doorbell rang.

Your heart skipped. You weren’t expecting anyone. For a moment, you lay there, unsure, until the ring came again, more insistent this time.

You swung your legs off the couch, the wet chill of the floor seeping through your socks as you made your way to the door. Your heart picked up its pace for reasons you couldn’t name.

You opened it, and there, standing in the doorway, soaked to the bone, was Bokuto.

His hair was wet, sticking to his forehead, and his clothes clung to him, dripping with rain. His eyes were wide, red-rimmed, and for a split second, you didn’t even know what to say.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to get caught in his throat, his chest heaving like he had run all the way here.

“I... I broke up with her,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “Emi... We had a huge fight.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The news hit you like a wave, a flood of emotions crashing over you.

Without thinking, you reached out, pulling him inside. His wet clothes left a damp trail across your floor, but you didn’t care. He needed comfort, and you’d never turn him away, especially not now.

You led him to the couch, your hands shaking slightly as you gestured for him to sit. He collapsed into the cushions, running a hand through his drenched hair, still breathing hard.

“She... she said so much,” he began, voice wavering as if he was trying to hold it together, but the dam was breaking. “She told me I was... I was too loud, too much. That I was exhausting. And I—I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t want to be that person for her anymore.”

You sat down next to him, your heart aching at his words. The sound of the storm outside seemed to fade into the background as you focused entirely on him.

“You weren’t too much, Koutarou,” you said softly, trying to steady your voice, but you couldn’t stop the rush of emotion that followed. “You’re not. You’re you, and you never have to apologize for being yourself.”

His eyes flickered to yours, and for a moment, you could see the vulnerability in them — the cracks, the fragility he had been hiding so well.

“But she made me feel like I was... I don’t know, like I was too big for her. Like my energy was too much.” His voice faltered as he ran a hand over his face, clearly exhausted, mentally and physically. “I didn’t know how to fix it. I kept telling myself I could, that maybe it was just a phase. But then we fought, and it all came out... and I just—"

He stopped, breathing heavily, his hands trembling now.

You reached out without thinking, pulling him into a tight hug. He froze for a moment, as if surprised, but then his arms wrapped around you desperately. You could feel the dampness of his shirt against your skin, but it didn’t matter.

The storm outside seemed to roar louder, but inside, it was just the two of you.

“You’re not too loud, Koutarou,” you whispered again, your voice thick with emotion. “And you never have to shrink yourself for anyone. Not for her. Not for anyone.”

He tightened his hold on you, burying his face in your shoulder.

“I thought I was the problem,” he said in a broken whisper. “I thought maybe... maybe it was just me. But now I see. Maybe I was just trying to be someone else for her... and I lost myself in it.”

You held him tighter, not knowing what to say. You could feel his tears soaking through your shirt, and you didn’t pull away. He needed you, just as much as you needed to be there for him.

The storm outside began to ease, the wind dying down, but the tension between you two remained. You could feel him slowly unraveling, but there was something else — something in the air. The kind of moment that hangs between two people who are learning to share the weight of each other’s pain.

“I just... I don’t know what to do now,” Bokuto murmured, his voice hoarse. “Everything feels so... empty.”

You gently pulled back, enough to look him in the eye, wiping a tear from his cheek, though you didn’t have any words left. What could you say? Everything will be okay? It wouldn’t be just yet.

But in that moment, you knew one thing for sure: whatever happened, he wouldn’t be alone. Not anymore.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” you said quietly, your voice steady, even as your heart pounded in your chest. “I’m here. You’ll figure it out. And I’ll be here.”

He stared at you, his eyes still red but softer now. Slowly, he nodded, his lips trembling like he was trying to find the right words. But for now, words weren’t needed. Not yet.

He leaned back into the couch, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he just let himself be. Just be with you.

The storm outside had calmed. But inside, you both knew the journey was just beginning.

___________________________________________________________________________

The sunlight crept in slowly, slipping through the slats of your blinds, painting the floor with soft gold. The storm had passed sometime during the early hours, leaving behind a hush that clung to the air — like everything was trying to be gentle, not to break the moment.

You were already awake, sitting at the kitchen counter, nursing a cup of coffee you didn’t really taste.

From the other room, you heard the creak of the couch, followed by the familiar sound of Bokuto’s voice — groggy, quiet.

“Hey…”

You turned to see him standing in the doorway, his hair still damp from a shower, his eyes softer now, though rimmed with exhaustion.

“Morning,” you said, your smile gentle. “How are you feeling?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, giving a sheepish grin. “Like I went twelve rounds with a hurricane… but thanks for letting me crash here. I didn’t know where else to go.”

You wanted to say, You always have a place here. But the words got stuck behind your teeth.

“Anytime,” you said instead.

He wandered over to sit across from you, hands wrapped around the mug you slid in his direction.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just there, quiet and waiting. You glanced at him while he stared into his coffee, and you wondered if he realized — how close he was to breaking your heart without even meaning to.

He looked better than last night. A little more like himself. But he still didn’t see it. He didn’t see you.

Later that day, you left him at your place to rest while you went to run errands — and that's when he showed up.

Akaashi met you halfway home. He had that unreadable expression he wore when he was holding back exactly how much he knew.

“He’s at your place?” he asked after you filled him in.

You nodded. “Didn’t want to go home. I get it.”

He studied you for a long moment, brows drawing together slightly.

“And you’re okay with that?”

The question hit you in a weird way. Of course you were okay with it. Or maybe you weren’t, but you couldn’t say that out loud.

“I just want him to be okay,” you said softly.

Akaashi tilted his head, and something passed behind his eyes. It was the same look he always gave when he knew more than he let on.

“You know,” he said slowly, “you’ve been in love with him since our third year. Don’t look at me like that. I was paying attention.”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but the words didn’t come. Not when Akaashi was looking at you like that — not when he was being so frustratingly right.

“Why are you telling me this now?” you asked.

Akaashi shrugged, calm as ever. “Because he’s not going to figure it out on his own. He’s never been good at seeing what’s right in front of him.”

You felt your stomach twist.

“And what am I supposed to do? Just confess while he’s still in pieces?”

“No,” Akaashi said. “But maybe… maybe someone should help him see what’s always been there.”

He didn’t say you. He didn’t need to.

Meanwhile, back at your apartment, Bokuto sat on your couch, staring out the window.

Your blanket was still bunched where you’d been sitting that morning. The place still smelled like your shampoo, like the warmth of something safe. He couldn’t explain it, but being here — being with you — made him feel like he was finally breathing again after holding it in for too long.

His phone buzzed.

Akaashi.

“You’re an idiot.”

Bokuto blinked. Rude.

Before he could respond, another text came through.

“She’s been in love with you for years, Koutarou. Start paying attention.”

The words stared up at him from the screen, his heart skipping a beat.

He sat there frozen, the warmth of the room suddenly feeling very different.

And then he started remembering — the way you’d looked at him in the café, the way you didn’t say anything when Emi had been fake-nice to you, the way you hugged him last night, like it hurt.

He replayed a hundred little moments he hadn’t given weight to before.

Oh.

His chest tightened, not in pain, but in realization. In recognition.

How hadn’t he seen it?

How long had you been right there, loving him quietly while he tried to fix something that was never meant to be fixed?

The door opened, and you stepped back in, pausing when you saw him still sitting there, staring at his phone like it had personally ruined his life.

“Everything okay?” you asked cautiously.

He looked up at you, blinking once, then again.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he really saw you.

___________________________________________________________________________

You didn’t expect the look on his face when you walked in. Bokuto was still, phone loose in his hand, eyes fixed on you like you’d just said something life-altering — except you hadn’t even spoken yet.

“Koutarou?” you asked again, stepping forward, frowning. “Is everything okay?”

He blinked, like he was dragging himself out of a trance.

“Y-Yeah,” he said, voice slightly hoarse. “Yeah, it’s just... Akaashi texted me.”

You raised a brow and gave a small, curious smile. “That explains the look. What did he say? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost,” Bokuto muttered, more to himself than to you. “Just… something I should’ve seen a long time ago.”

You paused, watching him carefully. There was something different about him. The open hurt from last night had quieted, and in its place was this strange, slow-burning tension — like he was standing on the edge of something and wasn’t sure if he should take the leap.

“He told me something,” Bokuto said, still not quite looking at you. “And I don’t know if it’s true. But if it is… I’ve been really, really stupid.”

Your heart skipped.

You forced your voice to stay even. “What did he tell you?”

He looked up at you, finally meeting your eyes — and this time, there was something raw and real in his gaze. Something unguarded. Curious. A little afraid.

“He said you’ve been in love with me. For a long time.”

The words hit the air like thunder, and all you could do was stare. It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t a statement, either — it was a door. One you could walk through. Or not.

You took a shaky breath, eyes dropping to the floor.

“He had no right to say that,” you whispered.

“Is it true?”

Silence pressed in around you. The kind that could either hold a confession or crush it.

Your throat felt tight. “Why does it matter now?”

Bokuto stood up slowly, crossing the room. Not in a rush. Not storming. Just… careful.

“Because if it is,” he said gently, “then I owe you an apology. For not seeing it. For not seeing you.”

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t expect you to. You were in love with someone else.”

He flinched at that, the guilt hitting him sharper than he expected. “Yeah. I was. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t care about you. Or that I don’t now.”

“You cared,” you said, voice low, “but you didn’t choose me.”

That stopped him in his tracks. The truth of it settled heavy in the room.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I didn’t. And maybe I wasn’t supposed to — not then. But I don’t want to keep being blind, or selfish. I want to understand what I missed. I want to try.”

You looked up at him slowly, trying to read the uncertainty in his face, the softness there. His vulnerability mirrored yours.

“And what if you realize it’s not what you want?”

“Then at least I’ll know. And I won’t be wondering anymore. And neither will you.”

You didn’t realize how long you’d been holding your breath until your lungs started to ache.

This wasn’t a confession. Not yet.

It was a spark. A match struck in the dark, waiting to catch.

“I can’t go through another Emi,” you said quietly. “I can’t watch you chase someone who doesn’t see you. Or someone who doesn’t see me while I stand right here.”

Bokuto nodded, stepping just a little closer — closing the distance to hug you.

“I don’t want another Emi either. I want something real. Something honest. And if you’ve been carrying this all alone for that long…”

He took a breath.

“Maybe it’s time I start carrying it with you.”

You didn’t answer. Not with words. You just nodded, barely, your eyes glossy but warm.

And Bokuto, finally, finally started to see what he’d been missing all along.

___________________________________________________________________________

It had been a few weeks since that night.

Since the storm.

Since the hug that lasted just a little too long, and the conversation that cracked something open in both of you.

Things hadn’t gone back to how they were — not really. There was a new tension now, quiet but undeniable. A closeness laced with awareness. A pause between touches, a flicker of eyes held just a second too long. A silence that felt like it was waiting for something to be said.

And Bokuto had been trying to understand it. To understand you.

At first, he thought he was just sorting through the wreckage of his last relationship — picking through the emotional shrapnel Emi left behind. But the more time he spent with you, the more he started to realize something:

With you, he didn’t feel broken. With you, he felt whole.

It was late — well past midnight — when he found himself outside your apartment again.

No storm this time. Just a quiet city and a heart that wouldn’t let him sleep.

He didn’t text. Didn’t call. Just… knocked.

You opened the door in one of those big, soft t-shirts you always wore to bed, hair messy, eyes still carrying the weight of sleep and surprise.

“Kou?” you blinked, voice scratchy. “It’s late…”

He ran a hand through his hair, awkward. Nervous. But steady.

“I couldn’t sleep. I needed to see you.”

You stared at him for a moment, heart in your throat. And then, silently, you stepped aside to let him in.

Bokuto stepped inside, the soft click of the door behind him sealing the world out. Your apartment smelled like sleep and rain-damp air, quiet enough to hear the hum of the fridge and the faint buzz of city traffic outside.

You stood there for a moment, both of you unsure of what to say — or maybe just trying to hold the moment steady so it wouldn’t collapse under the weight of everything hanging between you.

“Want tea or something?” you offered, voice soft.

He shook his head. “No, I… I didn’t come for tea.”

You nodded, lips pressing together like you were bracing for something. He saw the flicker in your eyes — like you already knew what was coming.

He took a breath. “These past few weeks, I’ve been trying to figure out how I missed it. How I missed you. And I keep thinking about that night — when you held me like that… when you didn’t say anything, but I felt it anyway.”

You turned to face him fully now, the air thick with unspoken things. “Kou…”

“I get it now,” he whispered. “I really do.”

And that was all it took.

He stepped in, slow and careful, like he was afraid of breaking the moment. His hand found yours — warm, grounding — and when you didn’t pull away, when your fingers curled around his like it was instinct, he took another step.

“You’ve been here this whole time,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “Loving me, even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I didn’t see it.”

Your breath hitched, eyes shining. “You always deserved it.”

Something in him broke at that. In the best way.

He cupped your cheek, gentle — reverent — his thumb brushing your skin like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

And then, without another word, he kissed you.

Not a question. Not a maybe.

It was soft, but full — like a confession in motion. Like an apology. Like a promise.

You melted into it before you could stop yourself, hands curling into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer as the months — years — of aching silence finally cracked open between you.

He kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d been holding his breath his whole life and had only just now remembered how to exhale.

And when you finally pulled back, both of you breathing hard, foreheads resting together, he smiled — wide and real and a little teary.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

You touched his face, eyes soft. “You’re here now.”

He nodded.

“Yeah. I’m here.”

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

___________________________________________________________________________

The crowd at the Jackals' home arena was wild tonight.

Fans were decked out in black and white, the team’s logo emblazoned on jerseys and banners, camera flashes going off every time a player moved. It was the kind of energy Bokuto fed off — chaotic, loud, electric.

And you were right there in the front row, wearing his jersey — number 4 — oversized and cozy over your long sleeves, with your face painted in team colors and a handmade sign in your lap that read: “TOO LOUD? NEVER. GO KOU!”

He spotted it during warmups and nearly tripped over his own feet.

Atsumu whistled low as they stretched at the net. “That sign yours?”

Bokuto’s grin stretched wide. “Damn right it is.”

“Man’s in love,” Hinata muttered with a teasing nudge.

“So what?” Bokuto beamed. “Let me be loud about it!”

And when the match started, it was like something clicked into place.

He was on fire. Every spike came with that signature Bokuto flair — yelling, fist-pumping, absolutely hyping the crowd (and himself) up like it was game 7 of a championship, even though it was a regular season match.

But the best part wasn’t the crowd screaming his name, or the scoreboard lighting up after every kill.

It was the way you cheered — standing up every time he hit the court, clapping until your hands stung, eyes following him like he was the only one playing.

And he noticed. Every time.

When he landed a particularly brutal cross shot in the third set and the crowd lost it, he didn’t look to the bench.

He looked straight at you.

You stood up, holding your sign above your head, mouthing the words: “You’re doing amazing.”

He pointed at you, grinning like a man in love and absolutely not trying to hide it.

After the game — a win, obviously — Bokuto bounded off the court with energy to spare, waving to the crowd, but beelining straight for where you stood by the sideline.

He didn’t care about cameras or interviews or Atsumu yelling “bro, media obligations!!” behind him.

He ducked under the barrier, wrapped you in his arms, and kissed you hard — like he needed to say thank you in the only way that mattered.

“You were louder than the whole arena,” he mumbled into your hair.

“I was trying to match your energy,” you teased, breathless from both the kiss and his lingering excitement.

“Impossible,” he grinned, pulling back just enough to look at you, eyes soft and bright. “But I love you for trying.”

“You know I love your loud, right?”

He paused, just for a second — then pulled you into a second kiss, slower this time. Sweeter. And whispered:

“That’s why you’re everything.”

__________________________________________________________________________

You hadn’t expected to see her.

It was supposed to be a casual alumni mixer — a volleyball charity gala organized by the V.League. You were there with Bokuto, of course, dressed up, hand in hand, laughing at his bad jokes and proudly wearing the diamond ring he’d put on your finger two years ago.

Everything felt golden. Safe.

Until you turned toward the back of the venue, and there she was.

Emi.

Standing by the bar in a fitted black dress, glass of wine in hand, looking like time had made her sharper — not just in looks, but in attitude. Her eyes locked on you with a glance that could cut glass.

You felt the cold before she even took a step toward you.

“Wow,” she said, voice smooth and brittle, like lacquer cracking under pressure. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Still trailing behind him, huh?”

You blinked. The comment was so casual and so sharp you almost laughed.

“Actually,” you said, holding up your hand just slightly, “I’m his wife.”

She smiled — tight, practiced.

“Oh, right. I heard you two got married. Congrats.”

There was something venomous in her voice that didn’t match the words. You kept your expression calm, your voice steady, the way you always did when people like Emi tried to rattle you.

“Thanks. We’re really happy.”

And then — she leaned in, too close, voice dropping so only you could hear it.

“You think he’s going to stay that happy? You think it’ll last? You were always hanging around, waiting for scraps. Maybe he settled. Ever think of that?”

You felt your stomach twist — not because she got to you. But because once, years ago, she had.

You didn’t flinch now.

You looked her dead in the eyes and said:

“He didn’t settle. He chose me. Every day. And he’s never been happier.”

She scoffed, trying to mask her discomfort behind a bitter smirk.

“You really think he needs someone like you? You’re not even—”

“Hey.”

Bokuto’s voice cut through the tension like a wave of sunlight breaking a storm.

He was suddenly there, stepping between you and Emi, all sharp shoulders in a tailored suit and fierce, protective warmth.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, voice calm but edged with something firm — something that said don’t you dare.

Emi’s confidence cracked just a little.

“I was just saying hello to an old friend.”

“She’s not your friend,” Bokuto said, eyes hard now. “And she doesn’t need to hear anything from you.”

He took your hand — not just held it, but threaded his fingers through yours like a promise. Like a line drawn in the sand.

“We’re good, Emi. Really good. I hope you find that someday.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He just turned back to you, voice softening instantly.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “Better now.”

And the two of you walked away — heads high, hands locked, hearts steady — while Emi stood there, quiet for once, watching the love she tried to break still burning brighter than ever.

___________________________________________________________________________

The door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud, muffling the world outside.

Bokuto toed off his shoes with a dramatic sigh, arms already reaching for you the second you stepped past the threshold.

“Come heeere,” he whined playfully, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your shoulder. “I hated seeing you upset.”

You melted into him with a little laugh. “I wasn’t upset.”

“You were tense. I felt it. I’m emotionally attuned to my wife, thank you very much.”

You snorted as he guided you toward the couch, refusing to let you go. The second you both landed on the cushions, he pulled you into his lap like it was instinct, one hand sliding under your sweatshirt to press warm against your waist.

Outside, the city was quiet. Inside, there was just soft light, the hum of the heater, and the steady rhythm of his heart under your palm.

“You okay?” he asked again, this time softer.

You looked up at him — his bedhead messy from running his hands through it all night, tie long since abandoned, shirt unbuttoned just enough to make your heart flutter.

“I’m perfect,” you whispered. “You always make it better.”

He kissed your forehead, your nose, your cheek — and then, without warning, dug his fingers into your sides.

You squeaked.

“Kou! Don’t you dare—”

But he was already grinning wickedly, arms locking you in as he started a full-on tickle attack.

“Oh no,” he said, mock-dramatic, “I do dare. You’ve been brave and beautiful all night and now I have to balance the emotional scale with a little chaos.”

You squirmed and giggled, batting at his chest, trying to wriggle away as he laughed — bright, open, and entirely unbothered by your mock protests.

“Say ‘Bokuto-san is the best husband in the world!’”

“Never!”

“THEN SUFFER.”

You shrieked through your laughter, eyes tearing up from how hard you were laughing, until finally you collapsed against him, breathless and smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered into his chest.

“You love me,” he said, smug and a little breathless himself.

You tilted your head back, met his eyes — warm, soft, molten.

“I really do.”

His smile faltered just a little, shifting into something deeper. The playful shine in his gaze quieted, replaced by something darker, more intent.

He leaned in slowly this time, his voice low.

“Then let me show you.”

And when he kissed you, it was nothing like before.

This kiss was slow, unhurried — all heat and hands and years of love folded into the space between breaths. His palm cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone like you were something sacred. He kissed you like he needed you. Like you were the only thing in the world that could hold him together.

You shifted in his lap, arms wrapping around his shoulders, deepening it — and he made a sound in his throat, something low and almost reverent.

“I’ll show you,” he whispered again, lips brushing your skin between kisses, “how much I love you. Every day. Every night. Always.”

You nodded, already breathless, already his.

And in that moment, tangled in his arms, the world outside didn’t matter.

Not Emi. Not the past.

Just this: His warmth. Your heart. And the loud, undeniable kind of love that was never too much.

#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#hq fanfic #hq fluff #hq x reader #hq x you #haikyuu #bokuto koutarou #haikyuu bokuto #bokuto x reader #hq bokuto #bokuto koutaro x reader #fukurodani #akaashi #bokuto x you #bokuto x y/n #haikyuu time skip

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strwbivy · 9 months ago

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i've been thinking about using bokuto's lap as a pillow...

you dropped your head upon bokuto's lap, the fat of his thigh spreading wider as you rested on it. bokuto, who was immersed, scrolling on his phone. his attention was all on his device until he felt a slight weight settle on his thigh. he then peels his eyes away from his phone, pushing the power button of it as he whips his head down to look at his lap.

he sees your head, prettily resting down on his beefy thigh. the corner of his mouth tugs upwards as he gingerly pats the crown of your head. you closed your eyes, letting yourself wash over the soothing feeling from the warmth of bokuto's body and his touch on your head, that delicately caressed your hair, so delicate that it's almost light as a feather.

in that moment, nothing else mattered except for what's currently happening right now. the both of you relaxed completely, no words were spoken, only the sounds of easy breaths were filling the room.

bokuto continued to brush and soothe your hair, removing a few strands of hair away from your eyes.

"feeling comfy, aren't we?" he teased, his voice spoken softly. you let out a soft chuckle at his comment before adjusting yourself, letting your back lay on the couch, but your head still remained on bokuto's lap.

a seemingly delighted expression was displayed on your face, you hair being slicked back a bit too much from how long bokuto's was brushing it up.

"well why wouldn't i be?" you questioned while your head relaxed even more into his bulky yet soft thigh. you let out a hearty giggle, pinching the plump of his quads, before speaking through your cheeky smile.

"your thighs are so soft, like pillows."

a/n: this fic is not proofread whatsoever, also posts will be infrequent because i actually have a life outside of tumblr!! yayy!! stress!! anyways, what i really wanna say is thank for all the support you have given me, i very much appreciate everything and we are so close to 100 followers! might do smth special for that hehe.

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kyokikikie · 6 months ago

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Fangirl

-> Akaashi Keiji x Reader

in which Y/n's energetic senior introduced her to a pretty setter to be his friend. ( but she's secretly a fangirl of that setter?!)

masterlist!(⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

(a follow is very much appreciated 💙)

-> Akaashi Keiji wasn’t a sociable person. The only friends he had were his volleyball club members. Bokuto being the great friend he is, got worried for Keiji knowing that after he graduates, he would have no one to hang out with.

"I care about 'cha, Akaashi." The usually energetic ace rested his arms on the frame of the corridor window before turning back to his friend. "I mean it."

"Bokuto-san, I'll be fine. Besides, it's only one more year." Akaashi replied in his usual mundane tone.

Not wanting to give in, Bokuto swung his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Still, I don't feel easy..." The gray-haired senior thought for a moment then exclaimed, "One week! I'll find someone in one week! And if I don’t, I’ll take your word and accept the fact that you’re gonna be fine.”

So there he was, standing outside two classrooms away from his own. Akaashi sighed, “Bokuto-san, i hope you really didn’t gaslight anyone this time.”

“Hey! What kind of person do you think i am?!” Bokuto frowned, “plus, i really did find someone!” His gloomy expression turned cheerful in an instant. “Oh really?” Akaashi slurred his words sarcastically. It was hard to find someone who can actually handle Bokuto’s mood swings as good as him. “Stay here, Akaashi.” With that, the gray-haired senior entered the classroom with his usually greeting.

“HEY! HEY! HEY! Y/n-chan!” Were the only few words Akaashi could make it from their conversation. He leaned his back on the window glass and tilted his head up. Yet another exhausting sigh was let out from his lips. He had a perfect balance between schoolwork, training and sleep, so why does he feel so uncomfortable?

Just then, Akaashi heard a crowd of girls squealing. The setter had forced himself not to look towards their direction, knowing that it wasn’t his problem.

He lied

A brunette with two pigtails stepped forward from the crowd, the other girls cheering her on. She stopped in front of Akaashi, her eyes nervously shifted to the floor, “Akaashi, these are for you!” Her hands stretched out, shoving a bag of cookies and a letter which was all too familiar to him. “Please take it!” Akaashi felt a lump in his throat. He wanted to say ‘no thanks’ but the image of the girl bursting to tears made him flash a smile and muttered a thanks.

The brunette rushed back to the crowd of girls who showered her with questions.

“Akaashi’s really kind, right?”

“What did he say? What did he smell like?”

Slowly, they strolled away from Akaashi’s view. He hated the attention. He hated how guys from other classes would shoot daggers at him whenever he tried to interact with them. If Akaashi had been less noticeable, would he have no problem making friends of his own?

His thoughts were cut off when Bokuto came out of the classroom dragging a h/c-haired girl by her arm, “Akaashi, meet Y/n! Y/n, meet Akaashi!” He flashed a radiant smile. “Hope the both of you would get along yeah?” Y/n and Akaashi exchanged greetings and followed Bokuto around the school.

Akaashi couldn’t help but take small glances at her the whole time Bokuto was explaining things to her. He wondered if she was just like the group of girls earlier, a fangirl of his.

Could they ever be friends?

It wasn't until Bokuto left the pair to chat with his other friends for them to talk to each other. "Bokuto-senpai really is an extrovert, huh." The h/c-haired girl chuckled while the raven-haired boy simply nodded in response.

Her smile was just as bright as Bokuto's yet not noticeable by many. Her e/c eyes met his deep blue ones. They stared at each other till Y/n broke the silence, "So, you're in the volleyball club?"

Akaashi nodded

"what position?"

"setter."

"is it fun?"

"more or less."

Y/n shoots more simple questions which were quickly answered by short boring answers. "You know, Bokuto was actually my first friend in high school. I think it was... first-year? he came up to me when I was checking out the clubs." she reminisced, the corner of her lips curled upwards. "He wouldn't stop bugging me to join the boys volleyball team as thier manager. I was scared shitless by him and went to join the journalism club instead."

Akaashi's mouth formed and 'o'. he didn't know what to say. Y/n darted her eyes out the window, then turned back to look at him, "So for Bokuto's sake, I'm willing to open myself up to meet new people."

The raven-haired boy widened his eyes. After all, Bokuto really did look out for him — in one way or another.

"Hello, I'm Akaashi Keiji. Nice to meet you." Akaashi reintroduced himself, stretching his hand out.

Y/n flitched at the sudden warm gesture, her eyes softened. "L/n Y/n, likewise." her hand grasped his with bright smile plastered across her face as she shook it gently.

just like that, the school year ended.

Groups of students entered the classroom with their friends, laughers and chatters quickly filled their surroundings as they catch up with one another after the school break. It was finally Akaashi’s third-year in high school. Seeing the big smiles on everyone’s face, he sighed. Bokuto had graduated, leaving him alone at campus.

There was no one to talk to. No one to share his concerns for anymore. Akaashi had to admit, it was pretty boring without his loud, energetic, and cheerful senior to bug him around.

The raven-haired boy admired the view outside the classroom window. Just then, the image of the h/c-haired girl flashed across his eyes. It has been weeks? Months? Since Akaashi saw her. Yet her smile was still as radiant as the sun in his mind. Akaashi shook his head, there was no way Y/n would—

He was seconds away from finishing his thoughts when a girl stood in front of the classroom’s back door, panting. “Akaashi!” Y/n screamed at the top of her lungs.

His rounded eyes met hers

“Come on, lets each lunch together!” Swiftly, she grabbed his arm and dragged him out of his classroom. Students in the hallway were surprised by the new duo in sight.

Especially Y/n.

“Isn’t that Akaashi?”

“Huhhhh who’s that beside him?”

Despite that murmurs around them, Y/n continued to drag Akaashi down to the vending machine.

Akaashi cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. He finally asked, “What are you doing?”

The h/c-haired girl simply chuckled, “What do you think I’m doing?” Before Akaashi could respond to that rhetorical question, she continued, “I’m hanging out with a friend, duh!”

Hearing that response, Akaashi couldn’t help but frown. Her words ran through his mind for a moment.

“Friend.” She said.

And for once, there was a genuine smile on Akaashi’s face.

And for once, it wasn’t Bokuto or volleyball that made him feel that way.

“Don’t mind, don’t mind!” One of Fukurodani’s middle blocker assured the team.

They were having a practice match with a nearby school that wasn't as strong as Fukurodani, yet they were leading by 4 points.

“Hey Akaashi! get your head in the game!” Another second-year middle blocker called out.

Akaashi was trying to.

He was trying to block out the squeaky squeals from the group of girls above them. They were holding cutouts of words that said ‘Akaashi you can do it!’ And ‘Akaashi we love you!’ The cutouts weren’t an issue, but the screams they’d make whenever Akaashi was about to set the ball made him want to tear the whole place up.

And just like that, Fukurodani — a powerhouse school, had lost to a mere neighborhood school.

The blue-eyed setter left the school grounds in a hurry. He had promised his friend, Y/n, to walk home together but she was nowhere to be found.

Did she leave already? Did i take too long?

Akaashi didn’t know why there was a sharp pain in his heart.

Feeling dejected, he began his way to the bus stop. Usually he would head the opposite direction with the h/c-haired girl, walking her home almost everyday. Just as he was about to cross the street, Akaashi saw a familiar figure heading towards the convince store in front of him. It looked just like her.

The figure then looked out the glass wall, making eye contact with him. Her eyes widened and ran out of the building, “Akaashi!” She exclaimed, waving both her hands in the air. “I thought you went home already!” The blinking green man appeared on the pedestrian light, the setter let out a sigh of relief and smiled before crossing. He didn’t know why his cheeks turned red, It must’ve been the cold air right?

“Did you just got dismissed?”

“Yes, coach gave us an earful.” Akaashi lied. It wasn’t ‘us’ it was just him, His coach could tell that he was distracted the whole game by the way he would mess up his sets and serves. Y/n pulled him by the sleeves of his team jacket and went back into the convenience store. “It’s a pity that you lost… buy anything you want, my treat!”

After multiple insisting, they both sat down on the eating area with a cup of spicy instant noodles each. After one big slurp, Y/n hastily opened her bang and pulled out her wallet to buy herself a drink. Unknowingly, she had left her bag wide open.

As Y/n was choosing her drink, Akaashi couldn’t help but notice the bright pink words written on a piece of cardboard. It was way too familiar to him.

‘Akaashi we love you!’ It said.

He frowned. What was this doing inside her bag?

At first, Akaashi refused to believe it. He refused to believe that his closest friend would scream and kick her feet every time he interacts with her. Y/n knows how badly he hated his fangirls, so much till he wished that he could just be invisible. So why? Out of everyone, why must she be the one to have that pink sign that waves above him whenever he plays volleyball?

He didn’t know what to feel.

Betrayed? Sad? Furious?

Akaashi placed his pair of chopsticks down and stared into the horizon, eyes narrowing as a train of thoughts ran through his mind. Not long after, the said girl returned with a bottle of cola and the boy simply acted like nothing had happened.

“I didn’t expect it to be THIS spicy, you get what I’m saying?” She told him, eyes still on her red flaming noodles. Akaashi hummed in response, eyes glued to her instead of his own cup of noodles.

He observed each and every one of her actions. He was surprised as he found them… cute? But at the same time confused.

It was the same Y/n that he knew. Not some squealing girl asking him to accept chocolates.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

The pair slowly made their way to the bus stop, walking side by side. Y/n’s lips were swollen red due to the noodles that she ate. Akaashi wanted to break the silence but there was a lump in his throat, making him unable to do so.

The sky cackled and turned deep blue. It started with a light drizzle that soon turned into a downpour. The two quickly ran to the nearest shelter.

“Did you bring an umbrella?” Y/n asked as she stretched her right hand to feel the rain water.

The blue-eyed boy hesitated before shaking his head.

He didn’t know why. He clearly had one that was big enough for both of them if they squeezed together. So why did he lie?

Without questioning, the girl smiled and stepped away from the shelter. Her hair and clothes were soon drenched within minutes. She simply couldn’t care less. There were puddles all over the floor as she spun around them, soaking her shoes and socks in the process. Akaashi’s lips curled up. He thought she looked pretty. Doesn't everyone think their friend is pretty?

“Y/n, your books will get wet.” Akaashi called out, his voice muffled by the sound of rain droplets hitting the ground.

Y/n seemed to get the hint and ran back to him, water dripping from her whole body. ”My bag’s waterproof, it should be fine! Come join me Akaashi, it’s fun!” As soon as those words left her mouth, the clouds above began to part and the rain eased off.

“Oh- Nevermind then…” the h/c-girl started to squeeze her uniform dry, “Let’s go, It’s starting to get late.” With that, Y/n and Akaashi returned to how they were before the rain had started. Side by side, they reached the bus stop.

Like always, Y/n started a conversation with the boy sitting beside her. She expected his replies to be as monotone as usual. However, Akaashi had asked a question in return. It was a first.

Before Y/n could answer his attempt to continue the conversation, her bus came. Y/n stood up and bid Akaashi goodbye.

When she was about to board the bus, she had a sudden feeling of warmth draped across her shoulders. It was the Fukurodani volleyball team jacket. Her cheeks went red with embarrassment as she turned to Akaashi. “T-Thank you..” She stuttered and rushed into the back of the bus.

The bus door shuts and the engine whirred. Akaashi’s eyes soften as he thought about her smile. His eyes were still glued on the moving bus.

He didn’t know what he was feeling.

But what he did know, for the first time ever, he was glad to have girls fawning over him if it meant that she was one of them.

(💙 word count: 2313 words.)

(💙 a follow is very much appreciated)

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lizzy06 · 10 months ago

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Bokuto Koutarou x Reader Fic Recs!!(Tumblr/AO3/Wattpad)

Haikyuu! Fic Rec Masterlist

Fukurodani Fic Rec Masterlist

An Accidental Heroine ✨by meldve(oneshot, humor, fluff, crush at first sight)Yukie and Akaashi’s plans to hype Bokuto during a big game never fail. Or at least end in this way.[COMPLETED]

Crawling Back To You ✨by @kiesbrainjuice (oneshot, fluff, humor)the volleyball captain finally realizes his feelings for you and confess in a…crawling way[COMPLETED]

Cock Block by @oreosmama (oneshot, crack, slight smut)Bokuto just wants to get some, but the universe is not always on his side.[COMPLETED]

A Hairy Situation✨ by @oreosmama (Soulmate AU, oneshot, angst to fluff) Back home in America, YN was happy to dye her hair whatever color she pleased. But now that she’s transferred to Japan as a foreign exchange student, she realizes that she’s much closer to her soulmate than she used to be… hence why her hair looks like an explosion of black and gray. What an asshole.[COMPLETED]

when the sun loves the moon by sunmoonstarsrain (friends to lovers, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort)bokuto koutarou loves you. he can't help but tell the world. the downsides of dating a popular pro-athlete were not made known to you.[COMPLETED]

Swept up in the moment✨ by Teapots_and_Teacups Bokuto had asked you out and you'd said yes without thinking. So… now you're dating the captain of the volleyball team.[COMPLETED]

Inferior by MrsTanaka (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff)Soulmate Au! In which the words your soulmate first says to you are tattooed on your wrist. You must hear the words spoken by your soulmate and they must be directed to you. [COMPLETED]

The Shoe Thief by aspiringauthorintraining (oneshot, fluff)You looked to Akaashi for help, but he only gave you a look of pity in return.[COMPLETED]

Azaleas and Periwinkles by @mimi-cee-hq (oneshot, fluff) Bokuto didn’t always like volleyball. He only started loving it in his third year of high school. So why was he playing volleyball in the first place? It started years ago at a flower shop with the cute tomboy girl from his neighborhood. [COMPLETED]

It's the assets ✨by PhysicalTurian(oneshot, smut)You accidentally sent a risky DM in Bokuto's instagram and delete it before he can see, but he definitely saw it. When you see him in the afternoon, he wants to talk about it, and you end up riding his thigh, which is only the beginning.[COMPLETED]

Lucid by madasahatter29(oneshot, fluff, tooth-rooting)Bokuto goes to the dentist to get his wisdom tooth removed. A.K.A. the wonders of anesthesia[COMPLETED]

honey thighs by twobirds (unrequited love, fluff, angst, first love, mutual pinning)Still on your knees, you watched Nekoma lose the second set in a row. It was hard to feel bad for your classmates when Bokuto bellowed your name, victorious smile crooked in place as he pointed a finger through the nylon net. “Wasn’t I amazing?!” All you could do was lift your camera to hide your smile.[COMPLETED]

Life's a Hoot ✨by ejqz (friends to lovers, idiots in love, slice of life, fluff, angst) After landing your dream job as an editor at a publishing company, you begin to realize all the missing and broken pieces you have neglected along the way. But when you and Akaashi attend a special exhibition match for a company project, you reunite with Bokuto Koutarou and everything swerves. The nostalgic, youthful high-school days are long gone, but good times still await you.[COMPLETED]

If It Ain’t Broke✨ by @oreosmama (oneshot, angst to fluff) You broke up with Bokuto for a good reason. At least, what you thought was a good reason. But right now you can’t help but miss him terribly, and according to Akaashi, he’s feeling the exact same. But did you really break him like his friend said?[COMPLETED]

Love Me Through the Phone by @oreosmama (oneshot, smut<18+>) After Bokuto leaves for an away game on Valentine’s Day weekend, you’re left to handle the day’s pleasures all on your own. There’s just one little problem–nothing comes close to what Bokuto could give you. Luckily, he offers a solution, and though it’s completely out of your wheelhouse, you find yourself desperate enough to give in.[COMPLETED]

Praiseworthy by @oreosmama (oneshot, smut)After winning his volleyball game, Bokuto comes over wanting to celebrate. The both of you sure know how to throw a thrilling two-person party.[COMPLETED]

heart attack by kuroopaisen (oneshot, fluff)your hot roommate likes to walk around without his shirt on.[COMPLETED]

please don’t by @mitsuki-murakami (oneshot, humor, fluff)You’re never going to be the same after this.[COMPLETED]

One Track at a Time by @seokiloquy (oneshot, single parent! reader)bokuto babysits your daughter [COMPLETED]

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miruac · 10 months ago

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dating akaashi keiji - a moodboard(timeskip)

akaashi is such a sweetheart. he would do anything to make your life easier, or just because. i do see him as a quality time and acts of service person. he likes to surprise you with gifts. since he's a manga editor and we all know how overworked they are, you're always trying to stay up with him while he works. even if that means going out for late night coffee runs, or just laying next to him while he's going through the manuscript. he will constantly shower you in compliments. he won't call you 'hot' or 'fine', i imagine that he likes to use more formal words like 'gorgeous' and 'breathtaking'. he isn't very clingy, but he's a sucker for holding your hand. if you let go of his hand he'll get all pouty or panic, and relax immediately when he holds yours again. when he comes home, he almost always has something for you. like bringing home your favourite food for dinner, some flowers, or a piece of jewelry that you looked at for too long. he also notices things, too. he notices if you're overwhelmed, and if you need a break. he's here to help you through everything. what a sweetie you are, keiji <3

masterlist

navigation

(character does not belong to me. rightfully belongs to haruichi furudate. pictures do not belong to me, rightfully belongs to op on pinterest.)

#akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi #akaashi x reader #moodboard #haikyuu #akaashi x y/n #haikyuu moodboard #akaashi moodboard #fukurodani #akaashi fluff #haikyuu fluff #miruac

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clawsdevour · 8 months ago

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our own?

wc: 1.9k content warning: post-time skip, established relationship, akaashi x reader, pregnancy, oral (f!receiving), smut, fingering, not proofread

˚⟡˖࣪.

It’s late, maybe around midnight where it’s pitch black. The lights are off, you can’t see anything and it’s dead silent in your neighborhood. But you were in bed, under the covers with your husband of five years, Keiji Akaashi.

His arms covered by a grey long sleeve are wrapped around your waist while your hands are wrapped snuggly around his neck for a little cuddle time before drifting off to sleep. The embrace turned more into Akaashi’s favor while he’s playfully shuffling around with you. Eventually he ended up on top of you with his forearms at the sides of your head.

The intimate little giggles you two breathe out alongside the sounds of you both rubbing against the bed sheets. You’re the first to lift your head up to land a kiss on his cheek. You could feel the smile creeping up on his face while he’s leaning lower for more of your gentle pecks that he always enjoys. Gradually, you made your way to his delicate lips, his half lidded eyes drooping down to take all of your kisses.

Lips on his to share a heated kiss, your hands in his messy black hair. His fingers trailing up to caress the side of your face. A slow but cherishable kiss, his plush muscle making way into your mouth for further arousal. Massaging your tongue against his till you’re both out of steam.

Coming to a halt for a brief moment connected by a single string of saliva, your ragged pants radiating on eachothers skin. Akaashi takes this time to slip off his long sleeve, you’re slightly able to see his toned torso through a sliver of light that the curtains were unable to cover.

Akaashi’s coming back down head level to you, wanting to continue kissing you, and maybe do something more tonight. That was until you put a finger on his lips telling him to wait, he’s pulling back just a bit, giving you some room.

“Keiji, do you think it’s about time?” whispering despite knowing there’s no one else in your bedroom besides the man you love. He’s puzzled at this question, you can’t see clearly but you know his brows are slightly furrowed trying to understand what you’re asking him.

“Time for..?” His finger massaging tender circles on your waist, a bit concerned for what you have to say.

“That… we start having kids of our own?” Silence, the room was. His finger stopped rubbing the warm and comforting circles.

Akaashi’s frozen in place. Astonished at the words you just spoke. His eyes were wide in shock, as this was the moment he’s been waiting for ever since he got down on one knee with that ring in hand.

“Keiji?” The lingering quietness was so long due to him having to process this moment.

“A-Are you okay with that? I mean like, having kids?” Akaashi’s seeking your approval as this was just casually and suddenly brought up.

“Yes, as long as it’s with you.” Rising up, your hands reach for his neck once more before trailing his body down with you as you fall back onto your fluffy pillow, stroking the side of his neck in comfort.

“Alright.. as you wish, love” he’s grinning from ear to ear with a few chuckles of happiness, peppering your face with his light kisses.

Your hands roam around his chest, moving lower where you felt something hard building up underneath the fabric of his sweats. Akaashi’s already stiffening from excitement. You didn’t realize a warm hand had slid up your shirt, fondling with your breast with its heated touch. His fingers massaging against your little nub causing you to squirm slightly underneath his frame while you continue to make out with him.

His flushed face separates from your faintly swollen lips, letting a cold wisp of air tickle the surface of your skin. Tugging the waistband of your pajama pants lower, he’s shuffling on his knees, down under the covers. His large hands at the sides of your hips, mouth latching onto your stomach His sloppy heated kisses making contact with your skin, a ticklish sensation arousing. You’re sliding out of your shirt, also leaving your chest vulnerable towards the cool air that hardened your nipples.

“They’re gonna grow in here for 9 months, hm?” his breath muffled while he continues to peck your stomach. You’re mumbling out a ‘yes..’

His sensitive kisses make you want to bury your fingers in his messy hair to make him reach further down where your legs started to rub against each other, trying to resist his daunting stimulation. With each kiss he’s gradually dragging your pajamas further down, revealing to him your slightly wet underwear.

Pants off, you’re left in nothing but your panties. Akaashi’s laying flat on his chest between your legs, his index pressing against the damp fabric before hooking his digits on the sides to tug down to reveal your bare cunt. He’s faced with your bare slit, glistening with slick when you parted your legs further for his broad figure.

His warm fingers make its way onto your intimate area, using his thumbs to spread the outer lips to the sides. Feeling a hot puff of air, his mouth makes contact with your clit. A foreign sensation playing with your sensitive and smooth muscle, an increasing grip on the sheets twirl and crinkle around you.

His tongue is swirling around your heat emitting core in short but stimulating strokes. A few whimpers turned into moans when he started to pick up the pace, flicking your nub with all his power.

Moving just a bit beneath your clit, his mouth makes its advance into your entrance. Trying to lap up all of your rapidly overflowing juices caused by all the pleasure you’re receiving, attempting to insert a finger in to stimulate you further.

His slender and long digit slowly being swallowed up the moment he presses against your hole that yearned for his touch, coming back out coated with your shining essence. You’re biting down your lip and pressing your head against the pillow to try and resist moaning even louder the more you came closer to your climax.

“Feel good?” His husky quiet voice tickling your thigh, struggling to mumble out a ‘mhm’ without whining instead.

Akaashi’s adding in another finger to stretch you out. Your cunt’s taking all of him well while he’s pressing gentle wet pecks on your inner thighs. Clamping down around the added size, he’s working at a consistent pace to make sure it won’t cause any discomfort later on.

His stature rises back up where you’re head level with Akaashi. His lips longed for yours that called out his name, coming back up to make out with you once more while his fingers continue to move with haste. Reaching your orgasm, you cum on his fingers, feeling your cunt throb when his fill leaves your sopping entrance, a small whimper escaping your lips.

“You ready?” Akaashi’s a little winded from the intimate tension rising in the air. You can feel his eyes piercing into you.

His body moves off of you for a second, he’s reaching for the nightstand forgetting that you wanted his seed in you that night.

“Wait Keiji! We won’t need that tonight,” your hand coming onto his forearm to stop him. He’s returning back to his stance that towers over you.

“Sorry, I forgot haha” giggling at his little mistake, he has one mission that night and it was to fill you up with every drop he had in store for you and get you pregnant with his child.

He’s taking off his sweats, leaving them somewhere to be picked up for the next day. His painfully hard erection standing, a hand slowly it stroking up and down, a bit of precum shining in the light.

“O-Ooh..” feeling something dense and warm prod against your wet slit.

“Tell me if anything hurts, okay love?” reassuring eyes darting at you while you nod in response.

Akaashi’s guiding his cock up and down your folds, collecting your wetness on his length for a smooth entry. Lining himself up at your heated entrance, he tilts his head up to look at you for your permission.

“Keiji, put it in.. I want you in me” telling Akaashi you want to make love with him, for real this time. His tip slides in without any trouble, causing you to quiver in satisfaction while he’s steadily pushing his way in.

Your gummy walls take his shape and form, making your pussy his. Akaashi’s giving you a moment to adjust, lips on the surface of skin he has free reign over. Feeling a moist and warm latch onto your right nipple, he’s continuing to satisfy you as he waits.

Grinding your hips to know that you want him to start thrusting, he’s leisurely rocking his hips into you. His gentle thumping, large hands moving underneath your knees to hold you in place, lips kissing places only he can kiss.

“You feel so good, I’m already near just being inside…” Akaashi’s cooing softly throughout grunts of pleasure, feeling a pulse grow the more he clicked his pelvis into yours, your breasts moving to the rhythm. A subtle squelching sound starting to arise the more power he started to put into each movement.

Your moans mixing in with every crisp audible sound resonated in between your walls. His tip prodding deeper, searching for your sweet spot while his length rubs against your insides in delight.

“R-Right there, Keiji” pressing just a bit further, he found it. He’s angling every thrust to hit your sweet spot while your legs trembled with pleasure. Your whimpering and moaning continues to grow in volume while he’s exceeding his limit for you.

Legs twitching under his hands while the heat continues to build up in your stomach, you’re so close to another orgasm. He’s now mercilessly pounding into you, his consistency starting to break as his plunges became sloppier. The sound of skin slapping increasing with all the noises.

Akaashi’s slowing down to more sensational strokes that had you curling your toes, about to reach your release while your grip on the bedsheets increases and stiffens. You can feel his cock twitching inside you while he continued to graze your bundle of nerves with every thrust.

Seeing stars, you came once again. Breathless whilst releasing all the tension in your body while you take all of him until he plants his seed inside. Akaashi’s still got stamina to keep going, but what’s stopping him is now is how he’s about to burst inside you from all this pent up stimulation he’s been trying to resist.

“I’m gonna cum, can I..?” his beady dark blue eyes watching your silhouette nod.

His hot fluids spurt out from his throbbing cock, coating your insides with his milky, thick essence. The warm liquid’s filling your pussy to the brim while Akaashi’s moaning out in pleasure. The grip under your knees releasing, letting your legs slowly fall to the sides while he’s huffing for air.

Slowly sliding out from your cum filled pussy, he’s eying the masterpiece he created with the sliver of light peeking out from the curtain working in his favor. His thick essence slowly seeping out from your swollen pussy before settling his body on you for a comforting hug.

Wrapping his arms around you, he’s shifting himself to be underneath you despite being exhausted and sweaty. Giving you two a moment to settle down, the heat increasing between you two.

Akaashi’s planting a gentle kiss on your forehead whilst sweeping the strands of loose hair to the side. He’s gazing at you in awestruck while thinking about the future you’ll create together.

“You don't know how I longed for this.”

masterlist here

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