dove-da-birb - Tumblr blog

dove-da-birb · 13 days ago

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where the trophy isn't the prize

bokuto’s victorious run across the court wasn’t toward the trophy or the cheering crowd — it was straight into your arms, where years of sweat, struggles, and silent support finally culminated in a fierce, unspoken promise that no matter what, you’d always be his home.

haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. bokuto kotaro x fem!reader ft. msby black jackals and fukurodani volleyball team

genre: fluff, romance, just wholesome!, timeskip!bokuto, former manager!reader

wc: 3.4k

author's note: this is probably the longest i've ever written yet and i love this fic sm it's just wholesome for me; best boy bokuto huhu

the gym lights cast a harsh glow over the court, but they couldn’t outshine the heat radiating from the crowd. the air was thick with the scent of sweat, excitement, and adrenaline — the unmistakable atmosphere of a high-stakes volleyball match. fans were on their feet, some screaming, others frozen in disbelief, but bokuto’s world had already shrunk down to one thing: you.

sitting courtside with akaashi, you watched every move, every spike, every tense moment with quiet intensity. your fingers tapped nervously against your knee, your lips barely moving in silent encouragement.

bokuto caught your gaze several times during the game, his chest heaving with effort and determination, but your calm presence was the anchor that kept him steady.

back then, in high school, it was just like this — chaos on the court and calm off it.

the gym was always alive — alive with squeaking shoes, sharp whistles, the rhythmic slap of volleyballs, and bokuto’s booming voice cutting through it all like a flare. he had a way of making his presence known in every room he stepped into, larger than life and blindingly intense. but what most people didn’t see — what only you really saw — was how hard he worked to hold all that light inside of him.

as fukurodani’s manager, you stood quietly on the sidelines, clipboard in hand, eyes sharp. you were the one who made sure every training drill ran smoothly, kept track of stats and schedules, filled in the gaps left behind when others overlooked the little things. water bottles, towels, first aid kits — you made sure the team never had to ask for them. you were reliable. efficient. present.

but around bokuto, something shifted. there was a gravity to him — bright, explosive, erratic — and somehow, instead of being burned by it, you found warmth in its orbit.

he’d bounce over to you between drills, sweat clinging to his neck, and grin wide enough to make your stomach twist. “did you see that spike?” he’d ask, breathless.

“i did. and you know it was good, so stop fishing for compliments,” you’d reply, pretending not to smile — but you always did. and he always noticed.

at first, your relationship had been built in those in-between moments — water breaks, gym clean-up duty, walks home when the sky turned lilac and gold. you learned how to read him better than anyone else did. when he missed a shot and his shoulders tensed? you’d casually toss him a towel and murmur, “you’ve got another thirty chances. don’t fold on the first one.”

and when he scored, when he lit up and high-fived the whole team, he always turned to look for you in the corner. his expression softer, quieter. like he just needed your eyes to find his.

late practices were your favorite — when everyone had gone home and the world slowed down. he’d collapse on the floor beside you, sweat-soaked and tired, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling.

“you think i’ve got a shot?” he asked once, after a particularly brutal practice. his voice was quiet, a crack in the usual bravado.

you didn’t hesitate. “of course. you don’t even need to ask that.”

he rolled onto his side to look at you. “i do. because when you say it, i believe it.”

you hadn’t said anything then. just offered him the last bite of your convenience store onigiri and smiled. that was enough.

by your third year, your connection was no secret. the team teased, subtly at first — side-glances when he carried your bag, exaggerated coughs when you handed him a towel with too much tenderness. bokuto would brush it off with a wave of his hand and a grin that reached his ears.

“let ’em talk,” he whispered to you once, when he’d snuck out to walk you home. “i only care what you think.”

you started dating officially after graduation, when the intensity of entrance exams had passed and you both realized you couldn’t keep pretending your hearts weren’t already tied up in each other. it wasn’t flashy or dramatic — no rooftop confessions, no perfect timing. just the two of you on a summer evening, sitting side by side on the train after visiting the old gym one last time before leaving for college.

bokuto had been fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, unusually quiet.

“i don’t want to be apart from you,” he finally blurted.

you looked at him, startled. “who said anything about being apart?”

“you’re going to university in tokyo,” he said, frowning. “and i'm heading into full-time training. i just…” his voice dropped. “i don’t want us to drift.”

you reached out and held his hand right there on the train, surrounded by strangers. “then let’s not.”

you found a tiny one-bedroom apartment just outside the city — a shoebox, really, with off-white walls and a heater that rattled in the winter. the kitchen could barely fit two people, and you had to take turns brushing your teeth. but it was yours. the first home you built together.

there were volleyballs by the front door, your work notes strewn across the kitchen table, and bokuto’s shampoo always invading your shelf in the bathroom. he liked waking up early to train; you liked staying up late to finish your assignments. you bickered about groceries, cuddled under mismatched blankets, and danced in the living room when things felt too heavy.

you became his anchor — the person who knew how to hold him steady when the crowd’s cheers faded and all that was left was a boy who sometimes still doubted himself.

he would come home after rough practices, dropping his duffel by the door and collapsing on the floor face-down.

“they’re faster than me,” he muttered into the carpet one night. “i can’t keep up.”

you knelt beside him, fingers threading gently into his hair. “you’ve said that before, remember?”

“yeah.”

“and what happened then?”

“…i worked harder.”

you smiled. “and you’ll do it again.”

he tilted his head up just enough to look at you. “i’d be lost without you, baby.”

you kissed his forehead. “luckily for you, i plan on sticking around.”

supporting him wasn’t something you did out of obligation. it was your heartbeat. you loved his fire, but you also loved the quiet after — the way he needed reassurance without asking for it, the way he would hold your pinky when he was anxious, the way he listened when you vented about your day even if he was exhausted from training.

he wasn’t just your boyfriend. he was your best friend. and you were his reason to keep climbing higher.

and now, as you sat courtside at the msby black jackals vs. schweiden adlers game years later, watching him chase a victory in front of a roaring crowd, you weren’t surprised when he didn’t look at the trophy when the final point was scored.

he looked at you.

because from the first rally to the last, no matter how high he flew — he was always coming back to you.

his legs moved without him thinking, without waiting for permission or logic to catch up. he ran — no, he surged — like something had ignited inside his chest and there was only one direction for the flames to go.

not towards the trophy.

not towards the cameras or the crowd or his teammates still caught in the swell of celebration behind him.

he ran straight toward you.

the noise around him was deafening — the roar of the stadium, the blare of victory music, the low rumble of the announcer's voice barely audible over the cheers. but it all faded into white static the moment his eyes found yours in the front row. you were standing now, hands clutched near your mouth, eyes wide — shimmering with emotion, disbelief, pride, something deeper.

your heart stuttered in your chest. it felt like everything around you had slowed, like time itself knew not to interrupt. you barely registered akaashi standing next to you, still seated and smirking to himself as he leaned over and muttered under his breath, “he’s really gonna do it.”

but you couldn't move, couldn't think — not when bokuto, sweat-drenched and glowing with the heat of victory, was charging toward you with the same energy he used to throw down match-point spikes. it was the same look he wore when he chased down dreams, but this time, you were the finish line.

when he reached you, it wasn’t graceful. he almost tripped over the barrier separating the court from the stands, nearly knocking you off balance with the sheer momentum of his body. but none of that mattered. his arms caught you like they always did — strong, warm, and full of emotion too big for words.

“baby!” he half-laughed, half-shouted, voice cracking with joy. his chest was heaving from the run, his forehead damp with sweat, eyes shining as if he was still in the game and the final point hadn’t yet fallen.

you were already moving into his arms before he finished saying it.

the embrace was bone-deep. fierce. his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he lifted you just slightly off the ground, holding you like he’d been waiting years for this exact second. you buried your face in the crook of his neck, clinging to him like you always had — not out of fear, but out of knowing he was home.

he smelled like victory and salt and that familiar, earthy warmth you’d memorized back in your high school gym. your fingers curled into the fabric of his jersey, clutching it like it was the only thing anchoring you to the moment. and in a way, it was.

all around you, the stadium kept roaring. cameras began to shift, turning lenses in your direction, catching the image that would circulate online for weeks: not the final point, not the scoreboard — this. bokuto, eyes closed, forehead pressed to yours, smiling like the world had narrowed down to only one person in the crowd.

the image that would silently echo the line that neither of you needed to say:

“where’s the trophy? he just comes runnin' over to me."

he pulled back just enough to look at you, hands still firm around your waist. his grin was still wild, still unfiltered, but there was something softer in his gaze now. something tender.

you blinked back tears, cupping his face, voice trembling with emotion. “you did it.”

but he shook his head. “we did it.”

your chest tightened, your breath catching in your throat. because you knew what he meant. the years — the early mornings, the late-night ramen after bad losses, the job interviews you rescheduled to travel with him to qualifiers, the way you whispered encouragement into his ear when no one else could see the weight on his shoulders.

he saw it all. he never forgot.

the after-party buzzed with the kind of electric joy only hard-won victories could bring.

laughter echoed off the walls of the event hall, glasses clinked, and the players from msby floated from table to table like gods fresh from the battlefield. bokuto had been in the center of it all — hyped, glowing, still riding the adrenaline of the win. you’d watched him with your chin propped on your hand, a smile tugging at your lips as he retold a play for the fifth time, each version more dramatic than the last.

but you could tell he wasn’t all there.

his eyes kept flicking over to you. quietly. softly. as if you were the only steady point in a room full of motion.

eventually, he slipped away from the crowd and approached you, eyes glinting under the golden lights, his hand reaching down for yours.

“hey,” he murmured, “come with me for a sec?”

you blinked. “where?”

he squeezed your fingers. “just… trust me.”

you always did.

he led you through the hotel corridors and out a discreet side door, his hand warm and solid in yours. the sounds of celebration faded behind you, replaced by the soft hush of the night. outside, the terrace was lit by hanging fairy lights and wrapped in soft shadows. beyond it was a quiet, manicured garden, the scent of early spring flowers drifting on the breeze.

bokuto paused, glancing up at the stars for a breath, then turned to face you fully.

you opened your mouth to speak — to tease, maybe, or ask what this was — but the look on his face stopped you cold.

he was nervous.

not the giddy, bouncing bokuto you knew, but something quieter. deeper. his hands were trembling slightly as he took yours again and drew you in closer.

“i’ve been trying to find the right moment all night,” he admitted, his voice soft, steadier now that you were alone. “but every time i looked at you, it hit me all over again. i don’t need the perfect moment. i just need you.”

your breath caught.

“i’ve been thinking about this since high school,” he went on. “since those nights when we’d close up the gym together and walk home under streetlights, when you’d tell me i was more than just my mood swings, more than just a powerful spike.” his voice cracked a little. “you’ve been with me through everything, baby. before anyone knew my name. before the jersey, before the wins.”

he let out a small laugh, gaze locked with yours. “you saw me — all of me. and you stayed.”

the silence between you was tender, and electric, and brimming with everything that couldn’t be spoken aloud all at once.

“so tonight, i don’t care if we won or lost,” he whispered. “i still would’ve done this. because i knew the only thing i’ve ever been sure of — even more than my cross spike — is that i want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

then, with one more shaky exhale, he dropped to one knee.

you gasped — hands flying to your mouth, the world narrowing down to just him, kneeling in a garden that now felt like something out of a dream. in his hand was a simple velvet box, trembling slightly as he opened it to reveal a ring that sparkled softly under the fairy lights.

“will you marry me?”

the tears came before your voice could.

you nodded rapidly, voice breaking. “yes,” you choked out, the word thick with emotion. “yes, yes — of course.”

he surged up, slipping the ring onto your finger with shaking hands before pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around you like he never wanted to let go.

you barely had time to breathe before —

“wooooo!!”

the terrace doors burst open behind you.

you turned, startled, only for a wave of familiar faces to come rushing out from behind the hedges and doorways where they’d been hiding.

“finally!” hinata crowed, fist-pumping into the air. “we were freezing our asses out here!”

akaashi appeared behind him, arms crossed but a faint smile tugging at his lips. “he wanted us here. said it wouldn’t be right if we weren’t.”

konoha and komi barreled over next, both looking a little misty-eyed despite their teasing smirks.

“you’re stuck with him forever now, huh?” konoha teased, slinging an arm around bokuto’s shoulder. “good luck with that emotional rollercoaster.”

“she’s the only one who’s ever kept him from flatlining mid-game,” komi joked, wiping discreetly at his eyes. “she deserves the mvp title too.”

bokuto laughed through a choked breath, cheeks red, still holding you tightly against his side.

the msby boys spilled out next — atsumu whistling loud and obnoxious, sakusa staying slightly behind but nodding with quiet approval, meian raising a glass he’d somehow snuck out with.

“congrats, lovebirds,” meian said with a grin. “you’re officially team captain of his heart now.”

you covered your face in your hands, overwhelmed and laughing through tears as bokuto gently pulled them down.

“hey,” he whispered, his smile crooked and boyish. “you said yes.”

“i did,” you whispered back, eyes shining.

he leaned in, forehead resting against yours, voice barely audible over the sound of your friends cheering behind you.

“i can’t believe i get to keep you forever.”

you smiled.

“you always had me.”

and in that garden, wrapped in fairy lights and the laughter of people who’d known you both from the beginning, bokuto knew:

this was the real victory.

the morning sunlight came slow and golden through the hotel window.

it filtered through sheer curtains, turning the room a soft, buttery hue — the kind of light that invited you to stay in bed just a little longer. the world outside had quieted, the frenzy of the match and the after-party now distant echoes. what remained was the hush of morning. breath. warm skin. the steady rhythm of someone you love sleeping beside you.

bokuto was on his side, one arm sprawled over your waist, the other tucked beneath his pillow. his hair was flattened in odd directions, still faintly smelling of cologne and sweat and champagne. his mouth was parted slightly, breath soft and even. one bare leg was tangled in the sheets, his hand unconsciously tightening against your hip every few minutes like his body remembered you even in sleep.

the engagement ring still glittered faintly on your finger.

you turned your hand slowly in the light, watching it catch on the delicate band. there was something surreal about seeing it there. not because it felt out of place — but because it felt so right, so natural, it was as though your hand had always been waiting for it.

a quiet sigh pulled your attention.

bokuto was stirring.

his lashes fluttered, and after a few blinks, his golden eyes found yours. for a moment, he just looked at you — as if making sure you were really still there. like maybe he thought he’d dreamed it all. the match. the garden. your yes.

“morning,” he rasped, voice rough and low, eyes still heavy with sleep.

you smiled, brushing his messy hair back from his forehead. “morning.”

his brows furrowed. “did we…? last night…”

“you proposed,” you whispered, smiling softly. “and i said yes.”

he stared for a beat, eyes wide with awe, before he groaned and buried his face against your neck.

“baby,” he mumbled into your skin. “i’m engaged. to you.”

you laughed gently, curling your fingers into his hair.

“yeah. you are.”

he pulled back slightly, blinking at you like he still couldn’t believe it, like the realization was settling deeper into his bones with every second. then, slowly, his hand reached for yours beneath the sheets. he laced your fingers together, bringing them to his lips. his thumb brushed over the ring as he kissed your knuckles, lingering there.

“you’re gonna wake up next to me every day,” he murmured. “forever.”

“every day,” you echoed.

“and we’re gonna get a place with a huge couch. like, huge. so we can lie on top of each other and still have room for snacks.”

you smiled. “is that your dream for our marriage?”

“that and putting your name in my phone as my wife.” his eyes softened again. “but mostly… just being with you. like this. always.”

you didn’t say anything for a long moment. you just stared at him — his sleep-ruffled hair, his crinkled eyes, his earnest smile. he was still the same bokuto who used to chase you around the fukurodani gym with a towel over his head, pretending to be a ghost. still the boy who gave you his milk bread after practice when you forgot yours. still the man who looked at you like you held his whole world in your hands.

and now, he really had given you everything.

you leaned forward and kissed him — slow, sleepy, and full of quiet promise.

when you pulled back, your forehead rested against his.

“i’m really glad you ran to me yesterday.”

he smiled, eyes closing as he breathed you in.

“where else would i go?”

outside, the city slowly stirred awake — but in that quiet room, with his arms around you and your hand in his, there was nothing else the world could offer that could compare.

because the greatest win of his life wasn’t last night’s match.

it was waking up to you — every morning, from now until forever.

#haikyuu x reader #bokuto kotaro x reader #*screams into the pillows* *hits the bed with my fists* *kicks my legs around* *convulses*#YOU! *shakes* *proceeds to then shake bokuto as well for good measure* /pos

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dove-da-birb · 13 days ago

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wrong place, right hands

it was just a writing exercise–something silly, something private. a pretend love letter for a class project that was never meant to be seen. but when it ends up in the hands of the very person it's about, everything changes. sometimes, love has a funny way of delivering itself.

haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. akaashi keiji x fem!reader ft. kotaro bokuto

genre: fluff, best friend!akaashi, bokuto is super supportive of the two, friends to lovers

wc: 1.5k

author's note: i love my boy keiji sm huhu and this is one my favorite drafts; good thing that i finally got the chance to post this

it was supposed to be harmless.

something private. something silly.

a writing exercise for literature—a pretend love letter, meant to test tone and form and emotional honesty without being real. the kind of thing you write while chewing your pen cap, giggling under your breath at the absurdity of pouring out fake feelings onto a blank page. the kind of thing you submit, laugh off, and forget about.

only you didn’t turn it in.

you kept it. folded it twice and tucked it into the back of your folder, marked not for submission. it felt… too honest. too specific. even if it was just a joke. even if it was meant for no one’s eyes but your own.

you didn’t even sign it.

but you described him. clearly. unmistakably.

you’d written about his voice—the one that lingers in your head long after he reads passages aloud in class. about the way he tips his head when he’s thinking, how he pinches the bridge of his nose when bokuto’s being dramatic, how his hands are “embarrassingly elegant” and distractingly expressive when he speaks.

and now?

now that folded page was sitting in the very capable, very real hands of akaashi keiji.

he read it in the gym.

in front of the team.

you didn’t even know it was missing until bokuto shouted something across the court about “keiji’s secret admirer,” and you looked up, heart seizing, just in time to see your best friend unfolding your handwriting in the middle of practice.

he didn’t laugh.

he didn’t share it.

he just read it—brows drawing together, quiet as the world moved around him—and folded it again like it was something precious.

you ran before he could see your face.

he found you afterward. of course he did.

you were leaning against the locker room wall, arms crossed tight over your chest like you could physically hold in the embarrassment threatening to swallow you whole. akaashi stepped out of the gym, hair still damp from a quick rinse, a folded paper in his hand.

the paper.

he looked at you.

“this isn’t for class,” he said softly. “is it?”

your mouth opened. closed. opened again.

you weren’t sure if your soul had already evacuated or if it was still making a run for it.

“what gave it away?” you asked weakly.

he glanced down at the page again. “well, the line ‘you look prettiest when you’re annoyed at bokuto’ felt… oddly specific.”

you groaned and buried your face in your hands.

“of course you recognized yourself. of course you read the one thing i didn’t mean for anyone to see.”

akaashi’s voice was gentler now. “bokuto found it under the bleachers. he thought it was part of someone’s homework and handed it to me. didn’t realize it was about me until…” he trailed off.

you peeked through your fingers. he was holding the page like it was fragile. like it mattered.

“you weren’t meant to see it,” you said, voice muffled through your palms. “it was… it was supposed to be a joke. a fake letter. i wasn’t even going to turn it in.”

“still,” he murmured. “you wrote it.”

there was a pause.

you nodded, slowly.

“i did.”

akaashi keiji has always been calm.

not just quiet—but calm. in that rare, grounding way that makes people lean toward him without realizing. like he carries gravity in his chest and people orbit it instinctively.

he’s been your best friend for years.

the constant. the person you text when your umbrella breaks, when your brain won’t shut up, when you need someone who won’t try to fix you but will listen. he’s been the voice of reason during bokuto meltdowns, your late-night study partner, the first person to notice when you were upset even when you smiled through it.

he was your lighthouse.

and you… you tried your best to stay afloat. to be steady. to look like you had it all under control.

but he was holding that letter now. holding it like it was something more.

his voice was quieter when he spoke again.

“can i be honest?”

you looked up, startled.

he’d stepped closer.

not close enough to touch—but enough that you could see the tiny droplets of water still clinging to the ends of his hair. enough to notice that his eyes weren’t sharp like they sometimes were on the court. they were soft. searching.

“i liked it,” he said.

you blinked. “the letter?”

he nodded. “i liked that you notice when i get annoyed. that you remember what i wore the day of our midterms. that you like how i read out loud, even when i think i sound like a textbook.”

there was a tiny smile tugging at his mouth now.

“i liked that it came from you.”

you stared, heart hammering.

“and if i’m being really honest…” he hesitated, then gently reached out, his fingers brushing your sleeve. “i’ve been wondering if you’d ever say something.”

“say what?” you asked, breath barely there.

he looked at you like you were the only thing in the hallway.

“that you like me,” he said simply.

the words cracked something open in you.

“i didn’t think you noticed.”

“i noticed everything,” he replied.

you were still processing—still somewhere between panic and floating—when an unmistakable voice echoed from inside the gym.

“whaaaaaaaaat?!”

bokuto slammed open the doors with the force of a gale, arms wide, socks squeaking against the polished floor as he launched into view.

“no. way.” he pointed, bouncing. “no. way this is happening. finally.”

you flinched. akaashi didn’t.

“how long was he—?” you began.

“the letter,” bokuto shouted, positively glowing. “the letter was real?! i knew it! i knew you two were in lo—”

“please,” you moaned, face in your hands again. “please let me evaporate.”

“i read it too,” bokuto beamed. “it was so good! so romantic! the part where you said he has ‘hands like he plays piano in another life’? art. masterpiece. i cried. internally.”

you looked at akaashi in horror. “you let him read it?!”

“i did not,” he said dryly. “he took it out of my bag when i was showering.”

bokuto did a twirl. “i had a feeling! my otp! blooming before my eyes!”

you groaned into the wall.

“i’m never writing anything again.”

“noooo,” bokuto said. “you must write more. you’re a poet. the youth needs your words.”

“she’s exaggerating,” akaashi said mildly, lips twitching.

“she’s not! that letter was amazing. i’ve been shipping you two since junior high!”

“you’ve been what?” you gasped.

“shipping!” bokuto declared. “like ‘relationship-ping’? keep up!”

you stared. “you cannot be real.”

“i’m the captain of love,” he said seriously. “and i demand a kiss. for proof.”

akaashi, impossibly, didn’t roll his eyes. he just looked at you again.

“ignore him,” he said gently. “unless…”

he trailed off.

you met his eyes.

unless.

unless you wanted it too.

and then—slowly, so slowly—you felt his hand reach for yours. fingers threading together like it was something you’d done a hundred times already.

he stepped closer.

and then, soft as a secret, he kissed your forehead.

your knees nearly gave out.

it wasn’t loud or showy. it wasn’t something made for bokuto’s theatrics.

it was quiet. intentional.

like he’d wanted to for a long, long time.

“i was right!” bokuto screamed from behind you. “love is real! i’m telling the whole team. i’m putting it in the group chat.”

“please don’t,” akaashi said, still remarkably calm, though his hand tightened slightly around yours.

you were still frozen, your forehead tingling, breath caught in your throat.

“are we… dating now?” you asked, stunned.

akaashi tilted his head. “we can take it slow. one step at a time. but yes. if you want to.”

you nodded.

“i want to.”

he smiled—a real one, warm and unguarded.

“unless you regret writing the letter,” he murmured.

you looked at him.

at the boy who’d been your constant.

at the boy who noticed everything.

and you said, with a quiet kind of certainty—

“no. i’m glad it ended up in the right hands.”

bonus scene

“hey,” bokuto said proudly, slinging an arm around both of your shoulders as you sat together on the bleachers, post-practice.

“i still think you should’ve made out.”

“bokuto,” akaashi said.

“just saying! that forehead kiss was like, pg. come on. spice it up for your number one fan!”

you reached over and lightly smacked his arm.

he grinned.

“you’re welcome, by the way,” he added, nudging you. “if i hadn’t picked up that letter—”

“i know,” you sighed.

“wait,” akaashi said slowly, turning to him. “why were you under the bleachers?”

bokuto paused.

then looked away. “…that’s not important.”

akaashi stared at him.

you leaned into akaashi’s side, watching bokuto whistle innocently as he swung his legs over the edge of the bench.

“god help whoever he ends up dating,” you muttered.

akaashi smiled again, softly, and brushed a knuckle over your temple.

“let’s just hope they’re patient.”

and maybe—just maybe—romantic enough to write something silly and private that turns out to be everything he was hoping to hear.

#haikyuu x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #rbing to main because *chef's kiss*#i've missed these nerds so much #bokuto with the damn 'otp' and 'ship' comments GAGGED ME

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