#kotarou bokuto x reader

[demondwellersword]

note: there was a one-off line in land vs air where one of the managers asks akaashi if he wants her to tell bokuto there was a cute girl in the crowd watching him....so i ran with it. (f! reader)

in high school BOKUTO never caught on to the fact that his teammates motivated him with the alluring possibility of a hot girl cheering him on from somewhere in the stands. he left every game with a slight tinge of disappointment, unsure of why none of these supposed fans ever wanted to talk to him. they're just shy, his teammates assured him, clapping him on the back and telling him not to worry so much, but there was a part of him that just couldn't believe it was true. when he got older and maybe a little bit wiser he realized that it was enough to have people in the stands at all, that just seeing fans come to games wearing his msby jersey would always give him an exhilarating rush of dopamine. and just when he'd thought he'd finally made peace with it you showed up, nervously waiting outside of the stadium with a sharpie in one hand and a spare jersey in the other. you'd almost let him pass you by, but something that felt just a little bit like fate drew your footsteps toward him. when you called out his name it looked as if he had stars in his eyes for you, taking your shaking hands in his as he accepted the jersey. you bit back a giggle as you watched him hopelessly balance on one knee, scrawling his signature over the numbers on the back. when he looked back up at you he was beaming brighter than he ever did on the court, lighting up the night sky more than any star ever could. i never thought this would actually happen, he said, parroting the very words that still hovered on your tongue, a pretty girl really wanted to talk to me after a game! and when you looked down as you walked back to your car, heart still pounding away in your ears, you saw that in the curve of the 2 there was a phone number just waiting for you to text it.

[megumimylove]

boyfriends who will take any excuse to see you naked, they can't help they're just so obsessed with you and can't ever seem to get enough of it.

video calls while showering ? nude pictures (he calls them "boobie check") ? watching you change even after you told him to turn around ? they have no choice but to look.

they will make up random excuses just for one picture. oh his head is aching maybe a boobie check will help ? he's sore after practice maybe a booty pic will cure him ?

they're the biggest hype men and you rarely feel insecure around them.

______________________________

Kuroo Tetsuro, Miya Atsumu, Bokuto Kotarou, Oikawa Tooru, Gojo Satoru, Itadori Yuuji, Bachira Meguru, Nagi Seishiro, Hinata Shoyo

[boughkeeping]

Pretty privilege

You keep calling his name for the past 10 minutes but he doesn't respond, well not so long ago he protested against you being away from home for a week for your vacation but you denied, so he announced that he shall be "ignoring you like you ignore me" from then.

"babe look at this" you call for him to show him a tiktok but there's no response whatsoever, you turn to him and his back is facing you. You sigh and swing your arm around his stomach. "Hey?"

"....." Still no response. "Are we seriously doing this?" To which he simply responded with a "hmph"

You sighed once again and got up to sit on top of his legs "look at me" and this time he finally spoke "your charms won't work on me" you leaned forward your head resting on his chest "won't theeeeeey?"

To others it would be just your normal smiling face but to him he saw two sparkly eyes the sweetest smile on the face of the sweetest person he's known making him feel all giddy like a schoolgirl in love again.

Unable to control his expression he puts a hand over his face trying to cover his mouth but you pull it back revealing his smile.

"And I thought you were mad at me?" you stroked his hair he then sighed and put his arms around your waist "You make it too hard, god should nerf that face of yours it could kill me someday"

Chigiri hyoma, ATSUMU MIYA, BOKUTO KOTAROU, GOJO SATORU, Gintoki Sakata, Isagi Yoichi, Reo Mikage, Aventurine, JINGYUAN.

[dira333]

All tricks, one treat - Suna Rintarou x Reader

cupid - for @moochiwoochi for the Milestone Event Week 1

“So, uh, what’s your type?”

You lift your head to stare at the waiter. “What?”

“Your type,” he sends you a cheeky grin. “What is it?”

“Not you.”

His grin widens. “Kinda figured that out already but thank you. So, your type?”

“What’s this?” You eye him before leaning to the side to eye his twin at the counter, shaping Onigiri. “Does he know you’re doing this?”

“No, lean back, will you?”

You smirk, turning your head but not leaning back. “And what will that get me?”

“I’ll pay for your drinks, now lean back.”

You smile as you settle back in your chair. “In that case, I’ll take another one. You know what I’m drinking anyway.”

He sighs. “Listen,” he checks if his brother’s paying attention before turning around. “I have this friend that would be amazing for you, but he’s a little-”

“No.” 

“You haven’t even let me finish.”

“I’m not letting you set me up with anyone.”

“Fine,” he huffs, “Your loss.”

-

“Are you sure you don’t want to-”

“No, Atsumu,” you cut him off this week before he can offer you the usual. “I don’t want to be set up.”

“But you’re single, right?”

You grumble under your breath but his grin is persistent and so is he.

“Fine,” you huff quietly. “I am single. But so are you, right?”

“Temporarily,” he tells you with confidence. “How about I invite him here, no pressure, and you can check if you even like him. He won’t even know we’ve talked about this before.”

“You’re as subtle as a Tiger trying to play Giraffe.”

“That’s an awful comparison.”

You shrug and take your usual seat, waving at Osamu to let him know you’re here.

You’re pretty sure Atsumu’s not going to give up just like that.

-

“He’s here,” Atsumu announces one week later. 

“Who? Your replacement? Why are you dressed as a waiter when you don’t even work here anymore?”

“I’m helping out,” Atsumu hisses, but he’s quick to get back on track. “My friend, the one I mentioned. He’s here.”

“Pease don’t tell me-”

“Oh, hi Bokkun.” Atsumu’s face is one big smile. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

Bokkun, or Bokuto, as he introduces himself, smiles just as big. “Good to see you too!”

You have to admit, he’s good-looking, though he almost upturns your table as he tries to pull Atsumu into a bone-crushing hug right in front of you.

You look around for a different table, locking eyes with a guy in the next booth over.

His eyes glow like yellow diamonds and he gives you a lazy smile that could mean absolutely everything and nothing at the same time.

Embarrassed, you turn back to the commotion in front of you.

“Bokkun, this is a friend of mine. Do you wanna sit with her while I get us something to eat?”

You watch helplessly as Bokuto takes that offer, grinning back at you from the other side of the table.

Sure he’s cute, but he reminds you of a Golden Retriever whereas you’ve always been more of a black cat type of girl.

He immediately begins to talk, telling you all about today’s training and the shenanigans he and Atsumu get into on the daily when all you’ve wanted was a quiet dinner after work.

Looking for help your eyes wander around the restaurant, soon finding yourself eye-to-eye with your booth neighbor again.

“Need help?” He mouths wordlessly. You nod.

He gets up and walks over. 

“I’m sorry,” he leans in, cutting Bokuto off and your thoughts as well. He’s even prettier this close. “I might be wrong, but don’t we know each other?”

“Yes,” you grasp that excuse with both hands. “Middle School, right? What was your name again? You sat in front of me, I think.”

“Suna. Suna Rintarō.” His handshake is firm and reassuring. “I’d love to catch up, but if you’re occupied-” He gestures at Bokuto who doesn’t seem to get the hint.

“Oh, Bokuto here is a friend of the waiter, I think. He was just sitting with me to keep me company, but I’m sure he won’t mind. Right, Bokuto-san?”

“Right?” He answers, a little confused.

“Well in that case,” Suna points at his booth and you take your escape as quick as your legs allow.

-

Suna, as it turns out, is just as fun as he’s helpful, making you giggle with comments about his own teammates - apparently you don’t have anything against volleyball players, you just have something against Atsumu Miya.

“I’m gonna be right back,” you tell him an hour into what feels like a date before heading to the bathroom.

When you return, Atsumu’s bright blond hair is shining like a beacon from the booth you just left.

Sighing inwardly you try your best to sneak up to him undetected.

“For the last time, Tsumu, I’m not interested in meeting the girl you want to set me up with. I came here tonight because I wanted to eat Onigiri and also I just met someone I like-”

“You’re not listening to me-”

“Atsumu Miya,” you interrupt him, satisfied when he jumps at the sound of his own name. “I do think you need to learn some boundaries. We don’t want your useless help!”

Atsumu gapes at the two of you for a whole second before he gathers himself, cackling. “You guys don’t understand. I was setting up the two of you and it looks like it worked.”

You blink. Suna groans.

“But what about Bokuto?”

“Distraction,” Atsumu grins. “You would have hated Suna if I had introduced him to you. But you like him now, am I right? Heh?”

You glare at him, unable to look over at Suna now who sighs.

“Tsumu, you have one chance to leave this booth right now or I’ll start sharing that one video from High School that you begged me to delete.”

Panic flashes over Atsumu’s face as he gets up. “I’m gone, I’m gone!”

But even as he seemingly vanishes into thin air, you can’t relax after this.

“I’m really sorry about this,” you tell Suna without really looking at him. You can see that he’s nodding.

“Me too. He’s going to hold this over our heads forever.”

“Mhm.”

“So… dessert?”

When you blink up at him now, he’s grinning, sly and lazy and very appealing.

“I do like you, you know. Atsumu be damned,” he mutters, sliding one hand over the table to take yours.

“Fine,” you say, more to yourself than to him, before you slide into the booth once more. “But I’ll pick the dessert.”

And from the way his knee knocks into yours under the table you know he knows you feel the same way about this.

A little conflicted, a little relieved, and a whole lotta interested.

[volleychumps]

HEY, HEY, HEY!! I love your Haikyuu fics, so I was wondering if you could make a fic where the reader is an absolute simp for the boys and shows her lovesickness no matter what, she'd have nosebleeds, compliments them every single time, has literal albums and photos of them everywhere on their phone or at home, she always treats them like kings, etc. The boys could be Bokuto, Akaashi Kuroo, Kenma, Kags, Tsuki, Miya Twins, Sakusa, Ushijima, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Yamaguchi, Tendou if possible

*you can choose from these if you can't write for them all, i dont mind :>

*you can also make them fem or g/n, whichever your comfortable with

- I suddenly remembered that i loved ur reader wears their jerseys fic, so i was wondering if you can make smth like that. But no pressure!! Have a great dayyy💗💗

When You're a Hardcore Simp (w/ Bokuto, Kageyama, Sakusa, and Iwaizumi) x Fem! Reader

HAHA WHAT UP GANG- wait sorry if this isn't as good as my usual stuff, let's see if I can ease back into it <3

warning(s): manga spoilers!!! In Bokuto and Sakusa's. Mention of slight blood in Bokuto's. (like a nosebleed)

Bokuto

“Y/N, you’re embarrassing. Since when were you a loser?”

You dab at the dark red liquid under your nose, a satisfied smile on your face as the owlish-haired man spikes a cross-spike across the court in an astonishing manner, the crowds of people in awe at the ace’s movements. Your eyes trace his broad shoulders, the black uniform stretched to fit his body handsomely with a confident tinge in his golden eyes. His arms-

You sigh dreamily, Kuroo Tetsurou rolling his eyes from next to you as Bokuto leaps in joy, slapping Hinata on the back and bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“Jealousy is a disease, Tetsurou.” You don’t let the tall raven-haired boy damper your mood, wondering how you got so lucky as Bokuto drinks in the cheers from the audience. Kuroo rolls his eyes, reaching in his gym bag for a pack of tissues before offering you one as he leans on the railing. You accept it, taking your eyes off the love of your life momentarily to tilt your head upwards. 

“At least I don’t act like a perv in public.” Kuroo snips, eyeing you carefully as you glare at your long-term friend from high school. “Hey, are you okay? This isn’t normal, you know.”

“I’m good.” 

“You sure about that?” Kuroo nods at the court, and your eyes meet Bokuto’s golden irises all the way from where you’re standing near the upper-railing as a grin stretches across his handsome features, closing his eyes while waving in your direction with both of his arms in large gestures. Your eyes fill with adoration again, turning away quickly as the blood flow increases out of your nose.

“Nope! I take it back, my heart can’t handle this.” 

Kuroo scoffs, practically seeing hearts in your eyes as Bokuto wilts on the court as you turn your back to him. 

“Is Y/N avoiding me?” He frowns as Atsumu snickers, Sakusa shaking his head in slight disgust and disbelief at how unbelievably down bad you were. Atsumu points into the crowd with a smirk, Bokuto’s eyes lighting up at the sight of you leaning across the railing with your hands cupped to your mouth. 

“I LOVE YOU KOUTAROU!!!!” Your voice booms among the cheers of the audience, but Bokuto hears it so clearly. Kuroo is holding your waist back in annoyance at the attention you were getting from onlookers nearby, keeping you from falling off the railing. Bokuto’s eyes sparkle as he laughs at the dramatic kisses you were blowing in his direction. “YOU’RE SO HANDSOME-!” 

“I LOVE YOU MORE BABY!!!” He’s giddy, warmth evident in his features as his manager palms his face in absolute exhaustion. Hinata waves excitedly to both you and Kuroo as Sakusa and Atsumu raise a single hand in greeting. Talk about a PR disaster. 

Your cheers are loud in his ears as the Black Jackals take the final set, and Bokuto looks as handsome as ever with sweat trickling down his temple, his arms bulging with heavy use as he winks at you from up in the stands. You squeal when he motions to the passes around yours and Kuroo’s neck to come down for special access to the court. 

“I take it back.” Kuroo is annoyed and exhausted as you leap into the Ace’s arms with a squeal, Bokuto catching you by the thighs as you wrap your legs around his middle section in a passionate kiss, obviously unable to keep your hands off each other. 

“You’re both losers. Get a room before the press attacks.” 

Kageyama

“Stop wasting your money, Y/N.” Kageyama chastises you quietly, a box of white milk tapping the edge of his desk as your little school girl skirt takes the seat in front of him, an easy smile on your features as the tips of his ears burn a bright pink. 

“Waste?” You frown, tilting your head a little bit with your cheek in your palm. “Why is it a waste if my baby likes it?” 

Kageyama’s cheeks flare up next, obviously short-circuiting as you withhold a giggle, Hinata watching the exchange with a slight pout on his lips. 

“So cruel, Y/N-chan, you’re breaking our setter.” The orange-haired first year complains. “And you didn’t get me anything!”

“You know I’d never forget you, Sho.” You roll your eyes, a can of orange juice hitting the edge of Hinata’s desk yet as his eyes brighten tenfold, excitedly popping open the beverage as Kageyama embarrassedly distracts himself by sticking the straw into the box. You smile a little knowing grin as he refuses to meet your eyes, but it’s obvious it became less special to him when you got one for his idiot friend as well.

Casually, you reach a hand out to grab Kageyama’s hand as he internally combusts at the actions, holding a conversation with Hinata in the midst of it as you play with the tips of his fingers. 

Kageyama’s jaw slackens, the softness of your hands making his head spin in a good way before you make eye contact with him. You looked at him with so much love in your eyes, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

“Break time’s over! I’ll see you later, Sho.” You grin at your friend as Kageyama looks at you in expectation, and you try not to coo at the hopefulness in his blue irises before leaning down, kissing his cheek softly and so sweetly even Hinata has to look away with a blush. 

“I’ll see you later, Tobio.” You cup his cheeks afterwards, kissing the tip of his nose for good measure before beginning to bounce off with a giggle. “Have a good practice later, okay?” 

Tobio sits there for a second before a puff of smoke almost visibly comes out of his head, cheeks a deeper red than ever before. Hinata groans, calling after you as you skip your way out of his classroom. 

“This time I really think you broke him Y/N-chan!” 

Sakusa

“Yer’ so down bad it’s laughable.” Osamu quips, and you look at him in false offense, sporting Sakusa’s jersey number as well as his number written on your cheek in black paint. The black jackals cap sitting atop your head tilted slightly to the side, as if you have no idea what the hell he was talking about. 

“I don’t know why you would think that.” 

“Don’t piss me off.” 

You laugh, Osamu humming in content as he lazily watches his brother get blatantly rejected by your boyfriend in his attempt of a double high five as the game nears its close. You bite back a smile at the subtle, knowing glance he sends your way, stomach fluttering in anticipation of seeing Sakusa after his game.

“Ya look like a crazy fan that he should get a restraining order against.” Osamu continues, nudging your shoulders as you pout. 

“Do you think it’s embarrassing? Maybe Omi thinks it’s silly?” You question the shop-owner, beginning to smudge off the ink on your cheeks as your mood dips, Osamu blinking once before beginning to feel a little bad he made you insecure. Instead, he clicks his tongue, reaching out to help clean up the now smudged mess on your cheeks.

“If yer’ gonna wipe it off, at least get it off all the way.” 

“No!” You exclaim with puffed out cheeks, astonished he would even offer as you take an abrupt step back. “Only Omi can touch my face.” 

Osamu blinks at you again in disbelief, slightly impressed at the public display of your loyalties at 100% before getting annoyed again. “Oi. Don’t make me out to be some sort of-” 

“Good girl.” Your eyes light up as Sakusa taps a hand on your head, scowling at the inky mess on your cheeks before meeting Osamu with a deadpan stare. “What happened to my jersey number?” 

Osamu’s eyes flit between the two of you as Atsumu can’t help but burst out laughing from the court below, the cook coming to a slow realization as Sakusa turns your head to the side with a slight pinch in your cheeks with one hand, a sanitizing wipe doing just the trick as you meet his seemingly indifferent stare with a look of pure adoration. 

He’s just as whipped as you are. 

Sakusa finishes ridding your cheeks of ink before tugging you along, bringing his mask up over his face as you hum giddily, smile etched into your features when he stops outside the locker room with an outstretched hand. 

“It’s not embarrassing?” Your voice is quiet as you look up at him with a hopeful glint in your eyes, putting the black paint marker into his hand as Sakusa rolls his eyes. He writes #15 in elegant strokes on your clean skin, laser focused, capping the marker after in satisfaction. 

“No.” His response is simple as he tugs down his mask to place a quick kiss on your eyelid, a heat warming your cheeks as Sakusa hesitates for a second before placing one on your lips as well, sending your heart soaring wildly. 

He’s already walking ahead of you as you stare after him in slight bewilderment for a second, already bounding up next to him as you slip your hand into his. 

“Thought it was too public for you, Omi.” 

“That’s your prize for not letting Miya touch what’s mine.” 

Iwaizumi

“Y/N’s rizz is unmatched, as always.” 

Matsukawa grins into his canned coffee at lunch time, watching as you somehow manage to get Iwaizumi to smile a bit in the selfie you were taking, a flirtatious wink in your eye as your hand cups his cheek lovingly. Iwaizumi nods in quiet approval at the bento you had made for him, shooting you a small loving look he only reserves for you before tugging you into his lap casually. 

“I still don’t understand how Iwa pulled someone as adoring as Y/N.” Hanamaki whistles lowly, Oikawa nodding in agreement with a grin. 

“She’s such a simp.” 

“We’re sitting right here, what the hell.” You glare a little bit at the three of them as Iwa matches your action, Oikawa almost laughing at the uncharacteristic expression on your face you obviously adopted from your boyfriend. 

“I’m not a simp!” You proclaim as Iwaizumi arches an eyebrow amusedly, but doesn’t say anything. “You can’t prove it.” 

“Turn your phone around.” Hanamaki doesn’t miss a beat, finishing off his own bento as you wilt a little, showing the clear phone case littered with heart stickers and a single polaroid photo of Iwaizumi overlooking a strawberry patch. Iwaizumi looks away to hold back his expression, but the guys could tell from his eyes he was pretty happy.

“Most girls do this.” 

“Uh-huh.” Matsukawa’s next, smirk beginning to tickle the edge of his lips. “What do you have his name under in your phone?” 

“Iwa.” 

“Why are you lying for fun.” Oikawa plucks the phone out of your hand, ignoring your whine of protests before showing the group your blatant lie. “I’m pretty sure this says ‘Future Handsome (DILF) Husband’”.

“See, that was a typo.”  But your cheeks give your poor lie away anyways, upset at how Iwaizumi begins to hide his grin in your neck and hold you a little tighter in his lap. 

“Is this not a whole album dedicated to your relationship with him- how the absolute hell do you have 600 images of him? I only have one and it’s from fourth grade!” Oikawa’s rant of complaints is cut off by you snatching the phone out of his grasp, before pushing off of Iwaizumi’s lap to run out of the room in embarrassment. Iwaizumi’s mood darkens, turning to his friends as Oikawa freezes up with a nervous grin on his face.

“Too far?” 

“You three are apologizing to her later.” Iwaizumi doesn’t leave room for comments, his tone changing drastically into a shy mutter as he stalks out of the classroom to go find you. 

“Even if she is a bit of a simp.” 

“You say that like you didn’t spend a year and half liking her, Iwa-chan!”

[crushmeeren]

♡ Master List Link

☽ Bokuto / Fem Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[kiesbrainjuice]

— CRAWLING BACK TO YOU ! bokuto kotaro

➥ syn : the volleyball captain finally realizes his feelings for you and confess in a…crawling way

➥ wc : 3.4k

➥ tw : just a crawling to the windows bokuto :)

➥ a/n : I FOUND A BIG IDEA even if I was in a lack of inspo since…days. Lmaooo enjoy reading ;)

The routine started innocently enough, just another day at Fukurodani Academy. The gymnasium buzzed with a symphony of sounds - volleyballs smacking against the polished floor, sneakers squeaking, and the cacophony of voices echoing off the high ceilings. Amidst this controlled chaos, one voice rang out above the rest, unmistakable in its enthusiasm and volume.

"Hey, hey, hey! Did you see that spike? It was like 'whoosh' and then 'bam'!"

Bokuto Koutarou, the ace and captain of Fukurodani's volleyball team, stood at the center of it all, his arms spread wide as if to embrace the entire gym. His hair, defying gravity in its trademark owl-like style, seemed to quiver with excitement. His golden eyes sparkled with an almost childlike glee that was infectious, spreading to his teammates like wildfire.

You couldn't help but smile as you leaned against the gym's entrance, your bag slung over your shoulder. This daily visit had become a cherished part of your routine, a moment of brightness before the long school day ahead. What had started as mere curiosity about the boisterous volleyball team had evolved into something more, something that centered around the whirlwind of energy that was Bokuto.

As if sensing your presence, Bokuto's head swiveled towards you, his face breaking into an even wider grin. "Hey! You're here!" he shouted, waving enthusiastically.

You waved back, your heart doing a little flip in your chest. It was time for your daily ritual.

Sauntering over to where Bokuto stood, you took in his appearance - the way his practice shirt clung to his muscular frame, the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, the way his hair somehow remained perfectly styled despite the rigorous practice.

"Morning, Bokuto," you said, infusing your voice with a teasing lilt. "I see your hair is defying the laws of physics as usual. What's your secret? Super glue?"

Bokuto blinked, then let out a booming laugh that reverberated through the gym. "Nah, it's all natural! Cool, right?" He ran a hand through his spikes, preening slightly. "Maybe I was just born to be a star!"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Oh, definitely. You're practically glowing." Your tone was playful, but there was a hint of sincerity in your words that you couldn't quite hide.

However, as always, the nuance seemed to fly right over Bokuto's head. He beamed at you, taking your words at face value. "Thanks! I did have a good breakfast this morning. Gotta fuel up to be the ace, you know!"

You nodded sagely, fighting back a fond smile. "Of course. Can't have our star player running on empty."

This was how it always went. You'd drop a flirtatious comment, and Bokuto would respond with endearing obliviousness. It was frustrating at times, but you couldn't deny the charm in his innocent reactions. There was something refreshing about his straightforward nature, his inability to pick up on subtle cues. In a world of complex social dynamics and hidden meanings, Bokuto was an open book - one that you found yourself wanting to read over and over again.

As the days passed, your flirtations became bolder, your compliments more direct. Yet, Bokuto remained blissfully unaware, accepting your words with the same enthusiastic gratitude he showed when receiving a perfect set on the court.

One particularly memorable morning, you decided to up your game. Bokuto had just executed a powerful spike, the ball slamming onto the other side of the court with a resounding 'thwack'. As his teammates cheered, you caught his eye and gave him a slow, deliberate wink.

"Nice kill, ace," you called out, your voice low and appreciative. "You know, you're pretty amazing when you're all fired up like that."

Bokuto's chest puffed up with pride, but his response was as innocently enthusiastic as ever. "Thanks! I feel like I could take on the whole world right now!" He pumped his fist in the air, oblivious to the double meaning in your words.

You sighed inwardly, equal parts amused and exasperated. It was like flirting with a particularly cheerful brick wall.

It wasn't until a quiet afternoon, when the usual bustle of the gym had died down, that things began to shift. Practice had been particularly grueling that day, and even Bokuto's seemingly endless reserves of energy seemed depleted. He sat on the bench, absent-mindedly toweling off his sweat-dampened hair, his usual vibrant demeanor subdued.

Akaashi Keiji, the team's setter and Bokuto's closest friend, observed him with a mix of concern and curiosity. It was rare to see Bokuto so contemplative, and Akaashi knew from experience that a quiet Bokuto often preceded either a brilliant insight or a spectacular mood swing.

"Something on your mind, Bokuto-san?" Akaashi asked, his voice calm and measured as always.

Bokuto looked up, seeming almost surprised to find Akaashi there. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, his brow furrowing in concentration. Finally, he blurted out, "Akaashi, you're smart about people stuff, right?"

Akaashi blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. "I... suppose so. Why do you ask?"

Bokuto ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that betrayed his nervousness. "It's about [y/n]," he said, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "She come around a lot, right?"

Akaashi nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He had noticed your frequent visits and the way you interacted with Bokuto. Unlike his captain, Akaashi was perceptive enough to recognize flirtation when he saw it. "Yes, she does," he confirmed, wondering where Bokuto was going with this.

"Well," Bokuto continued, his words coming out in a rush, "she always says these things. Nice things, you know? About my hair, or my plays, or just... me. And it feels different from when other people say nice things. It makes me feel all..." He gestured vaguely at his chest, struggling to find the right words.

Akaashi's smile grew a little wider. "Warm? Fluttery?" he suggested gently.

Bokuto's eyes widened. "Yeah! Exactly! How did you know?"

Akaashi took a deep breath, realizing that he was about to open Bokuto's eyes to a whole new world. "Bokuto-san," he said carefully, "have you considered that [y/n] might be flirting with you?"

The look of utter bewilderment on Bokuto's face would have been comical if it weren't so genuine. "Flirting?" he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him. "Like... trying to be my friend?"

Akaashi couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Not exactly," he explained patiently. "Flirting is a way of showing romantic interest in someone. It's like... testing the waters to see if there's a mutual attraction."

Bokuto's jaw dropped, his eyes growing impossibly wide. "Romantic interest? You mean... [y/n] might like me? Like, like-like me?"

Akaashi nodded, amused by Bokuto's childlike phrasing but touched by his innocent reaction. "It's very possible. She's been giving you a lot of compliments and attention. Those are often signs of flirting."

Bokuto fell silent, a rare occurrence that Akaashi knew signaled deep thought. He could almost see the gears turning in Bokuto's head as he replayed every interaction with you in this new light.

After a long moment, Bokuto spoke again, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Akaashi... I think I might like her too. Like, like-like her."

Akaashi felt a surge of affection for his friend. For all his bravado on the court, Bokuto could be endearingly vulnerable when it came to matters of the heart. "That's great, Bokuto-san," he said warmly. "Have you thought about telling her how you feel?"

Excitement flashed across Bokuto's face, his golden eyes lighting up with newfound understanding. "Tell her? Of course! Why didn't I think of that before? This is gonna be great!"

Akaashi blinked, a bit taken aback by Bokuto's sudden enthusiasm. "You're... not worried about how she might respond?"

Bokuto let out his signature booming laugh. "Worried? Nah! I'm the ace, aren't I? I've got this!" He puffed out his chest, his earlier doubts completely forgotten. "Besides, [y/n] is always saying nice things to me. She's gotta like me, right?"

A small smile tugged at Akaashi's lips. This was the Bokuto he knew - confident, enthusiastic, and ready to take on any challenge. "Well, if you're sure, Bokuto-san. Just remember to be respectful of her feelings, whatever she may be."

"Hey, hey, hey! Of course I will!" Bokuto exclaimed, jumping to his feet with renewed energy. "I'm gonna sweep her off their feet with my awesome confession! It'll be like my best spike ever, but with words!"

As practice wound down and the team began to disperse, Bokuto's mind was buzzing with excitement. He replayed every interaction with you, seeing them in a new light. The compliments, the lingering glances, the way you always seemed to seek him out - it all made perfect sense now.

The next morning dawned bright and clear, matching Bokuto's mood as he practically bounced into the gym. His enthusiasm was palpable, radiating off him in waves that his teammates couldn't help but notice.

"Someone's in a good mood," Konoha remarked, raising an eyebrow at Bokuto's even-more-exuberant-than-usual demeanor.

"Of course I am!" Bokuto exclaimed, his grin threatening to split his face. "Today's gonna be awesome!"

As the team began their warm-ups, Bokuto's eyes kept darting to the gym entrance. Any moment now, you would walk in, and he would sweep you off your feet with his amazing confession. He had it all planned out in his head - he'd stride up to you confidently, flash his best smile, and tell you exactly how he felt. It was foolproof.

But when you finally did appear in the doorway, something unexpected happened. Bokuto felt his words die in his throat.

You stood there, backlit by the morning sun streaming through the windows, and Bokuto felt as if he was seeing you for the first time. Your hair caught the light, creating a soft halo effect. Your eyes sparkled with warmth as they met his, and your smile - that smile he'd seen a hundred times before - suddenly seemed to hold the secrets of the universe.

"Morning, Bokuto!" you called out cheerfully, completely unaware of the internal crisis you'd just sparked in the volleyball captain.

Bokuto opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. His mind, usually filled with thoughts of volleyball and little else, was now entirely occupied by you. He noticed things he'd never paid attention to before - the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the gentle curve of your neck, the grace in your movements as you walked towards him.

"Bokuto?" you asked, your brow furrowing in concern as you approached. "Are you okay? You're being awfully quiet."

Bokuto nodded dumbly, still unable to form words. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to be confident, charismatic, sweeping you off your feet with his awesome confession. Instead, he found himself struck silent, in awe of your presence in a way he'd never experienced before.

From across the gym, Akaashi watched the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and sympathy. He'd never seen Bokuto so flustered before, especially not in front of you.

"Earth to Bokuto," you waved a hand in front of his face, your tone a mix of amusement and worry. "Did you lose your voice or something?"

Bokuto shook his head, trying to snap out of his daze. "N-no, I'm fine!" he finally managed to stammer out. "Just... thinking about... volleyball stuff!"

You raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but decided to let it slide. "Okay, if you say so. Well, don't let me interrupt your practice. I just wanted to say hi before class."

As you turned to leave, Bokuto felt a surge of panic. This was his chance, he had to say something! But all that came out was a weak, "Bye!"

You glanced back, giving him a slightly puzzled smile before heading out of the gym. Bokuto watched you go, his heart pounding in his chest.

emo mode activated.

Once you were out of sight, he slumped to the floor, burying his face in his hands. "Akaashi!" he wailed, loud enough for the entire team to hear. "What just happened?"

Akaashi jogged over, crouching down beside his captain. "I believe, Bokuto-san," he said gently, "that you just experienced what it's like to be truly smitten."

Bokuto peeked out from between his fingers, his golden eyes wide with confusion and a hint of fear. "But... but I had a plan! I was going to be all cool and stuff! Instead, I just... froze up!"

Akaashi patted Bokuto's shoulder comfortingly. "It happens to the best of us, Bokuto-san. Sometimes, when we realize how much we care about someone, it can be overwhelming."

Bokuto slowly lowered his hands, his expression shifting from distress to determination. "Then... then I'll just have to try again! Yeah! I won't let this setback defeat me!"

As Bokuto jumped to his feet, his usual energy returning, Akaashi couldn't help but smile. This was going to be an interesting journey for his captain, and he had a feeling it was far from over.

"Alright, everyone!" Bokuto shouted, his voice echoing through the gym. "Let's practice hard! I've got a confession to nail!"

The team exchanged confused glances, but shrugged and got back to their drills. After all, this was Bokuto - and with him, anything could happen.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the quiet streets. Bokuto trudged home, his usual boundless energy depleted after an especially grueling practice. He'd pushed himself harder than ever, trying to work out the frustration of his failed confession attempt.

As he walked, his mind wandered back to you. The way you'd looked in the morning sunlight, the concern in your eyes when he'd fumbled his words, the gentle curve of your smile as you'd said goodbye. Each memory sent a flutter through his chest, a sensation he was still getting used to.

Suddenly, Bokuto stopped in his tracks. A memory hit him like a spike to the face - that time you'd walked home together because he'd discovered you lived in the same neighborhood. Without a second thought, he pivoted on his heel and broke into a run, his exhaustion forgotten.

The streets blurred past as Bokuto sprinted, his heart pounding with a mixture of exertion and anticipation. He skidded around corners, narrowly avoiding a stray cat, until finally, he found himself on your street.

Panting heavily, Bokuto approached your house. The lights were still on in what he remembered was your bedroom. For a moment, doubt crept in. What was he doing? It was late, you were probably getting ready for bed, and here he was, about to...

Well, he wasn't entirely sure what he was about to do. But he was Bokuto Koutarou, and backing down wasn't in his nature.

With the agility of the ace spiker he was, Bokuto began to scale the side of your house. He'd never been more grateful for his athletic prowess as he carefully made his way up, using drainpipes and window ledges as handholds. 

Finally, he reached your window. Through the glass, he could see you sitting at your desk, engrossed in a book. You were wearing soft-looking pajamas, your hair slightly mussed, and Bokuto felt his heart skip a beat at the sight.

Taking a deep breath, he rapped his knuckles against the glass.

The effect was instantaneous. You jumped in your chair, the book flying from your hands as you whirled to face the window. Your eyes widened in shock as you recognized Bokuto, perched precariously outside your second-story window.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the absurdity of the situation rendering you both speechless. Then, snapping out of your shock, you rushed to open the window.

"Bokuto?!" you hissed, your voice a mix of concern and disbelief. "What on earth are you doing? Get in here before you fall!"

You helped him clamber through the window, your hands gripping his arm tightly as if afraid he might tumble backward at any moment. Once he was safely inside, you stepped back, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Okay, explain," you demanded, your brow furrowed. "Why are you climbing through my window at..." you glanced at your clock, "11:30 at night?"

Bokuto stood there, suddenly very aware that he was in your bedroom, with you in your pajamas, looking adorably rumpled and confused. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, words failing him for the second time that day.

"I... uh..." he stammered, his usual confidence deserting him once again. His eyes darted around your room, taking in the volleyball posters (including one of him, which made his heart leap), the neatly organized bookshelf, the stuffed owl on your bed that he'd won for you at a festival last year.

You sighed, your expression softening. "Bokuto, are you okay? You've been acting strange all day. First, you barely said a word this morning, and now you're scaling buildings in the middle of the night. What's going on?"

Something in your tone, the genuine concern in your eyes, seemed to flip a switch in Bokuto. He stood up straighter, his golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"[Y/N]," he said, his voice steady and filled with his usual enthusiasm. "I like you!"

The words hung in the air between you, Bokuto's chest heaving as if he'd just finished a five-set match.

"I mean," he continued, the words now flowing freely, "I really, really like you. Akaashi made me realize it yesterday, and then this morning you looked so beautiful I couldn't even speak, which never happens to me, you know? And I've been thinking about you all day, about how you always come to watch our practices, and how you laugh at my jokes, and how you make me feel all 'gwah' inside."

He paused, taking a deep breath before flashing you his trademark grin. "So yeah, I like you. A lot. And I climbed up here tonight because I couldn't wait another minute to tell you. Because you're amazing, and I want to spike all my tosses for you, if you know what I mean."

As his words sank in, your shocked expression slowly transformed. A blush crept across your cheeks, and a smile began to tug at the corners of your mouth.

"Bokuto," you said softly, your voice filled with warmth. "I like you too. I've been trying to tell you for months now."

Bokuto's eyes widened, his grin growing impossibly wider. "Really? That's... that's awesome! Hey he-"

His exuberant shout echoed through your quiet room, and you quickly placed a hand over his mouth, your eyes wide with alarm.

"Shh!" you whispered urgently, your heart racing. "My family is sleeping, and they definitely don't need to know that a boy climbed into my room tonight!"

Bokuto's eyes widened in understanding, and you felt his lips curve into a smile beneath your palm. Slowly, you removed your hand, your fingertips grazing his lips in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Sorry," he whispered, his voice unusually soft. "I got excited. But can you blame me? The girl I like just said she likes me back!"

You couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm, even as you glanced nervously at your bedroom door. "I do like you, Bokuto. A lot. But maybe next time, try confessing at a more reasonable hour? And preferably through the front door?"

Bokuto grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess I got a little carried away. But hey, it worked, didn't it?"

As you both stood there, smiling at each other in the dim light of your bedroom, the full absurdity of the situation hit you. Here was Bokuto, the boy you'd been pining after for months, standing in your bedroom in the middle of the night, having just confessed his feelings for you in the most Bokuto way possible.

Your heart swelled with affection. Despite the late hour, despite the risk of getting caught, despite the unconventional method - or perhaps because of all these things - this moment felt perfect. It was so utterly, completely Bokuto, and you wouldn't have had it any other way.

"So," Bokuto whispered, his golden eyes twinkling with mischief and joy, "what happens now?"

You glanced at your clock, then back at Bokuto, a mix of excitement and nervousness fluttering in your stomach. This was just the beginning, and you had a feeling life with Bokuto was going to be quite an adventure.

Ⓒkiesbrainjuice all rights reserved. please to not plagiarize, repost, or translate !

tag : @haechansbbg

[depravitycentral]

General Yandere! Kotarou Bokuto Profile

Yandere! Kotarou Bokuto x reader

TW: kidnapping, possessiveness, mentions of stalking, mentions of masturbation, allusions to somnophilia, Stockholm Syndrome, emotional manipulation, Ko uses you as his emotional support system, delusional behavior, nonconsensual physical affection/touch, vague allusions to non-con, mentions of physical abuse, Kotarou is extremely emotionally needy and physically touchy and just generally quite a handful, mentions of insecurity, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 11K

DARLING PROFILE: 

Introverted  

Koutarou is a lot. He knows it, his team knows it, hell, the entire league knows it.

His energy is difficult to match; he’s a ray of sunshine, blinding yet impossible to look away from, someone with boundless amounts of energy, someone friendly and extraverted to an almost extreme.

Because he is so rambunctious and loud, he would actually really enjoy a partner who mellows him out a bit more, someone who isn’t constantly hyper and talkative and wanting to spend hours on end with other people.

He works well with Akaashi; who is quiet, calm and not as talkative, and his darling would likely reflect that in many ways – the serenity, the sense of peace and calmness, the idea that they aren’t constantly jumping with energy, constantly bursting at the seams to go do something.

Ideally though, he’d enjoy a partner who is still willing to talk, who’s willing to indulge him in conversation and compliment him and give him that adorable smile, just not a social butterfly like himself. It makes him feel privileged, special because his darling wants to speak to him, that they’re using their precious social battery on him him him.

He’s in awe that they start conversations with him; his darling, who so often doesn’t utter a word around crazy people such as himself, who sees someone as hyper as him and immediately run for the hills.

It makes his ego flare, and he can’t deny how adorable they are when they get embarrassed at his attention, when they roll their eyes and shove his shoulder lightly, when they freeze and cower as he loudly proclaims his love for them in the middle of the movie theater and everyone looks over.

He loves it, and it’s a nice bonus that it cuts down his competition - less dirty work for him, something Koutarou is very thankful for.

Creative

Volleyball is Kotarou’s life, and as a result he hasn’t had much time to explore anything outside of it. He’s never really tried his hand at painting, playing an instrument, baking, or really any other hobby.

And of course he loves the sport dearly, but there’s something alluring to the idea of a darling that’s invested in something so completely different from himself.

It doesn’t matter what the hobby is - cooking, drawing, writing, singing, it could be anything at all.

But once Kotarou finds out his darling enjoys it, suddenly he becomes obsessed with it, wanting to learn as much as he can and hone as many talents within it as possible. In his eyes, everything his darling does is perfect, so the thing that they love most (aside from him, of course) must be amazing, right? It must be worth his time to learn about it and become familiar with it, if only just to impress his darling, if only just to share even a scrap of the love they feel for it.

He’ll beg and pester his darling to teach him, constantly asking questions and carefully watching their answers.

Because rally, while Kotarou develops an interest in the activity because of his darling’s love, he also becomes familiar with the hobby because he lives for the way their eyes light up when they’re concentrating. They look absolutely gorgeous, even more beautiful than normal, something sparkling in their eyes.

His knees grow weak when he sees them biting their lip or sticking out their tongue in concentration, his feelings only growing ten-fold and becoming stronger because it’s just so incredibly endearing that his darling has something they love enough to be this devoted.

They get this ethereal glow about them and Kotarou genuinely can’t take his eyes off of them when they’re in that mode.

And so instead of listening to their instructions, he finds himself drifting into fantasies of them finally getting that glow and radiance when thinking about him. It’s what fuels him, what gives him energy.

He just wants his darling to adore him in the way that he adores them.

Nurturing

If his darling is anything, they have to be supportive.

Poor Kotarou is in constant need of reassurance, and his darling has to be willing to put up with that. They have to be willing to deal with the emotional labor of constantly praising him, of telling him wonderfully talented he is, how funny, how charming, how handsome, any and all compliments they can think of.

Their kind words go straight to his heart, making his body feel fuzzy and warm, an unstoppable grin stretches across his face and his words excited as he asks them really? Are you sure?

He’s overwhelmed by the idea of his darling thinking such thoughts about him - they think he’s strong? They think he’s talented? They think he’s amazing?

Needless to say, a few simple words of praise from his darling are enough to get Kotarou’s entire mood shifting, his metaphoric feathers ruffling and a pleasant, gooey feeling in his heart making him feel lighter than air because oh, they think he’s attractive and fun to be around?

He loves how easily they’re able to make him feel good about himself, and he can only hope to return the favor.

As a result, he’ll compliment his darling often, completely out of the blue and about odd, but strangely endearing things. He just wants them to feel how good they make him feel, and he’ll do anything to get them there. 

Competitive

While his darling needs to be someone capable of spilling praise at a moment’s notice, Kotarou also finds himself attracted to those who has a healthy sense of competition in life.

As a professional athlete, he takes competition very seriously, and is also the type to find that a bit of competition is the perfect thing to spice up a relationship. He loves the idea of having a friendly rivalry with his darling – perhaps at something entirely stupid, like mini-golf or slugbugging or something equally childish.

Regardless, he likes the idea of his darling and him being playful together, of having someone he can establish that teasing rapport with. Besides, while he can sometimes be a bit of an emotional wreck, Kotarou finds emotional intelligence extremely attractive.

Thus, having a partner that’s capable of gracefully winning and losing is wildly attractive to him – they’re able to regulate themselves and put others’ thoughts and feelings into perspective.

He cares too much about other people to have a darling with little to no awareness of others’ feelings, and to have a darling that manages to merge in this awareness alongside a healthy appetite for competition and teasing?

Well, Kotarou finds himself falling hard and fast, loving the idea of a darling who’s so mature yet so wonderfully immature – perfect for someone like him.

(And, though he isn’t consciously thinking about it, perfect for a mother – he won’t explicitly bring up the topic of marriage and children, but he enters every relationship with the thought in mind, always hopeful that perhaps he’s finally found the right woman. And lucky him, he has – his wonderful, wonderful darling.)

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Clingy

He’s naturally quite affectionate with those around him, for better or worse. He’s always looking for someone to talk to, hang out with, goof around with, and once his feelings for you form, so lovely and horrible and overwhelming, this trait is only amplified.

It only increases monumentally with the absolute need to constantly be around you, to have your attention solely on him because god, seeing your pretty eyes focused on him makes his heart race so fast he thinks he’s dying.

He wants you to be looking at him at all times, thinking about him every minute of the day, be craving him as much as he craves you. He wants you to daydream about him smiling at you, making you bite your lip and stare at the ground while you fight back a flustered, school-girl-esque grin because god, isn’t he just so dreamy?

He wants you to be fantasizing about hugging him, feeling his strong, muscular arms wrapped around your body while he nuzzles into your neck, whispering your name in a hoarse voice that gets you shivering and nudging your thighs together because fuck, how can anyone sound that good?

Honestly, the idea of you thinking of him is enough to have him grinning with his eyes squeezed shut, a slight flush on his cheeks as he pumps his fist and lets out a victorious laugh.

(There have been quite a few instances of you patting him on the back, albeit awkwardly, to which he responded with a resounding hey, hey, hey! that sounded much too close to a moan and raised his fist to the sky – you’ve never understood why his voice gets all high and shaky like that, but somehow it seems you’d rather not know the answer.)

He thrives on your physical touch, your sweet words and glossy eyes staying fixed on him, and you’ll quickly notice how Koutarou always seems to just be around, how those golden eyes never really seem to leave, his gray and black hair standing out in your peripheral, followed shortly by a cheerful yell of your name and a bone crushing hug that makes you wheeze and shiver as you realize there’s something pressing into your thigh, oh god why is he hard and nuzzling his face into your neck and is he sighing?

It’s almost flattering at first – not expected, but sweet that he seems to feel so close to you, until it’s happening every day, every time he sees you – he’s always hugging you, holding your hand, ruffling your hair, calling you so cute, isn’t she Akaashi? Makes me wanna eat her right up!

It’s endearing and you’ll be flattered that a famous, attractive professional athlete is so obviously interested in you, but it becomes less and less endearing as time passes. It becomes less cute when he’s making some offhand comment about how you must’ve changed your shampoo – he distinctly remembers your hair smelling like strawberries, and now it has more of a lavender scent; but don’t worry, you smell great either way, cutie!

It becomes less flattering as he tells you while you’re being forced to sit in his lap as the team puts up the volleyball nets that you seemed like you were hesitant to come to practice with me today – is there something I don’t know about? Are you seeing someone else? What aren’t you telling me? It’s not nice to keep secrets from boyfriends, you know.

Quickly you’ll come to realize that Kotarou’s level of dependence on you is completely unwarranted for how close your relationship really is, but there isn’t much you can say to change this fact – he’s clingy, he needs your affection and attention, and when you ask Akaashi or Atsumu about it, about why he seems so needy and so obsessed with you, they’ll both write it off as Bokuto and his fleeting feelings, just his childish nature at work.

And when you try to confront him about it, to tell him that you’re uncomfortable with him suddenly springing up on you from behind, pinning you against a desk with his body looming over you while he inhales deeply and whispers about how pretty you look in your new skirt, he’ll just frown, pouting down at you while he whines about how he isn’t trying to be weird, that he just wants to show you how much he cares, how much he loves you.

He’ll only lean more weight on you, hug you tighter and whisper about how he knows you want this just as bad as he does, that it’s only normal for boyfriends to want to touch their girlfriends, to want to spend time with them and hear their compliments and care for each other.

It’s natural, he explains, to be always by your side, for you to never leave his field of vision – which is why you’ll find yourself coming to most MSBY practices and games decked out in the #12 spare jersey he not so subtly demanded you wear (that still very much has the fresh scent of a recent workout in it – something about pheromones and marking you, Kotarou had explained, with words too quick and slurred for you to really understand).

You’ll find yourself spending most of your meals either by his side or in his lap (trying to ignore the way a certain hardness presses against your ass if you move too much, if you’re squirmin’ so much cutiepie, you okay?).

You’ll be walked home everyday from your job and convinced to spend the evening with him, though he spends more time staring at you than watching the movie you’d thrown on.

And really, you can tell yourself every day that you’ll finally stand up to him, that you’ll finally end this bizarre, possessive behavior coming from a man you aren’t even dating, but each time you bring it up, those soft golden eyes will have you feeling like you’re kicking a puppy, his entire aura being shut down in a heartbeat at your stuttered I-I think we need to take some time apart…

Kotarou isn’t doing it on purpose, but you’ll be extremely hard pressed to ever really change the way he acts around you – it makes you feel too guilty, like you’re spinning the situation into so much more than it really is.

So, when you bite your lip and shake your head, giving him a shaky smile and telling him that you changed your mind, he’s beaming and letting out a cheer and scooping you into his arms to swing you around in circles, despite your demands that you must be too heavy to carry, that he’s making such a scene and the entire restaurant is staring and god, he just loves you so much, he knew you were meant for him and your acceptance only proves this!

It’s not so big a deal, right? Kotarou is mostly harmless, doesn’t mean anything weird by his touchiness, his desperation to be with you, right? It’s just a short term thing, soon his attention will move on, right?

Possessive

Kotarou, while incredibly empathetic and intuitive to other peoples’ emotions, does not handle his own especially well.

He’s terrible at stopping himself from having extreme highs and lows over the pettiest things, and this doesn’t stop at just volleyball, at just his normal life – no, his love for you is most definitely affected by this as well. Namely, in the form of jealousy; he’s a firm believer in faithfulness and loyalty, in the idea that you have one and only one partner, that they should be enough for you and that other men and women are essentially just background noise for the real one, the one that makes your heart race, your palms sweat and a lovely sort of nervousness to grow in the pit of your stomach.

He’s always believed in this, and once his infatuation with you forms, this philosophy most certainly doesn’t change; if anything, he clings onto the idea with frantic fingers, clutching at the concept of you looking at no one else for any reason whatsoever.

He’s plagued with the fear that someone will try and interfere with your relationship, that someone will come along and try and tear the two of you apart – he’s terrified of losing you, of losing who he genuinely believes to be his true love to some other man, to some other loser who decided you were pretty and would be a fun catch.

Kotarou is self-aware enough to know that he isn’t the ideal man, that you likely don’t love his mood swings, his habits of switching emotions quicker than you can likely keep up. He knows this, which is why it makes it so much more painful when that coworker of yours starts talking to you more, looking at you with such light and happy eyes, staring at you with what Kotarou is absolutely sure is a blush on his cheeks, when he’s leaning in way too much.

His possessiveness flares up especially in his sadder moments – when he’s already spiraling into a fit of self-doubt, it’s easy to read too far into any situation in which your gaze flickers over to another guy, easy to over examine the way you quickly apologize after bumping into a player on the opposite team in the hallway.

It’s so fucking easy to feel like his place as your rightful partner, as your lover and boyfriend and future husband is being threatened when he sees literally anyone approach you – because really, Kotarou can’t help but wonder if you’d like them more, if maybe you’re only nice to him and letting him hug you, compliment you, and everything else because you feel sorry for him, because you’re pitying him.

And it’s those thoughts that drive him to march up to you and pull you into his chest, to press your ear against his heart while he buries his face in your hair, tears streaming down his cheeks as he asks in a whisper if he’s still enough, if you’ve found someone else, if you even really love him.

And really, as disarming and disorienting as it is, there’s some part of you that will feel bad for him, that will want to comfort this man so obviously in need of praise, so obviously in need of someone to tell him that yes, he’s enough, yes you love him and you’ll always love him.

Even if it’s not true – even if it’s just something you’re saying out of a misplaced sense of guilt, even if it’s something you’ll find yourself horribly regretting the deeper into delusion Kotarou sinks. And so, as you promise that you do in fact want him, that you need him as badly as he needs you and that you’ll never, ever leave him, Kotarou slowly begins to relax, melting into your arms and trying to calm his ragged breaths, the racing of his heart, the tears flowing down his cheeks.

It’s difficult, but as he pulls back and sees your confused, beautiful fucking face, a small smile makes its way onto his lips, the knowledge that you’ll never leave him ringing in his head. Because really, how could he ever ask for anything more?

All he needs is you you you, and now that you’ve promised him, he’ll hold you to it. And when you’re trapped by his side some time later, those strong arms wrapped suffocatingly tight around your waist and his grin big and dopey and scary as he promises to never, ever let you leave his side, you’ll really only have yourself to blame. Because really, while Kotarou’s jealousy manifests mostly as self-deprication and an increased need for your reassurance and praise, ultimately you’ll be the one to push forward his dependence on you.

You’re the one telling him that he’s wonderful, that you’re not interested in any other men, that he’s every girl’s dream. It’s small things that slowly build up, feeding into Kotarou’s delusions until he’s too far gone to really even listen to you anymore; picking and choosing what he wants to hear from you, twisting your words into some grand declaration of love that gets him smiling like a fool, crushing you into his arms and leaving your lips bruised with the ferocity of his kisses.

You’re just so perfect, huh?

Delusional

But in an extremely specific way – on his own, Kotarou isn’t a particularly delusional man. He’s tied to his beliefs, yes, but he’s grounded and lucid enough to understand the importance of seeing multiple perspectives, of listening to others, of staying in touch with reality and not letting himself get too carried away.

And this is still true in the beginnings of his obsession – he knows that you’re just friends, that you have a budding friendship that he’d like to progress into something more, something deeper and more romantic in its origin. And he’s strict about this for a long time – going to Akaashi for dating advice or asking the ever-grumpy Sakusa how he thinks Kotarou should approach you.

(Akaashi gives much, much more insightful advice than his teammate, of course – telling Kotarou to take things slow and listen to what you want, to let you guide the pace and direction of the relationship. Sakusa merely scoffs and tells him to stop being loud and irritating, and you might have a shot.)

And Kotarou sticks to this advice well in the beginning – establishing a positive connection with you and letting you get comfortable, your friendship blossoming and growing into one that you can foresee being one of your most cherished.

But then elements of his infatuation begin developing, and suddenly that advice gets a bit warped, his understanding of your intentions slowly crumbling away because of one critical, crucial factor: Kotarou grows an incredibly strong sense of attachment towards you.

He’s already quite physically touchy and needy as it is, but as his obsession with you progresses, this dependency morphs into not only the more tactile side of things, but his mental state as well. He quickly grows to absolutely need you in every sense of the word; you’re something that keeps him tethered, grounded. Your love and attention is something that he needs in order to survive, in order to wake up everyday and get himself out of bed because he knows that he’ll get to see you today, to hug you and touch you and maybe even kiss you if he can catch you off guard enough.

Within the span of a few months after he recognizes that his feelings for you are more romantic than platonic, Koutarou’s entire mental health and wellbeing revolves around you and the attention you give him.

The advice of his friends still rings through his head, but he instead begins interpreting your actions as you wanting to foster this dependency of his. He thinks that you’re aware of his brewing feelings, and that you feel the same way – surely that’s what you mean when you always praise him, right? His every action comes back to you; he hits a spike in a match he got you exclusive, front-row player’s box seats for?

Well, he’s immediately peering up into the stands, golden eyes frantically searching for you, and once he spots you he’s waving like a madman, blowing obnoxious kisses at you, proudly exclaiming that was for you babe! And he’ll keep going until you acknowledge him, until you give him a thumbs up and a toothy smile, until you yell back that you’re so proud of you, Ko!

(Of course, the phrasing of ‘babe’ is a bit suspect, but you’ll blame it on mishearing him in the loud, packing stadium.)

When he tries out a new recipe for a particular dish he knows you love, he’s eager to call you, begging you to drop whatever it is you’re doing and swing by his apartment to try because he really, really needs you to say you like it.

(He’ll be watching with rapt attention as you hover the fork to your lips, practically not breathing as he watches you chew and swallow, his palms so sweaty and clammy that he nearly drops the pan in excitement when you compliment the food. Don’t pay attention to the way he gulps loud enough for you to hear, nor the way he grabs you by the waist and spins you around, laughing that booming laugh of his and seeming much too joyous for a simple well-cooked meal.)

Everything comes back to the basic principal that Koutarou just wants desperately to impress you – he thrives on your praise, seeing you proud of him and happy to call him yours, and he’s leaping at each and every possible chance to achieve that, to make you laugh and wrap your arms around him, to whisper into his ear that you’re so proud baby, I know you worked so hard, now what’dya say we go home and I reward you for all that hard work, just how you like it?

He’s committed to being your dream partner, to being someone you can proudly call your own, and he quite literally needs you praise and validation in every aspect of his life to solidify his delusions about the way you feel for him – your opinion is something he values over his own life, your presence something he genuinely believes he can’t live without, and so to have you by his side constantly, always smiling at him and making him feel so giddy and happy is something that Kotarou really honestly needs.

The bottom line is that his entire emotional and mental state rests firmly upon your shoulders, firmly upon your reactions to the things he does for you – so keep that in mind as he rushes up to you with the excitement and energy of a puppy, ranting and raving about how he managed to hit one of Atsumu’s new kinds of tosses or block one of Hinata’s best spikes.

Keep it in mind as he presses you flush against his body, his face buried into your neck, his audible inhale and whimper that vibrates against your skin making a shiver shoot up your spine in anything but pleasure. Keep in mind that now it’s your responsibility to keep Kotarou happy, that your job is essentially to make sure that he stays at least somewhat stable.

(With the pressure coming from the entire management staff of the MSBY team, who’ve realized that Kotarou has a bit of a massive crush on you – you, who isn’t doing the best financially, who could very much not survive a class-action lawsuit for ruining one of their star players.)

And once he’s stolen away, it’s your responsibility to keep him happy so that he keeps leaving the apartment, leaving you, making sure that you have enough food and water to survive, so that his depressive episodes don’t cost you your life.

So really, have fun; because eventually the emotional toll will hit you, but don’t worry because Kotarou will be right there to help pick you up again.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Because his jealous streak is really quite strong, Koutarou has a tendency to misinterpret nearly every single interaction you have with a member of the opposite sex.

He’s automatically assuming that everyone is interested in you, that everyone wants to date you and make you smile and kiss you and fuck you, all of which are things that only he should be allowed to do. He’s jumping to conclusions before things really even happen, sure that you’ll somehow be manipulated into leaving him, into leaving the happy, loving relationship you share with him.

It’s a fear that permeates his every moment when he’s away from you (something that is admittedly quite rare, but still), that seeps into the back of his mind no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that you love him, that you’d never cheat on him or trade him in for someone better.

 Of course, he trusts you enough to not immediately act upon his jealousy when he notices another man in your vicinity. Rather, he’ll start demanding your attention even more, trying to keep you physically turned away from the stranger and keep your eyes focused only on Kotarou, because if you can’t see the man, the man can’t see you, right?

It’s poor logic, and Kotarou panics the entire time he tries to stall, only able to imagine the way you’d look by this new man’s side.

And at the end of the day, that’s really it – Kotarou knows that he’s not perfect. You, with your lovely figure, beautiful face, wonderful personality, and many talents, could really get any guy of your choice. So why would you want him?

He seems confident, like he has no doubts about himself and his abilities, and for the most part he doesn’t, but there’s just something about you that makes him constantly reanalyze himself, that makes him wonder if he’s really enough, if he could ever really be enough for someone as perfect as you.

Sure he’s athletic, friendly, handsome, kind, but he’s not the number one hitter in the league, not the brightest, not the most charming, not the best looking or most mysterious or funniest or any number of other things that you might find more attractive.

And as time passes this eats away at Kotarou’s mind, driving him insane the longer it occupies the back of his thoughts because he just can’t shake the image of you in another man’s arms, laughing and kissing them and just being so fucking happy without him.

He’s dependent on you to an unhealthy degree, absolutely fixated on the idea of needing you in his life, and so Kotarou doesn’t really hold back in terms of trying to control his jealousy – he knows he needs to step in before you even get the chance to be lulled in by some other man. He needs to interfere before he loses you forever, and while he knows you’re probably embarrassed by how he barges in anytime you talk to someone else, Kotarou doesn’t let it hold him back.

Nothing can hold him back in the face of something as terrifying as losing you.

You’d never pegged Kotarou as one for video games, but when he’d dragged you to the new arcade that opened up a few blocks from his house, he practically seemed like a child in a toystore.

With his hand wrapped tightly around yours, he’d led you through row after row of game machines, golden eyes wide as he pointed to each and every one, promising you that he’d beat this one in two tries, or that one with his eyes closed. It’d been endearing in a way, watching how excited he’d gotten, before he dragged you over to a game in the far corner with especially bright lights and all sorts of noises coming from it.

He’d challenged you, telling you with a booming laugh that he’d bet you couldn’t beat him, a challenge you eagerly accepted. And really, while he’d been mildly embarrassed to sheepishly admit he’d run out of quarters after his fifth try through the game, it didn’t stop him from practically sprinting up to the ticketing counter, digging in his wallet for the largest dollar bill he had on hand to trade in. Leaving you alone at the game, biting your lip and reading over all the cartoon-style text decorating the game’s exterior.

You were so engrossed in the game’s appearance that you didn’t hear the blond man’s calls to you, shy little excuse me’s falling on deaf ears. Soon a tapping at your shoulder tapped you out of your reverie, spinning around to come face to face with a man you’d never seen before. Sandy blond hair and thick rimmed glasses sitting atop a rather brightly colored dress shirt and dark jeans.

Do you know how to play? Even his voice seemed timid, and while you were a bit shocked at his question, you’d only smiled and said no, hoping the man would drop some hints on ways to beat Kotarou – hearing his boasting was worse than hearing his moping, after all.

The man seemed relieved, moving forward to restart the game and talking you through the level, telling you tips on when to jump, which treasure chests were worth more, tricks on how to move the toggle piece, even telling you that the game would sometimes glitch and delete off ten seconds to your total time if you moved just right.

You’d thanked him profusely, excitement brewing in your chest at the thought of how you would crush Kotarou, but the sudden feeling of being watched washed over you and left you stiffening up, no longer paying attention to the stranger’s words.

In less than a moment, you were suddenly pushed from behind, spun around so that your back was pressed against the arcade wall, the breath knocked out of your lungs and Kotarou’s face – fit with a scowl – filling up your entire view.

Your surprised yelp was cut off by him suddenly lunging forward, his lips settling onto yours hard enough to make you flinch a bit. He kissed you roughly, loudly, the sound of wet smacking filling your ears and surely the stranger’s, if his facial expression was anything to go by. With red cheeks and a shocked look spread across his features, the man was quick to stutter an apology and speed off, trying to avoid the sight of Kotarou pressing you tighter against the wall and the sound of his groans and grunts.

As soon as the man was out of sight, Kotarou pulled back, licking his lips and looking at you with something akin to hunger swirling in those golden eyes.

Who was that?

Is all he got out, hands still firmly placed at your waist.

Your shock barred you from answering right away, before a resounding smack rung through his ears, the mild pain of your slap to his chest leaving him winded, the pleasant sensation of you touching him numbing out some of the hot, angry envy in his veins.

What the hell was that, Kotarou? You practically yell at him, the sound drowned out by the ringing of a few games nearby.

Kotarou only sighs, squeezing your sides and fixing you with an unblinking stare.

That man was bothering you, couldn’t he see you were here with me?

At your bewildered look, he merely laughed, one hand coming up to teasingly ruffle your hair. Don’t worry about it, I’m sure he’ll leave us alone for the rest of the day. Now c’mon, I got more quarters – watch me win!

And just like that, he seemed to have forgotten all about the rather heated, intimate moment he’d instigated – all smiles and laughter and taunts for the rest of the day as you shakily and wearily settled by his side, trying to rationalize that perhaps it looked different to an outsider.

Perhaps Kotarou thought the man was bothering you, and was worried he’d only get the hint through extreme measures. And he’s always been a bit extreme and exaggerated, surely he meant nothing by the kiss – even if it had been rather graphic, even if he’d been practically moaning at just the taste of you.

That must be it, you decide, as Kotarou whines and pouts about losing the level once more, begging you to give him just one more try. The small, half-hearted smile you give him is enough permission for him, and just that look settles the raging jealousy in his heart.

You were looking at him again, just as you should be – him and him only.

(And later that night, that’s what’s falling past his lips in a mantra as he vividly remembers the feel of your body in his hands, your lips pressed against his own, the smell of you clouding his every breath.)

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Kotarou’s infatuation with you is, in most ways, strange.

He’s utterly obsessed, of course – his every waking moment is either revolving around volleyball or you, often times mixing and jumbling up so that he’s imagining all sorts of things that get him grinning like a fool, his cheeks bright red and his breathing too heavy to be considered normal.

(Things like seeing you wear his jersey, for example, or having you toss him a ball that he smacks so hard it hurts, seeing your impressed and flustered expression as he teases you about how strong he is. The kind of thing that makes his chest swell with pride, that makes him bite his lip and clutch at his covers late at night when he’s dreaming and wanting and needing you.)

His feelings for you carelessly breach any sort of trust or boundaries between the two of you, and for the most part Kotarou doesn’t see an issue with this.

Of course you probably don’t like when he checks the tracker he’d installed into your phone, but it’s just for safety and he’s sure you’ll eventually understand! It’s unsafe to let someone like you travel around alone at night (or in the day, or in crowded streets or public parks or even in the safety of your own home-).

He’s just taking an extra precaution to make sure someone’s got an eye on you – he’d be more than happy to install a tracker into his phone for you to keep tabs on his location too, if you’d like. (And oh, he wishes you’d like that.)

You’re probably not the biggest fan of when he wraps an arm around you in public, beaming and planting a wet, long kiss against your temple as he greets you, walking to your favorite coffee shop with his arm still wrapped around you, migrating down to your waist and making walking uncomfortable while he prattles on and on about his latest training regiment.

(And sure, maybe he’s exaggerating just a hair about how much he can bench press, or how fast his serves are, but those golden eyes of his are constantly scanning your expressions, looking for even the slightest hint of awe, analyzing any signs that you’re impressed with his physical prowess, his dedication. Impressed by him, really.)

And so really, Kotarou breaks every physical and intangible barrier and wall that you have down, slowly and bit by bit until you’re so desensitized to his antics and his behavior towards you that you stop questioning it. You’re not exactly supportive of the possessive, overly clingy way he treats you, but it’s just Kotarou, so really how harmful can it be? He’s just a silly, overgrown puppy of a man, and why should you ever be afraid of him?

And Kotarou’s feelings towards your living situation reflect this sentiment – that is, he absolutely does not want to kidnap you.

Not only does he find the term entirely unapplicable to your situation if he were to steal you away (because he’s convinced that on some core level you’d actually be pleased, like you want him to whisk you away and keep you wrapped up in his apartment as his little housewife), but it leaves an unpleasant taste in his mouth to imagine keeping you cooped up in one place all the time.

He loves to be out with you, to take you to markets and restaurants and movies and all sorts of other things – he likes having you out in public. It stresses him out a bit, yes, constantly being vigilant and aware of any man that tries to approach you, but by and large he finds that he enjoys your company most and enjoys showing you off most when you’re not all alone at home.

That isn’t to say that he dislikes cozy movie nights spent on his couch with now-cold takeout sprawled across the table, but there’s just something special about seeing you laugh so hard you cry because of him in a busy, sunny street café where everyone can see just how entertained you are by him.

(Those cozier evenings are of course favorites of him, though, because he gets to see a more intimate side of you – when you get sleepy and your eyes start drooping, he has to physically hold himself back from cooing and squishing your cheeks. And especially when you fall asleep on his shoulder or shift just right so that he worm his way into your arms, noticing how your flimsy sleeping shorts ride up just a hair to expose the lower curve of your ass, his mouth is left watering and his own shorts feel uncomfortably tight – something he'd be absolutely crazy to dislike.)

And so, Kotarou will hold off for as long as possible on stealing you away, just for the selfish reason of being able to drag you to all his games, to pretty dates (that you aren’t aware are dates, of course, but that’s just a technicality), to keep you happy and excited and free by his side.

But if things were to go south and you started to really critically analyze his behavior and decide that you don’t want to remain in his life?

Well, Kotarou has never quite felt panic like when you swing by his apartment one last time to announce that you’re moving away. He’s never quite felt a level of dismay like when you tell him you’ll be blocking his number because he’s made you uncomfortable, or when you tell him you’ll be crashing at a male friend’s place.

And really, that last portion is the kicker – it sends Kotarou’s mind spiraling, panic engulfing him and leading him to grab you, his hands shaking as he holds you, eyes flashing as he drags you to his bedroom, holding you down on the bed and using a spare t-shirt to tie up your wrists and ankles.

He’s never known fear like this before, and as he stares down at you – writhing, looking at him with tears in your eyes, looking at him –

He’s never quite known excitement like this before, either.

As a captor, Kotarou isn’t terrible – with one glaring exception: he’s needy. You’ve known this for as long as you’ve known him, but once you’re trapped in his home this is only amplified, the clinginess getting worse and worse because you have no way to dissuade his touchiness, no way to distract him away with outside people and activities.

No, now it’s strictly you and him – which is heaven for Kotarou, exactly what he’s been fantasizing about come to life.

Unfortunately for you, this means excessive time spent together and a lot of physical contact. Though his delusions aren’t quite deep enough to fully mask the fact that you’re unhappy, Kotarou is able to chalk up your lack of enthusiasm for things you did pre-kidnapping as you simply being moody, shy, womanly.

It’s infuriating how much he blames your behavior on your hormones and menstrual cycle.

He’s practically impossible to deal with once your period begins, his touches soft and gentle and nearly scared, treating you like you’re some breakable, delicate piece of treasure that can’t do anything on your own.

He’ll cook meals for you, then promptly bring the chopsticks up to your mouth and say ahh, smiling like a fool as he guides the ramen past your lips, nodding enthusiastically when you chew.

He’ll hold your hand and help you walk around the apartment, big eyes wide and worried when you near any corners, terrified that you’ll somehow hurt yourself because you’re distracted with cramp pain or simply having brain fog. And really, it would be endearing how earnestly he’s trying to make you comfortable and provide for you during your time of the month, but there’s something truly humiliating about the level of disregard he feels for your complaints, simply smiling lopsidedly at you and telling you don’t worry, I’ll make it all better! I’ve got some of that chocolate you like, you want some? I can heat up your heating pad too, and we can watch some old reruns of my games – you’d like that, right? You like watching me play, yeah?

And really, that’s the main thing with Kotarou – the level of care and attention he both gives to you and demands from you is incredibly draining.

The constant feeling of walking on eggshells around him is enough to have your mind running in circles, constantly worried that you’ll say the wrong thing about his personality or his actions and have him moping, convinced that you’re just being mean because you’re disappointed in him, that you’re just playing hard to get because he hasn’t been treating you like you deserve. And so how does he respond to this?

By giving you more attention, swamping you with questions and touches and all sorts of things for the two of you to do together. He’s always forcing you onto the couch to try out a new video game Akinori mentioned when he last ran into him, or watching a scary movie and clutching onto you for dear life at every jump scare.

(He thinks it’s romantic, but the slight bruising left on your thighs and sides from his very, very tight grip are less sweet.)

He’s just generally so very out of touch with how you’re feeling that it’s infuriating – but you have to be careful, because everything you do and say will only cause him to grasp onto you tighter, clutching onto you with more strength than you can handle because his entire mental wellbeing is still resting firmly on your shoulders. He forces you to sleep in bed beside him, waking up to you tangled in his arms every morning, starting his day off right and making it slightly easier to leave you for early morning trainings.

(He has to wake up with you every morning or else he feels like something’s off, his performance severely lacking and the only thing that can fix it being excessive affection from you – something a bit difficult to come by.)

He forces you to share meals with him because it gives him a reason to unabashedly stare at you (though he does this anyway, frequently) and watch as you eat the food he provided you. He has to be the sole one cooking or buying you take out, because it feeds the narrative he’s crafted in his head that he’s your provider, that he’s taking care of you, that he’s being a good male partner and spoiling his perfect little wife.

(Of course, you may not be married yet, but to Kotarou it’s just a matter of time – you’re already entwined in every possible way, living together and spending every waking moment together, so why bother with formal ceremonies and official titles when he can just buy a diamond and slip onto your finger with a toothy grin and a much too long and much too detailed declaration of his love? Of course, if you want the ceremony he’d be more than willing to give it to you, but he’s content with the knowledge that you’re his and his alone already.)

So really, if you can handle his hands constantly being on you, his lips always pressed against your skin, his voice always ringing in your ears, and his presence always a looming shadow over you demanding your praise and attention and time, Kotarou isn’t terrible.

There’s shades of genuine love in how he treats you – the gentleness in his touches, the tenderness of his compliments, the way he’ll moan into your ear the most adoring, utterly pathetic things as he settles himself between your legs.

There’s evidence that he truly loves you in some horrible, twisted way, but it all just feels like too much. Too forceful, too desperate, too passionate, too him.

But no amount of trying to get through to him will ever change the way he treats you, or ever persuade him into loosing the metaphorical lease he keeps you on – you’re his, and no matter how hard you try Kotarou will always firmly believe that fate has brought you together.

And isn’t that so romantic?

PUNISHMENTS:

In general, it’s rare for Kotarou to get genuinely angry at you.

Of course he has his highs and lows – he may be unwilling to seriously listen to your complaints or insults hurled at him, but he’s not inhuman. He still knows that you’re being mean – criticizing him and visibly displeased with him, and just that fact alone has his eyes drooping, guilt, self-pity and shame resting heavily on his shoulders.

His delusions about your feelings for him bar him from fully comprehending that your anger lies in the fact that he’s kidnapped you rather than not cuddling with you the night before, but he can still tell that something is amiss. He doesn’t like when you aren’t smiling and happy, when you’re bothered and troubled, when you aren’t acting like you used to, back before he relocated you to his apartment.

It’s upsetting, really, and it leaves Kotarou desperate to figure out how to get a grin back onto your lips, how to make you laugh, how to please you again. A lot of Kotarou’s anger and punishments stem from a place of insecurity and worry about your perception of him – he’s really quite sensitive, especially coming from someone he idolizes and reveres as much as you, and so his solutions to any sort of non-desirable behavior from you is to simply try harder.

It’s seemed to have worked in his career – hours upon hours upon hours spent lagging after practices to work on his spikes just a bit more, to serve just a few more balls, to get just a bit better.

And he applies this same principle with you – he’d rather pull his nails off one by one than physically hurt you or deny you of food and water or leave you all alone or any number of things he could do to force your codependency on him to become stronger.

And so, Kotarou wracks his brain for any and all possibilities on how to get you to like him more, on how to make you happy, on how to be a better boyfriend.

And frankly, it results in a much, much worse time for you.

If you thought Kotarou was clingy before you yelled at him for installing locks on his windows, then he’s downright glued to your side afterwards, his breath constantly fanning on your cheeks and his voice seemingly never ending as it rings over and over and over in your ears.

If you thought being in the same room as him was difficult before you slapped him across the face for giving your ass a playful squeeze, it’s nothing compared to how he plants more and more kisses onto your unwilling lips, leaving pretty dresses and lacy lingerie out on your (forcefully shared) bed for you, the way he starts piling on the compliments with such frequency and urgency that it nearly makes you sick.

Kotarou has always been a lot, truly, and once his feelings for you are thrown into the mix he becomes too much – and when you’re angry at him, ignoring him or hurling insults at him or denying his affection?

Well, the sadness quickly dissipates into fear, anxiety eating at every inch of his body because what if you hate him now?

You’re meant for one another, sure, but what if he’s messed it all up by not being enough for you?

It’s the stuff of nightmares, and in order to correct it he’ll instead become your nightmare.

You hear him before you see him – his keys jingle loudly in his pocket, the rhythmic noises of the padlock on the front door locking back up sounding too familiar now. You’re sitting at the dining table, staring down at the new book Kotarou had gifted you a week ago – you’ve read it twice already in that span of time, but as his footsteps approach the kitchen area, you resolve to read it once again.

His voice is loud as he calls your name, and you can hear the smile on his face as his footsteps quicken, his pace nearly turning to a run as he approaches you. His arms are around you before you can stop them, his words already pouring out as he starts telling you all about his day, rambling on about how Meian and Hinata had promised to take Kotarou out to a new bar later this week.

He’s still hugging you as he goes on to tell you that it’s supposed to be super good, I’ll have to let you know how it is! Maybe I can bring something home for you – I know your favorite’s always been –

Your mouth is moving before you can even really stop yourself, the words seeming to burst out without your control. Don’t tell me about all your plans in the outside world – not when I’m stuck here wasting away in this fucking apartment.

Your voice is low, uneven, and immediately Kotarou tenses, his eyebrows drawing together into a pout. What are you talking about? I just want to bring you a good drink and maybe we can watch that trashy rom-com you love and –

You cut him off again by harshly shaking off his arms from around you, moving your elbows out in an attempt to get him off of you.

Don’t you get it? I don’t want you to get me a drink! I don’t want you to do anything for me – you need to let me go, Kotarou. You can’t keep me stuck here forever! I should be out there getting a drink too, and going to the fucking store and seeing my friends and living my life! You’re – you’re a terrible person, and I hate you!

Your chest is heaving by the time you finish your spiel, having started off in that same low tone but eventually getting to a yell. He’d backed off of you, watching you with wide eyes and a dropped jaw, his mind racing and trying to understand what you could possibly mean.

Stuck here? What were you saying?

You were happy here – you always return his hugs and his kisses and let him pull you closer to his chest at night and laugh at his jokes and smile at him and say you love him to and and and –

He moves back towards you, going to wrap his arms around you again, but this time you stand up and scurry off to the other end of table and now Kotarou can see the way your eyes are glossy, how you’re on the verge of tears and your lip is trembling.

Leave me alone, I can’t stand you! Not after what you’ve done to me!

And with that, you turn tail and run off to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you. Behind the door your hands shake, the tears finally falling as you slide down the wood, landing in a sitting position and cursing Kotarou for not putting locks on the interior doors.

A fresh wave of tears falls down your cheeks as you realize you can’t even use the toilet in peace, not without the constant, lingering threat of him watching you. It’s too much, and soon your head is in your hands, sobs wracking your body.

 Meanwhile, Kotarou is still standing frozen, his heart and mind racing because you’re obviously upset. He doesn’t know why you’re overreacting like this, but the image of you with tears in your eyes pulls at his heartstrings, prompting him to rush and grab his car keys once more, flying out the front door and practically speeding to the nearest store, his grocery cart full.

He’s home roughly twenty minutes later, tears already pooling in his own eyes because the more he’s thought about the state you’re in the more he comes to the conclusion that it’s his fault, that he must’ve made you angry or sad and now he has to fix it.

He has to show you that you don’t hate him – you’re just having a rough day, that’s all. You’re just sad that he’s been gone all day and hasn’t been home to give you the proper love and care that you deserve. His fingers grip the steering wheel tightly even to leave his knuckles white, his teeth grinding and gritting together as he presses down on the gas gauge just a hair harder, desperation and guilt weighing heavily in his chest because god, he hates seeing you so upset.

And as he races back up to the apartment with all the groceries in his arms, he’s quick to wrap his fist against the bathroom door, asking in a breathless voice if you’re okay or if you’re hurt.

You’re still quietly crying, sniffling heavily and trying to ignore him as he knocks again. He knows he could bust the door open, easily overpowering you and giving him direct access to you, but the hurt look in your eyes flashes through his mind again and he decides against it. No, he needs to prove that he’s good enough at reading you and figuring out what you need – he needs to prove himself to you, to make you like him again.

He calls your name through the door again, before resting his forehead against the wood and wincing. I’m sorry for whatever I did, baby, I promise I didn’t mean it!

 He hears you scoff at that, and bites his lip.

You know me, sometimes I just get carried away! I never meant to make you upset, you’ve got to know that. He pauses, shifting around the bags in his arms. You mean so much to me, I love you. I love you more than I think I should, but it’s okay! I’ll be better for you, I promise. I’ll be a better boyfriend and I’ll make you happy. Just – you just have to let me try, okay? Please baby, let me try.

It’s silent for a moment, and Kotarou’s chest feels tight.

Please, he tries one last time.

And although you know you shouldn’t and that you’ll regret it, some small part of you almost feels bad as you hear him sniffle through the wood, the sound of him crying obvious. You bite your lip, a small voice in the back of your head quietly wondering if you should believe him.

After all, does he really make you that unhappy? He’s always so eager and pathetically excited when you smile at him, and is it really so bad to have someone give you all their attention and time? You’re ashamed to admit some part of you almost likes it, and soon your body is moving before you can stop it.

The door opens and Kotarou’s heart is in his throat, the sight of you with red, puffy eyes and your lip caught between your teeth making something between a sigh of relief and a whimper slip from him.

The multitude of bags precariously balanced in his arms immediately have your eyes widening, the names of your favorite snacks peeking through the sacks and making that same pang in your heart twist again, the knowledge that he went out and bought all of this for you just because you were sad forcing you to take a step forward.

You don’t say anything, and Kotarou stares at you with wide eyes, a wild sort of look overtaking his parted lips and pink cheeks, and when you mumble something small, he has to physically strain himself to hear you.

You repeat your favorite drink, swallowed harshly and struggling to make eye contact with him. He mouths it back to himself, before slowly, shyly, smiling down at you.

You won’t regret, I promise! He laughs, the sound relieved, dropping all of the shopping bags on the ground and immediately scooping you into his arms, hugging you so tightly you nearly can’t breath, all the while that familiar, chiming laughter fills your ears.

I love you, I love you, I love you he repeats into your ear, keeping you close and occasionally squeezing tighter.

And even as something crumbles up inside you, you find yourself wrapping your arms around him too, shoving your face against his chest and nodding, your words muffled as you murmur the smallest  I love you, too back.

And Kotarou can only beam down at you, repeating the phrase over and over until all the words start slurring together, until all you can do is slowly relax into the warmth of his arms, into the feeling of someone completely and utterly loving you.

OVERALL DANGER:

6/10

Kotarou is less dangerous and honestly more pathetic than anything else.

He’s a fully grown man who’s desperate for someone to love, whose desperation becomes so deeply ingrained in his feelings towards you that he clutches onto you and never lets go.

Reading into your feelings festers delusions about how you feel towards him, feeding him pretty lies about how you really feel and what your actions really mean.

He builds a relationship between the two of you in his head, growing closer and more intimate with you than socially acceptable for a friendship, becoming more and more dependent on you and the praise you so willingly give him.

It’s heaven, really, and it leaves Kotarou blinded to the ugly side of his obsession.

He’s clingy and overly possessive, always touching you and calling you his and making sure that everyone sees the two of you together – that everyone knows that you’re his woman and he’s your man.

He wants to make sure that your relationship – fake or not – is idyllic, that you’re so happy with him that you could never even dream of wanting another man, never even entertain the notion of needing anyone else because Kotarou is everything you could ever want.

And while he won’t explicitly acknowledge any behavior that clashes with the pretty image of you and your love that he’s crafted in his head, he’s not immune to your negative reception of his touches and his rather aggressive affection.

You’ll have to walk on eggshells around him, careful to keep him from falling deeply into a spiral that could lead to your own slow demise being trapped under his thumb.

It’s stressful, a lifestyle that’ll leave you haggard and spent, tired to the point where slowly it will stop feeling like an act to return his hugs, to compliment his muscles, to tell him that you missed him while he was away at work.

It will feel less and less like a lie, the words slipping off your tongue so easily that it’ll leave you scared.

Because really, while Kotarou is overbearing and quite honestly scary with the way he barrels forwards and takes whatever he wants from you, eventually you’ll find yourself less and less angry, and more and more complacent. It could be worse, couldn’t it?

You have a warm bed to sleep in, a roof over your head, and food to eat.

And the man that holds you flush to his chest in said bed, pays the rent for said roof, and hand-selects only meals he knows you like can’t possibly be that bad, right?

After all, doesn’t it feel good to be needed?

[joyaphoria]

bokuto literally does anything with your pussy because his impulsive thoughts just take over. like u could be chilling on your bed together and in less than a second there's a huge figure underneath the sheets, between your legs. you lift up the sheet to give bo a questioning glance, but he's quick to yank your nightgown up over your hips, pull your panties down, and just press his face against your plush cunt. you'll jump and drop the sheet to gasp and arch upwards, but thats really all it is. you have to stifle a laugh when you hear the sound of a deep inhale, and lift back up the sheets to find out what your baby is doing under the covers. honestly, you're not surprised to find bokuto just breathing in and out, his nose almost flush against your pussy. "so intoxicating," he'll sigh, his hands gripping both sides of your hips as he just breathes your cunt, and you have to sigh and lie back, wondering what the hell's gotten into him this time.

[cvnt4him]

I am Alaa from Palestine, Gaza, and I need help to get out of the war. We have a war of death and hunger for the sake of my children. I to me with any amount of money or me publish the accountIt is not easy for me to ask for help, but I lost everything. Do not hesitate to help me. $15 or $10. A little helpsplease donate and help this family!!!

🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🍉🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🍉🇵🇸🇵🇸‎‏,I hope you and your family are well.Can you help me Share Or Replog the post my Family on account? 🙏

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Yes I'm tag mashing or wtv

[yogurtkags]

hello, congratulations on 100! 🫶 could i request bokuto kotaro with the prompt of first dates? sending love! :)

❝ BEGIN AGAIN ❞ — bokuto kotarou

cw. gn!reader, fluff, timeskip!bokuto, first date, akaashi sets you up on a date with his best friend, acquaintances to lovers, implied that bokuto is taller than reader word count. 1.3k

rediscovering love in the form of keiji's best friend, a 6'2.9 (he says 6'3 anyway) ball of sunshine that looks at you like you hung the stars

event masterlist

the boisterous and excitable bokuto that you know is surprisingly mild outside of the court, away from his usual company, with you. he’s very sweet, listening to every word you say with bright eyes and an attentiveness you wouldn’t expect from him.

it's one of the warmest days this week, the sun blazing down on the tree you're sat under, a pseudo little shade to shield you from the glare and bright rays— between the leaves and foliage, a yellow-orange glow seeps into the gaps and paints a beautiful splash of colour across the plains of your smooth skin.

ice cream cones in hand and sitting side by side on the wooden park bench close enough for your thighs to touch, it's a welcome feeling, the warmth of the weather and his presence filling you with a sense of comfort and reassurance despite your nerves.

it’s been a while since you’ve last been on a date, time hasn’t really been on your side lately, and the idea of putting yourself out there again fills yourself with dread. you swore off love and relationships for a while after your last one and honestly? you're scared. but your trust in keiji is unwavering, and knowing how highly he thinks of the ones he holds close to him, you decided to take his word for it, even if you can't deny that you were a little skeptical at first.

keiji decided he has had enough of you lamenting about your lack of action in the love department despite not making any moves yourself and set you up on a date, making some compelling points about how "you already know bo, plus i think you two would be a good fit." "he's literally my best friend, i wouldn't set you up with a weirdo, who do you think i am?" "shut up, i've seen the way you look at him."

you don't deny that bokuto's easy on the eyes— striking hair, innocent features and the most gorgeous smile, paired with his athletic physique and outgoing personality, on the surface, what's not to like?

but really, it's been in all the little details since the day started.

him making an effort to show up early despite being prone to getting lost going to places he's never been to before, he's just bad at directions especially when he's nervous, standing by the side of the cafe twiddling his thumbs and humming under his breath. the way his eyes lit up when he first saw you, bringing a hand up to wave in greeting and instantly putting a smile on your face.

the sudden change in temperature upon stepping inside caused goosebumps to raise on your skin, and he noticed, instantly going to shrug off his light jacket and gingerly draping it over your shoulders, deciding to pick a seat by the window, "so at least a little sun can come through and hopefully keep you warm if my jacket isn't enough." he said this as he pulled your chair out for you and helped you settle in your seat like a true gentleman, and your cheeks warmed bashfully at how thoughtful he's already been in the first few minutes, than how some others have been in months.

you fell into a comfortable conversation, catching up on life since graduating and what you've been doing after that. the two of you didn't particularly keep in contact after all, having just been mere acquaintances and had more of a friend of a friend type relationship. he's hard to miss though, you've seen him on sports channels, having gone the professional route and playing volleyball in the v-league instead of pursuing a college degree or a more conventional white collar job. to be fair, you've never penned him for the type, he was beyond ordinary, and always excelled at the sport even back then, catching the eyes of numerous scouters and teams in the country.

"so," taking a sip of his drink, he locked eyes with you and jokingly asked, "when are you coming to one our games?"

with a mischievous glint and an exaggerated false nonchalance, you playfully suggested with a shrug of your shoulders, "hmm i don't know, i'm not really super into the sport or anything, but maybe i'm just waiting for the black jackal’s #12 to formally invite me to come watch. he doesn't seem too into me though, so i don't know if it'll happen, we'll see."

what came after was the cutest outburst that didn’t fail to bring a matching grin on your face, his head thrown back laughing as he processed your words, "well he's clearly missing out because have you seen yourself? if he won't do it i will."

you hated to admit it but this date was going swimmingly and you didn’t want it to end just yet, which brings you back to the present, a mental recount of the hours that just passed broken by bokuto’s hand reaching towards your face.

your breath hitches as his thumb brushes over the corner of your lip with a featherlight touch, your mind going blank at the sudden contact and warmth creeping up your neck, the tips of your ears mirroring the fresh swell of a ripe apple at your shyness.

“sorry, got a little bit of ice cream on your lip there.” he murmurs as he sheepishly retracts his hand, wiping it off on a napkin and turning to face you again while avoiding eye contact. he's so cute, and you can't decide if the dessert in your hands or the man before you is sweeter.

bokuto doesn't know if he's overstepped by doing that, but all of his worries melt away like wax when he sees you trying to hide a small smile, and completely contrary to what he felt seconds ago, gains a burst of confidence to grab your hand as you both stand up from the bench.

upon finding out that you took the train to meet him, he insists on driving you home, seeing that it was getting late. interlocking your still linked hands and lightly swinging them in the wind, you let him lead you to his car down the block, settling on plush leather seats as he opens the door for you.

the ride home is filled with chatter and silly stories, from reminiscing high school and discussing music tastes, right down to playing 21 questions like little kids and learning the basics like your favourite flowers or colour, and bokuto take down a mental note of this, making sure to surprise you with some next time. next time.

as you peer out at the passing streets and night sky, you notice that he's taking the longer way home, letting out a quiet huff in amusement. you're both on more of a similar wavelength than you initially thought, and it seems like he shares the same idea, not wanting the night to end just yet, even though you've already been together for hours.

sooner than you wanted, your house comes into view and bokuto's pulling up to the sidewalk, getting out of the car and once again opening the door for you, ever the chivalrous man.

standing before him, you look up at his youthful face, illuminated by the golden hue of your dimmed porch lights, and you're convinced he was hand-sculpted and molded by angels themselves, soft eyes overflowing with affection as he gazes down at you, “i’d love to do this again sometime, bo—“

before you can finish your sentence, he interrupts, “koutarou— you can call me koutarou.”

with a giggle, you reach up on your tiptoes, pressing a light kiss on his cheek and heading towards your door, calling out just before closing it shut behind you, “i’ll see you soon okay, koutarou?”

notes. hi anon !! pretty excited to get into this because i've never written for bo before !! this was loosely inspired by “begin again” - taylor swift if you couldn't tell by the title ♡ thank you so much for your request, i hope you enjoy this !! reblogs & interactions are always appreciated !

© yogurtkags. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

[sukunas-princess]

Co-worker!Kotarou, who only got this cushy part-time corporate gig because Tetsuro put in a good word for him.

Co-worker!Kotarou, who wants to do his best and show Tetsuro that he won’t regret it, but he’s just hopelessly clumsy and always in the way somehow. You can’t help but think that Tetsuro is playing some grand prank on you by giving Kotarou to you. This man can barely answer the phone correctly. How will he ever learn how to be a proper administrative assistant for you?

Co-worker!Kotarou, who shoots straight up from his desk when you arrive every morning, and then trails behind you, just like a happy pup. He fills you in on everything he’s done so far (before he got to work. God knows he isn’t useful at work), and then proceeds to read you your messages – if you can call them that. Most are just scribbles about how the voice sounded because he forgot to ask for a name.

Co-worker!Kotarou, who gets a little too curious about you and wants to know what you do outside of work, and then jokingly asks you if you even know how to have fun.

Co-worker!Kotarou, who stares at you blankly when you tell him you most certainly have fun, and when he asks you to give examples, you snap at him to get back to his desk.

Co-worker!Kotarou, who has disturbed your precious breaks more than once by running into your corner office and claiming he has broken the copier. He’s a sight to behold with his button-down shirt no longer buttoned, the tight white t-shirt underneath fighting with honor to stay on as he babbles about how “It’s out of paper” or “It’s out of toner” or it’s out of blah blah blah.

You now lock your door for your breaks.

Co-worker!Kotarou, who presses Tetsuro for information about you on his lunch breaks. Tetsuro laughs when Kotarou pouts and says that he doesn't understand what he did, but you always look so mad at him. Tetsuro assures him that that's just who you are - no nonsense at work, but your resting bitch face certainly isn't doing you any favors. He gently reminds Kotarou that "not everyone is an open book like you, dude" but to "work hard, and they'll appreciate it. Just don't be so... you in the meantime".

So Co-worker!Kotarou, who tries not to be so… well, him. He does his very best to make you proud – writing down actual names and numbers when he takes a message, fixing the copier by himself, and busting his butt so he's two steps ahead of you with whatever you need.

Co-worker!Kotarou, who is in the middle of typing up your agenda for tomorrow when you peek your head out and call for him. And when he asks what you need, you pause for a moment before softly telling him, “Nothing. Just… Good job”.

(And Co-worker!Kotarou, who can’t help but let out a little fist pump once you’re out of sight.)

Co-worker!Kotarou, who brings in donuts for the whole office one morning (charged onto one of Tetsuro’s credit cards, of course), and is crestfallen when you politely decline taking one of them. He's noticed you look a little sad lately, and he wanted to make your day better with a tasty treat at the very least.

Co-worker!Kotarou, who is trying sooooooooo hard not to be nosy, but he can't help but overhear you constantly arguing with someone over the phone nowadays, and it's definitely not with a client.

Co-worker!Kotarou, who hears little rumblings through the office that you're no longer in a relationship, and that things are about to get rough if everyone doesn't stay in line.

So Co-worker!Kotarou, who comes in a full two hours before you now, preparing everything in order to make your day as smooth as possible. It's none of his business what happened between you and your ex, but he wants to help any way he can.

Co-worker!Kotarou, who continues to bring in breakfast once a week for the office (still charged to Tetsuro’s credit card), and has a sweet treat for you completely separate from the rest. He’s hell bent on finding out what kind of pastry you enjoy most, since it's clearly not donuts. And even if you don’t like it, hopefully you laughed at the dad joke he left beside it.

Co-worker!Kotarou, who attempts to cheer you up one evening - offering to stay late, or to beat your ex-lover up, or to go buy junk food down at the corner store and you can just rant to him while you eat it all.

Co-worker!Kotarou, who gets a little bit of a smile out of you with that last one.

Co-worker!Kotarou, who genuinely says “Seriously. If you need anything, I’m here. I wouldn’t be a very good assistant if I wasn’t.”

Co-worker!Kotarou, who's laughter is so contagious when you answer, “You’re a terrible fucking assistant, Kotarou” that you can’t help but laugh too.

Co-worker!Kotarou, who feels a little spark as you both just continue to smile at each other. These past couple months have been difficult, to say the least. He would be a liar if he said he hadn't gotten a huge, fat crush on you the moment he was introduced to you.

But Co-worker!Kotarou, who's spark flickers for a moment before being snuffed out completely, because now isn't a time for confessions. You just got out of a relationship. You're fragile, and he would feel like a complete ass if he took advantage of you.

So Co-worker!Kotarou, who wishes you goodnight instead, and heads home.

Co-worker!Kotarou, who gets ready for bed, wondering what would have happened if he had made a move. How would your lips feel against his? How would it feel to hold you so impossibly close, like he's been longing to?

Co-worker!Kotarou, who shakes his head and tells himself out loud to "Let it go. Don't do this to yourself." before he climbs into bed.

Co-worker!Kotarou, who is almost asleep when he feels his phone vibrate, but checks it anyways.

Co-worker!Kotarou, who reads, “I lied that day when I said I didn’t want a donut. They’re my favorite.”

Co-worker!Kotarou, who has to read the message three times, because at first he thinks he's hallucinating, and the second time, he thinks it's a weird trap.

Co-worker!Kotarou, who takes forever and a half to do it, but eventually texts back, "Any particular kind?"

Co-worker!Kotarou, who lets out a little giggle when he reads, "Any is fine." and then right below it, "Good night."

Co-worker!Kotarou, who's feet kick around a little bit before he puts his phone back down, and allows himself to be whisked away by daydreams of you, falling asleep with a big smile on his face.

And last but not least, Co-worker Kotarou, who is late to work the next morning, because he was asking the girl behind the counter if there was any possible way she could put a smiley face on the donut.

© all writing owned by sukunas-princess. do not copy, translate, plagiarize, share outside of tumblr, etc. heart divider by @/roseschoices. support banner made by me, sukunas-princess.

[causenessus]

how they comfort you. | haikyuu

inc. iwaizumi, bokuto, sakusa

written in second pov (female reader implied)

"love, keep your eyes on the road, 'cause when I stare, all I see is two foggy windows to a lost soul. and maybe, maybe it's all my fault. that it's so quiet on the drive home" from on the drive home by niki

word count: 2.2k words

notes: mainly written for @froyaoya because she's my literal soulmate and i love her so much she deserves the world <3 also, implied established relationship for all scenarios. not proofread!!!

content warnings: angst/comfort, crying, hyperventilating, all that jazz

hajime.

"like any unloved thing, i do not know if i'm real when i'm not being touched."

he can tell something is wrong immediately. 

you think you’re hiding it so well, but he can see it the moment you walk into class.

and in all honesty, seeing him and your friends helped you feel a little better, but the moment the lecture starts, you’re left to your own thoughts again. and he sees the way your face drops when you think no one’s looking.

he sees the way you start to stare at your notebook absentmindedly, picking at the clip of your pencil, and then your skirt, and then you're bouncing your knee erratically.

he sees the way your shoulders rise with every breath, and the way you bite your lip, blink rapidly, close your eyes, do anything to try to ignore the feeling in your chest. it feels like something desperately trying to claw out of your chest, threatening to explode at any moment.

and when the class is dismissed to sit silently and work individually, you stand up, trying your best to keep your composure until you make it out of the class. you slide the door shut behind you and haven’t even made it down the hallway before you stop, one hand on the wall to steady yourself as a sob escapes your mouth. even hearing the sound reach your ears is painful, and it’s the crack in the wall that breaks into rapid breathing and hot tears running down your face. your breaths are shallow and inhales so sharp and loud you don’t hear the classroom door close again. 

you barely even feel the hands on your shoulders, and you’re not quite sure when exactly you fell to the ground. “y/n, y/n. breathe. look at me. breathe with me,” he’s in front of you, and you hear his own inhale, deep and steady in contrast to your hiccups. “breathe. just take a breath,” he repeats, and you try your best to follow his instructions. you can barely see, tears blurring your vision, but he’s in front of you, kneeling and rubbing the sides of your arms comfortingly.

eventually, your breaths steady. they’re still shaky with every breath in, but your able to think again, and you try to wipe the tears from your eyes. they keep coming, but not nearly as frequently as before.

“that’s it, there you go. you’re safe, you’re okay,” he keeps reassuring you, voice soft as he wipes away a stray tear rolling down your cheek with his thumb. “can i hug you?”

you can’t even keep in your sobs when you nod, your eyesight blurring again as a new wave of tears overwhelms you at the question and the strong arms that engulf you. you wrap your arms around his upper back and he has an arm hugging you over your shoulder while the other is on the back of your head, rubbing it gently and holding it close to his shoulder.

“hajime,” you whisper, voice broken. you barely make out the syllables before you sob again, clutching at his shirt.

“i’m right here,” he responds, “i’m right here and i’m not going anywhere. what happened, love?”

his words only make you hold him closer and tighter. at this point, your throat is sore and your cries are barely audible, only coming out as heaves and sighs.

“i don’t know,” you confess, eyes squeezing tightly shut. “i just got overwhelmed with everything. yesterday was bad, and i was alone all night– i thought it’d be okay today, but it just hurts. so bad.”

he takes in a deep breath, exhaling before he speaks, “i know. i know it hurts, baby. call me next time, would you? you’re not a bother. ask me to come over anytime, i will.”

you let out a shaky breath, finally opening your eyes and he pulls back so he can look at you, giving you a small smile before pressing a kiss to your lips. “okay,” you breathe. “you promise? that i’m not bothering you? i’m not holding you back or anything?”

“never,” he promises. “you’ve never and you won’t ever bother me. if anything, you’re helping me get through this all.”

“even right now?” you ask, trying to dry your face. “even though you had to leave class to come find me?”

“y/n, look at me,” he says gently, a hand on the side of your head to lightly guide it to face him. “i’d leave work for you. i’d run across campus for you. i’d come to your room in the dead of night if you asked me to. and of course, i’d skip class for you. you’re more important than anything else in my life. and what else is oikawa good for then making up lies? he’s covering for us right now and he’ll fill us back in on anything we’ve missed.”

a laugh escapes your mouth as you wipe away the last tear, “we’ll have to thank him when we get back. and thank you, hajime, for coming out here.”

“of course, love. i’m glad i did,” he presses another kiss to your forehead. “how’re you feeling? do you want to head back?”

although you’ve calmed down, and the weight in your chest isn’t as strong, your head still feels heavy, and you shake your head, trying not to feel guilty, “no, not yet.”

“that’s okay,” he says, coming to sit next to you on the floor, resting his back against the wall. “take as long as you need, i’ll stay with you.”

he holds one of your hands, running his thumb across your knuckles gently as you take in another breath. “hajime,” you say, and he looks up at you. although his eyes are usually sharp and pointed with determination, in the moment, they are soft and filled with love. “will you hold me again? just for a second, please.”

his arms are immediately around you.

“of course, love.”

koutarou.

"you realize, at last, that you can change without disappearing. that all you had to do was wait until the storm passes over and you find that—yes—your name is still attached to a living thing."

the water is hot when it hits your back. scalding, even, and it seeps into your clothes. you haven’t taken them off, and they stick to your body as you pull your knees to your chest on the floor of your shower. but it feels nice. the water is hot, the sting of the temperature and the noise of the water buzzing out your own thoughts, and eventually you feel numb to the heat.

your tears are mixing with the water dripping down your face, and you can barely hear your cries over the sound of it hitting the floor. 

but you don’t hear him come home, either. and you don’t hear him when he knocks on the door, trying to check on you before he opens the door. you’ve been in there for longer than normal, and he's started to get worried.

“y/n?” he whispers and you look up at him, looking horrified as if you’ve been caught in the act. “what are you doing?” he’s kneeling at the side of the bathtub, hands resting on the edge like he wants to reach out, put his hands above your head and stop the water from falling on you. his tone isn’t accusatory at all, he’s looking at you, face tense with worry and love, and his lip is trembling like he wants to cry with you.

“i’m–” you’re broken off by your own sob as you press your palms into your eyes, trying to stop your tears.

you feel his hand gently wrap around your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face and he’s looking at you with all the care in the world, but that only makes you tear up more. “i’m sorry, kou.”

“for what?” his own voice cracks with how low he’s talking, as if the air between them is fragile.

another cry escapes your chest and that seems to be his breaking point as his arms wrap around you, pulling you to his chest. you try to push back, “kou, you’ll get wet–”

“that doesn’t matter, y/n. you’re the only thing that matters right now,” he whispers, and you can hear how fast his heart is beating. and his grip doesn’t let up, so you let him hold you, taking in deep breaths as you both sit there until you calm down and he lets you pull away.

“i didn’t mean to worry you, kou. i’m sorry you walked in on me like this,” you apologize quietly, looking down at your own clothes, dark and completely soaked. “i was just– feeling overwhelmed, i don’t know. and i came in here so i couldn’t hear anything else.”

“that’s okay,” he reassures, making you look back at him. “that’s always okay. would it be alright for me if i made you tea? do you want to try and take a shower? or maybe just a bath? i can help you start one, and i’ll come back so you’re not alone.”

his words make your bottom lip quiver again, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “that would be nice, kou. thank you so much.”

he helps you out of the bathtub, letting you sit on the counter in a towel while he runs a bath, and after you promise him it’ll be okay, he leaves you to make you a mug of tea. he’s been attentive to you since the day you met him, when he started his list of things that make you happy to look back to when he needed it. by this point, he never looks at the list anymore. he can recite it from memory, and he knows just what to do whenever you’re hurting.

he will be at your side for whatever you need, he will sit on the floor next to you while you take your bath, holding your hand and letting you know you’re there. when you’re ready to get up, he will help you get out. if you’re feeling too weak to stand up yourself, he will be there to catch you and help you stand up. he will grab you a clean change of clothes and wait patiently for you to dress before he holds your hand, grabbing your mug with the other one and leading you to the couch. he will let you lay on him, he’ll place his arms around you, and kiss your head as you pick something to watch. he will be there to distract you from your thoughts, and he will always be there to love you even when you don’t feel deserving of it.

kiyoomi.

"wasn't that the definition of home? not where you are from, but where you are wanted."

this place was becoming too much.

too much.

too much.

this was not a home. and you ran from it. you’d thrown on the first pair of shoes you saw and ran out with tears in your eyes. no keys, no food, nothing but your phone. it’s cold outside, and the frost makes you aware of hot your entire body is, and you think of sitting down, and lying on the cold sidewalk, maybe staying there, but you keep running. because you know where you're going.

when you show up at his door, breathing hard and tears rolling down your face, he pulls you inside immediately, closing the door behind you. he’s holding your face immediately, concern lacing his eyes as he wipes away the tears escaping your eyes, one after the other. “what happened? what’s wrong?” he asks immediately, leading you by the hand to his kitchen, pulling out a chair for you to sit at, finding a blanket to wrap around you before he stands next to you.

“what do you want? let me make you something. tea?” he suggests, and you nod, wiping away the tears falling off your face.

he places the steaming mug in front of you before sitting next to you, holding your hands between his, trying to warm them up. “what happened, love? talk to me,” he urges again, now that you’ve had time to calm down.

“it was–” you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on your breathing, willing yourself to calm down, “it was just being there. at that house. it was too much. there was fighting and–” the rest of your words get lodged in your throat, but he doesn’t push you. he only hums in acknowledgment of your words, smoothing your hair down with his hand comfortingly. “it was going so well,” you whisper, ignoring the way your voice cracks. “today was nice. and then they ruined it,” you let out a shaky breath, blinking away the tears welling up in your eyes. “i’m sorry i showed up here without saying anything, i didn’t know where else to go. i–” you look up at him, a sob escaping you as you talk, “why do i feel like this? what did i do wrong?”

“you didn’t do anything, love,” he answers, holding your gaze. “you did nothing wrong. you came here because you feel safe, and i’m glad you came. you’ve been pushing this all down for so long it’s all coming out at once. and you’ll be okay. i’ll be right here with you until it's over. and even after that. i'll be here for you whenever you need it.”

he has an arm around you, pulling you close and you let your head rest on his shoulder. “is it okay if i stay here for a little bit?”

“of course, love. you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need.”

[dira333]

Summernight's dream - Bokuto x Reader

And bippity boppity boo, I shall write a lil drabble for you -> @satorisoup

"Do you hate me?" Kotarou asks, lips wobbling, hair drooping.

"What?" You turn, toothbrush almost dropping out of your mouth. "No!"

"Why did you move out of the bedroom then? I promise I didn't do it! It was all TsumTsum's idea!"

"What?" You spit out the minty foam and turn properly. "What are you talking about, Kou!"

"Your bedding is in the guestroom."

"Ah." You sigh. "Yeah."

You didn't think it could be possible for his hair to droop even more. It does. Your husband's now on his knees, beefy arms curled around your legs as he presses kisses against your bare skin.

"Please!" Kiss. "I." Kiss. "Promise." Kiss "To." Kiss. "Stop." Kiss. "Snoring."

You're giggling now, unable to keep your hands from his freshly washed hair.

"I believe you, Kou, but it's not about the snoring."

"What is it then?" His eyes are wide and pleading. "Please! I'm sorry!"

"You're too hot, baby, that's the problem."

Kotarou blushes. "I'm sorry?" He tries, pouting when you start laughing.

"Not like that." You lean down to kiss him which he eagerly leans into. "Although, yeah, like that too. But you're a furnace, baby. I'm melting in your embrace. I just want to have one good night's sleep."

"We could leave the window open."

"That doesn't really help when I'm locked into your embrace. It's just during the night. You can come and cuddle me as soon as you wake up, okay?"

He pouts and he pleads, but in the end, he can't help but shuffle alone into your bedroom. After all, your well-being is what's most important to him.

"Baby?" You hear him from the master bedroom. "Are you asleep already?"

You could just not answer, you think. Enjoy the cool linen on your skin and the room's quiet, undisturbed by his snoring and mumbling.

But, you're not asleep. Far from it, really. There's just something missing.

"No," you slip out of bed, not at all surprised to find him on your doorstep already.

"Come back to bed?" Kotarou pleads. "Please? I can't sleep without you."

"Fine," you agree, unwilling to admit you're suffering from the same fate. But your resolve doesn't last long when he's already picking you up, carrying you over the doorstep like he did on the day you married him.

Soon enough you're curled up in his arms, much too warm for this sweltering summernight. But Kotaru's pressing soft kisses against your temple, nosing into your hair, mumbling about how he's missed you and how he's never letting you go again. And you suppose, a little heat is worth all that.

"Kou?" You ask when he's calmed down a little, his breath coming easy as he's holding you close.

"Hmm?"

"What did you mean when you said it was Tsumu's idea?"

[dabiekql]

HQ Bokuto - Forgetting to Control His Strength Against Y/N (Fluff)

Other Versions: Ushijima ver. / Iwaizumi ver.

-----

Bokuto, who has just won the practice match, rushed towards y/n in enthusiasm with both of his hands up. Y/n knew he was rushing over for a high-five that she grinned at him and reciprocated his actions. However, Bokuto failed to control his strength as he was consumed with excitement that with a loud slapping sound, y/n fell to the ground.

Y/n certainly did not expect this that she was not ready for that amount of strength. She sat there in confusion as she tried to process what just happened. She could feel the stinging on the both of her palms, but what just happened? Why was she on the floor? Akaashi and the other members who witnessed the scene slapped their foreheads with a sigh while Bokuto stood there with pea-eyes in shock.

While Bokuto was frozen in shock, Akaashi went towards y/n to check up on her. Y/n, who finally registered what just happened, smiled at him reassuringly as she stood up with his help. However, when she saw the state Bokuto was in, she quickly tried to reassure him. "Ko-Kotarou, I'm really fine!"

She tried to persuade him on how she wasn't hurt, but Bokuto continued to be in a down mood. She wrecked her brain until she got an idea and showed him a thumbs up with a wide grin. "I could tell why you were the ace from that high-five! The power was incredible! That's my Kotarou! I'm so proud of you! You're amazing!"

At her words, Bokuto's mood instantly brightened up as he raised both of his arms to the sky with a wide grin as well. "HEY HEY HEY!!!" Y/n let out an inaudible sigh out of relief as she clapped her hands for him.

The members who witnessed the whole interaction sighed as they shook their head in disbelief. "Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

"That's Bokuto for you..."

-----

Other Versions: Ushijima ver. / Iwaizumi ver.

[seijorhi]

Powder Keg

it has been far too long since i've indulged with these three

Bokuto Koutarou, Kuroo Tetsurou & Akaashi Keiji x Female Reader

w.c 6.1k

tw: implied non-con, yandere, implied violence and bad times all round

Not guilty.

There’s a moment after the verdict’s read, right before the courtroom erupts into noise where time slows. Your heartbeat thunders in your chest, violently – like it’s trying to rip its way free, and it becomes harder to breathe.

For days, you’ve avoided looking at them, treating the left side of the courtroom as though it simply did not exist. 

Your head turns without conscious thought, and you watch it happen. In slow motion, you physically witness the verdict hit them. 

Not guilty. 

Relief. Joy. Bokuto pulls Kuroo into a hug, pounding his fist across his back as he beams. 

Not guilty.

Akaashi shaking their lawyer’s hand, head tilted in a polite bow. 

Not guilty.

The gavel slams down, a harsh, strangled sort of noise escapes you. Your knees, shaking as they are, suddenly give way. Cameras flash, your lawyer reaching for you as you sink back into your chair, numb – whatever he says to you gets drowned out, nothing but static and haze. 

Three days spent trapped at their mercy while they broke your trust, lied to you, hurt you, fucked you. Cases don’t make it to court for trial unless the prosecution’s almost certain of a conviction, everyone knows that. You had the evidence, the rape kit, DNA, all of it. How– how could they–

The skin at the nape of your neck prickles, the tiny hairs standing on end. Lifting your head, you’re met with a cool gunmetal gaze, Akaashi’s expression giving away nothing. 

He nods, though. A slow incline of his chin, his eyes never leaving yours. Bokuto and Kuroo are breaking apart, the latter already beginning to follow Akaashi’s line of sight, and you feel the bile rising up your throat.

In a sudden burst of energy, you lurch from your seat, racing out the side doors. The meagre lunch you’d managed to force down comes hurling right back up – the only saving grace being that you barely manage to make it to the bathroom in time.

On your knees, clutching the toilet and sobbing, you vomit until there’s nothing left but bile and pain. How could they– how could they do this to you?

How could they not believe you when you gave them everything?

You don’t glance up when the door swings open, nor at the tentative knock on the stall door – which as you hadn’t had the time or inclination to lock it, creaks open.

Your mother peers in. “Honey?” 

“They think I’m a liar,” you croak out, finally lifting your miserable gaze. “They think I’m making it up.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“We believe you, we know you’re telling the truth. I’m sorry those assholes convinced everyone else otherwise,” your cousin murmurs, appearing behind her shoulder. 

Together, they help you to your feet, your mother gently wiping away the tears while your cousin places a comforting hand on your back. 

“Those bastards. Those fucking bastards! If the lay judges had any sense at all–” her voice, shaking with rage, cracks, a sob threatening to break through. Beyond words, she shakes her head, clamping her lips shut, and your cousin sighs.

“Come on, it’s going to be a circus out there. Better to get it over and done with.”

She isn’t wrong. 

By the time you make it to the steps out front, reporters are everywhere, swarming. Their lawyer’s mid-way through a statement, smugness radiating from every slimy pore.

“– justice served today. These three young men have such promising futures ahead of them, and we can only be thankful that the lay judges and judges alike saw their true character amidst the wild accusations and, quite frankly, outright fabrications from this poor, misguided  woman.”

And the reporters are pummelling you and your family with questions, demanding a comment, asking how you feel about the verdict passed down.

You can’t bring yourself to answer them, so you keep your mouth shut and focus on the ground in front of you, one step after another. You can’t stop or you’ll break all over again.

Your mother, however, has different ideas. “You let her down,” she spits. “This whole system let my daughter down today. Do you give all rapists a free pass, or just the ones on track to become olympians?!” 

Which, naturally, only invites a flurry of rapid fire follow ups.

They’ve all decided that you’re a whore. A liar. A greedy, attention seeking slut who wanted nothing more than a few nights of fun to leverage for your five minutes of fame. They might not admit it outright, but you can hear it in their questions, see it in their looks. 

The verdict only cements that belief.

Three days, every waking second spent clinging to the idea that once you got away, once they were done, you’d be free and everything would be fine.

You’d get justice.

The three of them would spend years rotting away behind bars, and it wouldn’t be enough, not ever, not for what they put you through. Somehow, though, you’d find a way to make peace with it.

And now… now they’re walking free like they did nothing wrong and you– you’re the one left standing there in the wake of a shattered reputation while people you’ve never met hurl abuse at you and your family, telling you you deserved what you got. That you wanted it. 

The bolder ones tell you to do everyone a favour and just go kill yourself.

You catch one last look as the car pulls away; surrounded by their family, their crack legal team, supporters. The three of them – each with loosened ties, Bokuto having shed his jacket entirely – meet that gaze head on.

And the weight of it, burning and uncomfortable, lingers long after they disappear in the rearview mirror.

—

“Mr. Kuroo, sir, your two o'clock is waiting in conference room three.”

He hums, fingers tapping away across the screen of his phone

“And,” his assistant continues, “I have your coffee.”

At that, she finally grabs his attention. Stowing his phone back into the breast pocket of his jacket, he smiles, “You’re a lifesaver, have I mentioned that?”

“Once or twice.”

Accepting the cup gratefully, Kuroo laughs, “Yeah, well, remind me ‘bout that when we have your next salary review.”

She brightens at the praise, tucking her hair back behind her ear with a small nod. Kuroo, already halfway down the hall, doesn’t notice, too busy wracking his brain in an attempt to recall what his two o’clock appointment is actually regarding.

There were interviews for one of the junior positions, but those weren’t until next week, he vaguely recalls someone from legal wanting to talk about their upcoming campaign, maybe it’s about that? Usually they want to talk with the whole team, though. Long, drawn out meetings that leave him wanting to repeatedly slam his head against a wall.

Upon reaching the conference room in question, he realises that it’s not legal he’s scheduled to meet with. 

Sitting with her legs neatly crossed, pen and paper in hand sits a woman of about thirty, a bottle blonde, with perky tits and a tight black, pencil skirt that clings to shapely thighs. She smiles when he opens the door, sticks out a perfectly manicured hand.

“Kuroo Tetsurou, I presume?”

He takes it, smirks as her eyelashes flutter and they shake hands. 

Nope, definitely not someone from legal. 

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you are–?”

“Of course, my apologies. My name is Sato Kisumi, I’m a reporter from the Metro Times, we spoke last week…”

A vague memory of a phone call surfaces and Kuroo finds himself nodding. “Right, yeah, I remember. You wanted to talk about an article or something? Sorry, we’re a few weeks from launching our campaign for the new season and it’s been a hell of a day.”

She laughs, a sweet, bell-like sound, “No, no, it’s alright. If anyone understands how crazy it can be working towards a deadline, it’s a reporter.”

He settles himself down across from her, making himself comfortable. 

“You don’t mind if I record this, do you?” 

Kuroo shakes his head. There’s one already set up on the table, next to the tea his assistant must have procured for her when she arrived. Leaning forward, she clicks it on, “Wonderful.”

“So what’s this article for, anyway?”

“You don’t remember?” her voice carries a teasing lilt. “We did speak about it on the phone.”

“Busy week, like I said.”

“Busy man,” she counters, red lips curling into something like a smile. “To be honest with you, it’s more of an exposé. I’m investigating professional athletes dodging charges for criminal offences. The taking of illegal substances and DUI’s of course, but more serious allegations, too. Spousal abuse, assault, rape, that sort of thing.”

Leaning back in his chair, Kuroo picks up his coffee cup and takes a sip, savouring the bitter, chocolate-y notes of the dark roast his assistant – godsend that she is – knows he favours. 

He vaguely recalls the conversation – enough to remember that she neglected to tell him this part whilst she was angling for an interview. Then again, she’d hardly be the first reporter to lie for a chance to get their foot in the door. More than anyone, Kuroo can appreciate that kind of deception. 

Now that the truth is laid bare, he’s faced with a choice. 

If Kuroo had any sense at all – if he cared about his job and his reputation – he’d politely but firmly tell her to leave before she gets any more comfortable. It’s one thing to ignore and downplay what he’s sure will inevitably turn out to be a scathing indictment of the whole system when it’s published, another entirely to actively participate in it, regardless of intentions. 

If he doesn’t tread carefully here, his boss will most certainly have his balls for it.

So he should kick her out. He should.

Instead, Kuroo lets out a light chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “And you decided to start with the VP of JVA promotion? It’s an… interesting approach, I’ll give you that.”

Kisumi mirrors him, lifting the tea to her lips to take a slow sip. She sets the cup back down on the desk, taking a second to adjust it ever so slightly, the tip of her finger running along the edge of the rim. Then, with an air of nonchalance, she shrugs. “Well, what we’re seeing is that these athletes are usually being protected by their teams and management, and in some cases, with certain athletes, that extends all the way up to high ranking officials within their respective governing bodies. Victims and police are paid off, charges mysteriously disappear, negative press gets buried, like magic.”

“It’s a sad story ‘n all, I’m sure there’s some commentary in there about the failings of society, corruption and misplaced hero worship of star athletes or whatever it is you’re after, but I’m failing to see what that has to do with me. I run the promotions division, not public relations.”

“I’m not interested in talking to you because of your job title, Mr. Kuroo, although believe me, that someone like you could rise to an office like this is damning enough,” she says, no trace of her earlier sweetness, the flirtatiousness. No, now her eyes are cold, her smile, while it still adorns her lips, all too sharp. “I’m here because of a court case a few years ago, in which you and two friends – one of whom now plays for the national volleyball team – were accused of the kidnapping and rape of a fellow student.”

Kuroo barks out a laugh, leaning back into his seat. His eyes flicker to the recorder on the desk, the pen she wields, poised over the blank pad of paper, and back to her cool smile. “A very publicised court case that ended with a verdict of not guilty. No one bribed any judges or tampered with evidence, no one made it go away. That’s our justice system, that’s how it works. If you’re looking for something damning,” he throws the word back at her, “you’re going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that.”

“And you think that was a fair trial?”

“I think you’re wasting your time. Mine, too.”

He moves to rise, intent on ushering Kisumi out of his office when she asks, “You don’t remember me, Kuroo, do you?” Not playful anymore, not even angry; she spits his name like it’s poison, as though the very act of uttering his name aloud makes her skin crawl.

And that, more than anything, is enough to really pique his interest. 

Kuroo finds himself studying her – really looking at her – beyond the blonde curls and the hateful scowl, beyond all that he’d dismissed earlier. And there is something that rings of familiarity – her eyes, maybe, the shape of her nose – but Kuroo’s short on time, and despite his amusement, what’s left of his good will is dwindling fast. 

“Nah, but don’t take it personally, the whole prissy, up-tight bitch thing you’ve got going on isn’t really my thing.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t, you only ever saw her.” Kisumi makes a disgusted noise, “The whole trial, you wouldn’t stop staring. You and your friends ruined her and then you sat there making moon eyes for three days while your asshole of a lawyer tore her apart on the stand.”

The pieces fall together, a memory resurfaces; a blonde woman leaning forward to touch your shoulder, whispering in your ear as you tried in vain to keep your tears at bay.

And it’s a stupid thing, the faint tinge of jealousy that stirs inside of him as he eyes the woman sitting before him. She’s family – has to be, because Kuroo knew all your friends back then. 

(Funny, wasn’t it, how none of them had shown up at the trial either.)

Pushing aside the ugly feeling – at least for now – Kuroo rises to his feet, allowing a smirk to curl at his lips. “Like I said, Miss Sato,” and oh, how he relishes the cold fury that sparks across her features. “You’re gonna have to do better than that – but not today. Get the fuck out of my conference room.”

With her lips pursed, she goes to do just that. Makes it all the way to the door, clutching the handle when abruptly she stops, turning to face him once more.

An eyebrow rises, “Something else?”

“She’s missing. She left years ago, which I’m sure you already knew, but now she’s gone-gone. She hasn’t called in weeks, and the cops won’t help. They said that she’s already proven she’s flighty,” Kisumi spits out a humourless laugh. “They won’t open an investigation when we can’t even tell them the last place she was staying. But I know my cousin, and I know the only reason she’d go this long without calling is if there was something physically stopping her from doing so.”

Her voice remains level, her breath on the other hand–

A chink in the armour.

The family resemblance might not be all that strong between you two, that look though – trying to pretend she’s not afraid when everything from the expression on her face to the tremor in her hands is screaming at him otherwise – all he can see is you.

He loves when you look at him like that. More than he should, but guilty pleasures and all that. He doesn’t want you scared, not… necessarily. Not as much as he wants you vulnerable. 

Unlike you, who’d burst into tears, crumble and break, she straightens her spine, swallows down that emotion and continues. “I know the kind of man you are. All three of you. It’s because of you that she left in the first place, and I’m willing to stake my career on you being the reason she’s disappeared this time ‘round as well.”

“S’that right? You got any actual proof, or is this whole thing based solely on the fact that you don’t like me?”

Kisumi, rather than dignifying that with an answer, merely spares Kuroo one last disdainful glare and stalks from the room, letting the door slam shut behind her. A minor victory, but one that brings no small sense of satisfaction. 

A shame then, that it doesn’t last. 

His smirk slips away, vanishing like a slate scrubbed clean. 

Pulling the phone from his breast pocket, Kuroo dials the last number he called, lifts the phone up to his ear, and waits.

“What’s up?”

“We’ve got a problem.”

—

Akaashi isn’t one for the spotlight.

He doesn’t hate it per se, he just isn’t all that interested in chasing after it. Better to let everyone be blinded by the other two and let their guards slip around him.

He’s patient – has to be, dealing with Bokuto and Kuroo day in, day out. Calm. Observant enough to realise that the blonde sitting four seats down on the rattling train car has been following him for several days now. 

Sato Kisumi. 

Akaashi had looked her up after her meeting with Kuroo, begrudgingly having to admit that as an investigative journalist, she was rather impressive. 

Kuroo was worried she’d be a problem, and Akaashi’s inclined to agree. Upset relatives were one thing, a well respected journalist with a personal vendetta against the three of them, a separate beast entirely.

One that wouldn’t necessarily be so easy to shake. Or put down. 

A polite, feminine voice filters through the P.A system, announcing the imminent arrival of the next station. The train has another four stops before his, yet he rises smoothly when the train slows to a stop beside the platform, exiting amongst the throng of commuters without so much as a backwards glance. 

She follows, however, as he knew she would, trailing after him when he makes his way out of the station and onto the busy streets of Shinjuku. There’s a ramen joint he’s particularly fond of a few minutes downtown, only a short walk away.

The quickest route would be to take the main road, lose himself in the throng of people. Akaashi, curious more than anything, decides to instead take the long way round, via the back alleys and narrow laneways, where every footstep echoes, and puddles splash underfoot. 

He’s pleased, though not exactly surprised, that Kisumi follows at a distance.

A block away from his destination, he stops on the street corner, turning back to address her. 

“Are you hungry?”

The question clearly takes her by surprise, and her answer comes slow. Distant honking from the street ahead, laughter and the rumble of voices tangled together interwoven with music and the shouting of kitchen – closer to the main road, it’s louder here. Easier to mask her presence. 

Even so, she had to have realised he’d been toying with her from the start, perfectly aware she’d been tailing him. Why else would he have led her down the rabbit’s warren?

“… What?”

“Dinner,” he elaborates. “Are you hungry? I didn’t have a chance to eat today, and I figured that rather than spending all night following me in the hopes that I’ll – what, lead you to your cousin? – we could sit down and talk over some food. Ramen, actually. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To talk?”

She regards him warily, brows knitting together, considering the proposition. He can’t blame her for the reticence, exactly, but it is somewhat of a pointless exercise considering they both know that she’s going to say yes.

She might hate him. Despise him. She might even be afraid of him, but she went toe to toe with Kuroo and that doesn’t speak to someone meek or spineless. If she wants answers – if she wants you as badly as he thinks she does, she won’t be able to resist.

A heartbeat later, and he’s proven correct. Her jaw tightens, but she nods; a short, sharp jerk of her chin. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

Despite the proclamation, Kisumi remains silent as they’re shown to one of the tables set up beneath the awning outside, shielding them from the drizzling rain, and when Akaashi orders for them both, two bowls of tonkotsu, with a side of gyoza to share. She just sits, shoulders back, arms folded gracefully across her chest, glaring daggers. 

All of that fades away when the waitress comes by with their food. In an instant she softens, smiling and politely dipping her head in thanks. Only when the waitress disappears back inside and they’re alone again does Kisumi finally break her silence. 

“I don’t suppose you’ll save me the trouble and tell me where my cousin is?”

Akaashi smiles at that, splitting his chopsticks to snatch one of the pot sticker dumplings and take a bite. He savours the mouthful, the rich flavours of garlicky pork, cabbage and chives bursting over his taste buds, chewing thoughtfully before posing another question to the blonde. 

“Did she ever talk about how we met?”

Kisumi laughs, shaking her head as she pulls her bowl of ramen close and grabs her chopsticks. “No. No, somehow between all the tears and the breakdowns, her gripping my hand while she lay in that hospital bed and told the cops every detail about how you trapped her in that house, how the three of you touched her, raped her, we didn’t get around to chatting about the meet cute. Weird, right?”

“There was this ramen place on campus,” Akaashi begins, ignoring Kisumi’s dig entirely. “Kind of like this one, except it was open twenty-four seven. Busy as hell during the day, but after ten, eleven at night it got pretty quiet, and she always worked the late shift.” 

There’s a quiet wistfulness in his tone that Akaashi doesn’t bother masking. 

He remembers the way your face used to brighten when the bell above the door would announce their arrival, the cute little bounce in your step that he never could get out of his head. 

When it was dead and you could get away with it, you’d come over and chat, sneaking them drinks, dumplings, an extra egg or slice of pork, even ‘forgetting’ to tally their orders up correctly when it came time to settle their bill. If your boss took notice, he never said anything – or if he did, then you never cared enough to stop.

You could make a few exceptions for your favourites, you’d told him when he’d asked you about it once, smiling that soft, pretty smile of yours. Blind to the way those words, and the image of you beaming so beautifully, would etch their way into his very being, refusing to give him a moment’s peace. 

Bokuto and Kuroo would waste hours fighting over who you liked best, only for Akaashi to add fuel to the fire, dryly reminding them that arguing was pointless – you weren’t stupid or blind enough to prefer either one of them. 

It was a slow thing, this descent into hell with you… and then it wasn’t. 

And he wouldn’t trade what he has now for all the world, but some small part of him will always mourn those early days, the sweet naivety with which you used to treat them.

Kisumi, picking at her ramen rather than eating it, sucks on her teeth and exhales slowly, drawing him from his reminiscing. “So when did it change?” she asks.

“Hm?”

“When did you decide that that wasn’t enough? At what point exactly did the three of you sit down and make the decision to take her to that cabin, keep her there against her will and spend three days systematically abusing her for your own sick fucking pleasure?”

A flash of irritation sparks, and his eyes narrow. “She agreed to come with us, and we didn’t abuse her. We’d never.”

A silence descends between them, thick, wrought with tension and disbelief. And then, like a match struck, the blonde explodes. 

“God, you’re so full of shit, you know that, right?!” Kisumi snarls, disgusted. “You might’ve been able to convince the court that it was rough and fun, that whatever damage you left behind was damage she wanted, but I was there for the aftermath. I saw the state you left her in!”

Each word is biting and vitriolic, her voice shaking with barely repressed rage. If she’s hoping for some sign that they’ve struck a chord, wounded him in some way, she’s sorely disappointed. Save for the cold, flat stare he regards her with, the only response Akaashi deigns to give is simply to resume eating, gathering another mouthful of noodles between his chopsticks and slurping them up.

That, it seems, is Kisumi’s breaking point. Shaking her head with a hollow scoff, she shoves her own, largely untouched bowl aside and stands.

“I’m going to find her, and when I do I am going to spend every waking second, every last yen I have making sure that the three of you go down for it.” And with that, she snatches up her purse, yanking it open to dig for her umbrella. 

Another mouthful, braised chashu pork and scallions. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

—

Fingers drum restlessly against the leather steering wheel, tapping out an anxious beat.

‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,’ Kuroo had said, clapping him on the back. 

The light shines from her bedroom window, the shadow of her figure moving within. Bokuto checks the clock again; 11:27. 

He’d been so happy, over the fucking moon to come home. Three weeks away, three and a half hours on the train, he was itching, leg bouncing restlessly as the miles slowly crawled by. And even though all he wanted to do was find Kuroo so they could go home already, he made the effort for the fans that swarmed the second he got off the train.

Took the time to smile and pose for pictures, signed the autographs, laughing and chatting away. He gets it, he does – meeting your idols is pretty fucking awesome, and the last thing he’d ever wanna do would be to ruin that for some poor kid just because he’s in a rush to get home and rip your clothes off.

Still, even at the best of times patience was never his forte, and three weeks might as well have been a lifetime. 

Anticipation had him on cloud nine, and nothing – nothing – was gonna bring him down. 

At least, that’s what he’d thought.

‘Don’t you have an ounce of shame?’

It’d taken everything he had not to snap there and then. There were kids around, staring up at him with wide, confused eyes – their parents quick to usher them away. 

Kuroo’d said she’d be a problem.

Akaashi agreed.

The bedroom light flicks off, and his pulse jumps. Go time.

Adjusting the cap on his head, he flips up the hood of his jacket and exits the car, avoiding the light from the street lamps above to cross the road. Her house is nice enough. Small, with a garden out front spilling with greenery and potted flowers. Her cat, lying on the windowsill between the blinds and the glass, notes his arrival on the doorstep with slow blinking eyes, only to yawn and dismiss him entirely, unbothered. 

Faced with a locked door, Bokuto doesn’t bother wasting time or energy trying to pick it. He has no need – two solid, powerful kicks later, the wooden door splinters and cracks, giving way beneath his foot. 

Shoving the wreckage of the door aside, Bokuto shoulders his way inside. There’s a sudden yowl – the cat, startled by the noise, launches itself from the window to skitter away to some safe, dark hidey-hole. From somewhere else within he hears a muffled thump, followed by a curse. 

Good. He wants her to know he’s coming. 

‘You can google it, you know? The rape and the trial, it’s on your wikipedia page – and those kids and their families, they still worship you. That’s your legacy.’

A slow building anger seeps through his veins, blood thrumming in anticipation.  

‘Doesn’t it make you sick?’

She’s threatening to take you away. ‘Kaashi said she’s hellbent on it. 

Bokuto can shoulder a lot. He dealt with the blow to his image – both during the trial and after it – and when you left last time, disappearing into thin air without so much as a goodbye, it broke something inside of him.

Still, he found a way to get through it. He had to, because he was getting you back. 

And the taste of you lingers on his tongue from when it was buried inside of you only hours ago, a honeyed tang he’d swallow down by the mouthful if he could. Back home your hips and ass, the soft sweetness of your thighs, carry mottled imprints of his fingers – that overeager, desperate touch. 

Three rounds he’d gone; sinking his cock into your pussy, fucking out all of his frustrations and pent up emotions ‘til he was spent and you were a shaking, shivering, heavenly mess. It was supposed to make things better. Calm him down a little and take the edge off. 

It had the opposite effect.

Because he knows now what it’s like to lose a soulmate, he knows just how high the stakes are.

She swung first, Bokuto’s simply returning the favour. 

There’s no point masking his footsteps as he stalks through the house, a singular goal in mind. Akaashi made him promise that he wouldn’t take this too far – and he won’t.

He wants to – fuck, he really, really wants to.

But he won’t.

The door to the bedroom’s cracked an inch – it groans in protest when he nudges it wider and crosses the threshold. 

The thought of finding her, dragging her kicking and screaming out into the living room was something he’d been looking forward to, but Kisumi – rudely ruining his fun – isn’t hiding. 

No, flattened against the wall opposite, shaking like a leaf, she grips her phone like it’s a lifeline. “I-I’ve called the cops. They’re on their way,” she calls out, and he realises that while his eyes have adjusted, hers haven’t. She thinks he’s a burglar, someone she can reason with. 

He almost snorts. 

Fumbling against the wall, it takes him a second or two to find the light switch and flick it on. Light floods the small bedroom in an instant, and Kisumi flinches, an arm coming up to shield her face from the sudden brightness.

When it falls though, and golden eyes meet her own, Bokuto’s rewarded with a look of shock and recognition, which quickly gives way to something much, much more satisfying. 

Fear. 

It’s in her eyes, widening horribly, the way her face drains of blood. The audible little hitch in her breathing that sends a delightful tingle down his spine. 

And still, she tries to put on a brave face.

“The cops are already on their way,” she repeats, tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Whatever you’re after– just… just go, and I swear I won’t say a word. I’ll keep your name out of it. We– we can pretend this never happened, alright?”

Bokuto grins at that. Shifts his weight as he lowers his centre of gravity. 

The funny thing is, the stupid bitch doesn’t know just how right she’s about to be.

—

The beeping of the monitors brings back bad memories. 

Truth be told, a lot of what happened that day is a blur. You don’t care to pry too deep, trying to pluck and sort through the trauma of what happened. You remember the hospital, though – gowned up, lying on the scratchy sheets, gripping Kisumi’s hand while you walked the detective through every harrowing minute you’d spent at their hands.

And now the situations are reversed, and it’s your cousin lying broken and damaged in the hospital, and you’re the one sitting at her bedside, keeping watch over her like the guardians of old. Holding her hand while you fight back tears.

The doctors say she’ll wake up soon, but they’ve been saying that for hours now. 

All you can do is sit there and pray that she’ll wake up soon.

Pray that she’ll listen, and hear you.

You’re there when the doctors come by to check her vitals, when the food cart rolls by. They don’t stop for her, even if she were awake there wouldn’t be much point, what with her jaw wired shut and all.

Her whole body’s a mess. A broken wrist, broken ribs, her jaw shattered and face a bruised, swollen mess.

It’s a miracle she’s still alive. 

Your stomach twists, nausea threatening to heave its way up your throat. No – it’s a miracle that he stopped. 

The phone in your pocket vibrates, you ignore it for the third time. No doubt you’ll pay for it later, right now you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Please,” you mumble, squeezing your eyes shut as your vision blurs with unshed tears. “Please.”

But it’s a while yet before she stirs, consciousness slowly pulling her back to you.

It begins with a muffled groan, a whimper when she shifts. Even with all the damage to her face, you can see the signs of distress taking shape – hurt, twisting at her features. 

They’ve given her all the drugs they can, and she’s still in pain.

Your heart wrenches. “Sumi? Sumi, can you hear me?” you ask, clutching her hand tightly between both of yours. 

She groans again, fighting to get both eyes open. The phone in your pocket buzzes, insistent. It doesn’t stop after one, going off again and again and again, raising your internal panic. But Kisumi’s blinking now, trying desperately to pull the world into focus. Figure out why it hurts to move, why her mouth won’t obey when she tries to talk.

And you see the tears well up in her eyes, the panic and fear, and you swallow down your own emotions because they don’t matter right now.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. I know it hurts, I know you’re scared, but you’re safe now. I promise you, you’re safe.” An echo of the words she’d once spoken to you. Your thumb strokes the back of her uninjured hand. “Don’t try to talk, just… listen to me, I don’t have long.”

Her fingers try to clumsily curl around your own, and she makes another noise – a garbled butchering of your name that breaks off into a frustrated wail – sending a fresh bolt of pain and guilt lancing through your chest. Tears sting in the corner of your eyes, bottom lip quivering. 

This is all your fault. 

“You can’t talk, your jaw they– they had to wire it shut,” you tell her while she chokes on another sob. You squeeze her hand, “Please, Sumi, I need you to listen to me. Don’t move, just… blink if you understand; once for yes, twice for no.”

A beat passes, and she blinks. Good.

“Do you remember what happened? The man who attacked you?”

… One blink. 

You exhale unsteadily, clearing your throat. Kisumi’s eyes are wide as saucers, tracking every move with a laser focus, and your hand is wrapped so tightly around hers that if she wasn’t already drugged to high heaven she’d probably be whimpering. She’s afraid, you realise. Not of the hospital or the damage she’s yet to comprehend the extent of – she’s afraid because she remembers.

She’s afraid because you are.

“Kisumi… you need to stop this. Forget it happened, play dumb for the cops, drop the article and stop interfering. For your own sake as well as mine, I'm begging you. Otherwise… Otherwise–” your voice dies a quiet death as footsteps approach. 

There’s no need to turn.

 Kisumi’s face tells you everything when it blanches and she begins to tremble like a terrified puppy. Beside her, the heart rate monitor goes haywire, mirroring her pulse as it jumps erratically with the short, sharp gasps she sucks through clenched teeth. 

And when a hand falls to your shoulder, both of you flinch. 

“Ready to go, babe?”

To Kisumi, you force a tight, watery smile, “Let it go, okay? Promise me.” 

You don’t wait for a response, there’s no point. You’ve poked the bear enough by ignoring their calls and texts, there’s no need to push your luck more than you already have. 

Letting Kisumi’s hand slip from your grasp, you rise from your seat and turn, nodding. “Yeah.”

Kuroo smirks, coaxing your face up into a short kiss while his fingers entwine with yours, but it’s Bokuto, claiming your other arm, who grumbles like a petulant child, “You were s’posed to be done hours ago.”

“I‘m sorry. We can go home now.”

Neither one of them spare the battered blonde more than a cursory glance on their way out. You, on the other hand, risk a backwards glance in the moments before you’re tugged away.

Kisumi’s sobbing, broken and raw, hunched over as much as her injuries allow. Her bloodshot eyes meet yours, and your heart breaks one last time. 

Promise me you’ll stop. They’ll kill you if you don’t.