#spring event!!

[bokutoko]

waaaaah abs for the flower pop-up can I get a large bouquet with roses and tulips with sweet pea for Bokuto <333 this is so freakin cute omg

winter wonderland

k. bokuto x f!reader

wc: 962

cw: uni!au, frat president!bokuto, night confessions, studying for exams, brother’s best friend (kuroo is reader’s brother), minimal cursing, suggestive 18+ - making out, groping (consensual, f!receiving), grinding

“break time!”

with a smile, bokuto walked to the box of ornaments laid by the half-decorated christmas tree and grabbed one. you only sighed, rubbing your eyes and asked, “ten minute timer starting now.”

the frat house was decked out with christmas paraphernalia: wreaths on every window and door, lights outlining the front porch, a 10-ft inflatable frosty the snowman swaying in the front yard. as snow slowly began to fall, it was a cozy environment. too bad you were too stressed about finals to really care.

luckily, bokuto came to the rescue and offered to body double with you and reinforce some breaks from studying. “don’t want you getting burned out!” he reassured you and kuroo with a big smile. you didn’t miss his subtle rosy cheeks as you two sat at the main room’s table, using the system of working for half an hour with ten-minute breaks.

it was perfect for productivity.

the only caveat? you were hopelessly crushing on your brother’s best friend and dreaded these breaks. you could feel your face heat up just from being close to him; when his hand brushed yours, it felt like butterflies erupting in your stomach as goosebumps trailed down your arm.

you grabbed an ornament of the frat’s greek symbols, poking fun at him with, “can i hang this one, or is there some weird tradition with it?”

he only smiled, looking down to grab his own. “there is a tradition, but you can hang it. usually goes here.” pointing to a spot on the tree, you happily hung it on a branch.

only, you didn’t realize the tradition was that the president was the one to hang it. it was a silly one, but it’d been done for the last twenty years, at the very least.

he chose to not tell you that, though, not when you looked so excited to do it.

“this look okay?”

“looks perfect.” his voice was soft—quieter than you usually heard from him. frankly, he wasn’t even looking at the tree, his eyes much too focused on you, with your hands on your hips as you looked at you two’s handiwork so far.

eventually, all that was left was the star, and thankfully, bokuto was tall enough to place it. watching him stand on a chair and straighten it, you observed how his biceps tensed and relaxed, watched the slight straining as he forced the star to sit straight on the tree… and you felt yourself grow a little lightheaded.

shouldn’t he be wearing a hoodie or something? wasn’t it snowing outside?? he needed to cover up.

pulling yourself out of those thoughts, you did one last once-over on the tree, making sure nothing looked too crowded or out of place. “looks nice.” bokuto stood next to you, nodding along, though he didn’t care quite as much about how the tree looked.

he really only cared if you liked it.

a sudden stuffiness fell over the room, and bokuto cleared his throat, commenting, “let me turn the fan on,” but immediately froze.

looking up, you then noticed why.

there, right above you both, was the dusty ceiling fan, and hanging on one of the chains was a little piece of mistletoe. obviously, one of the brothers tied it on, since neither of you noticed it until now.

bokuto let out an awkward laugh, mumbling something along the lines of, “i hate them.”

the tension grew between you two in a matter of seconds, looking into his eyes and seeing the little sparkle in his golden irises.

“are you okay with this?” bokuto softly asked as he approached you. a hand gently brushed some hair out of your face, searching your eyes for an answer—any answer. “tell me no, and i’ll stop.”

you didn’t tell him to stop. instead, you said, “it is an unspoken rule, honestly. we kinda, uh, have to.”

he nodded, his cheeks looking even pinker in the warm lighting of the lamps and christmas tree. “yeah—yeah, we have to…”

it was supposed to be a little peck. unfortunately, nobody told either of you that.

with you in his lap on the couch, his big hands gently grazed up your back, bringing some of your shirt up with them. with the slight feel of your skin against his, he deepened the kiss, letting it grow hungrier and hungrier.

his mind was slower than his body, only then suddenly thinking that he was kissing you.

YOU, his best friend’s sister!

but god, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. not when your lips tasted of the hot chocolate he made for you earlier. not when your hands were in his hair and tugging at the roots. not when you subtly began to grind on him, right on his growing bulge—

his body began to heat up, despite the flakes falling outside. he had no idea what his hands were doing until they gently cupped your breasts, listening to the moans you sang in his mouth.

“kou—”

fuck, he was in deep. he could listen to your sounds all day.

“oh, baby—” he moaned in your mouth, his hands moving to your hips to gently guide your movements in his lap. oh god, the pressure feels amazing. “yeah, just like—”

DING, DING, DING!

the ten minute timer was going off, buzzing and ringing on the table with all your unfinished studying.

“kou, turn that shit off—“ you gasped out of frustration, dropping your head into his shoulder. he carefully scrambled to grab your phone and silence it, hoping to resume what you’d both started. to which you were more than happy to do so.

he’d really always known this, but bokuto very quickly learned just how weak of a man he was for you.

a/n: hi narn it’s hot as balls outside for me rn (88°) but merry christmas

want to see more by me in this event? here's my masterlist! 🌷

main masterlist

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

[unpretty]

we went to a free local event about foraging, which i decided to go to because something about the flyer's description gave whatever the opposite of a prepper vibe is. like i got the sense just from reading it that there would probably be at least one butch with a carabiner present and no one was going to try to talk to us about how god gave us the earth and its bounty. which is probably not a justifiable thing to assume from a flyer but when we got there the event was being lead by a tiny butch forester wearing a neon-yellow morel-themed t-shirt so now i have a bag of fiddleheads and leeks and an absolutely massive dryad's saddle.

[erenfox]

oh real and fictional older sisters, you'll always be tragic.

[xayspancakeee]

ଘ( ･ω･)_/ﾟ･:*:･｡☆

may this spring guide your flower babies to find their way home to you girlies °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[lucidve]

　　ิ ㅤ . ݁ ˖ oh my crush , thats all i wish !　 🌸　 ( ˊᵕˋ )⠀⠀

　　　　　 ̣͘　░͟  ׁ૮ ◞ ྀི◟ㅤ ❤︎ ׅ ⠀˖ cherish (my love) . exe ｡ㅤ｡ 　　

[shinjiruchikara]

I need the spring xavier memory so bad, wish me luck 🥺🥺🥺

[studioeisa]

the quiet world 🍜 minghao x reader.

minghao saves his words for you.

★ word count: 1.6k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: non-idol, romance/fluff, dystopia -ish. mentions of food. established/long-distance relationship, minghao-centric. based off of jeffrey mcdaniel's the quiet world, with some reference to phil kaye's repetition. ★ footnotes: this is my entry for keopihaus' spring event 2025, specifically for the moretta/servetta muta mask :'-) it's been a while since i've written for svt (sorry!), but this idea grabbed hold of me and i couldn't shake it. my favorite poems for my favorite boy. this one has a lot of my heart in it, so... 🫴

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ quiet by jason mraz. bawat daan by ebe dancel. streetcar by daniel caesar. the days ahead by the scene aesthetic. whoever she is by the maine. hold onto me by mayday parade. if i'm lucky by state champs. start a riot by banners.

In an effort to get people to look into each other’s eyes more, and also to appease the mutes, the government has decided to allot each person exactly 167 words per day.

This is why Minghao no longer wants to dream. 

Dreams are a trap, a reason to talk in his sleep. Dreams take his words, unbidden and unwarranted, and he’ll wake up with four or seven less than he might have wanted. It annoys him to no end. 

And so a good sleep is when he doesn’t dream. When he’s just taken from one day to the other in the blink of an eye. A good day is when he wakes up with 167 allowables on the tip of his tongue. 

Minghao’s morning routine is clinical. There is no room for mistakes here. Once or twice, he had accidentally mumbled an ow or an aw, come on, and it had ruined his entire day. 

Not today. Today, he does everything right.

Brushes his teeth, showers, puts on clothes without so much of a whisper. 

He runs into Mingyu in the apartment elevator. The two exchange nods. 

Mingyu tilts his phone screen towards Minghao. The Notes app has been pulled up. Have a good day!, Mingyu had typed out. It’s the same note every morning, the same platitude delivered in this roundabout manner.  

Minghao offers him a smile and another nod. One he hopes will communicate you, too.

The streets aren’t devoid of sound. Dogs still bark; cars still beep in traffic. The world’s natural order of things doesn’t care for the state of affairs. It is a rebellion in its own right, led by the rustle of the leaves and the chirping of the birds. 

As usual, Minghao seeks out the auntie often stationed outside his office building. He finds her resting underneath the shade of a tree, her visor drawn over her eyes. He doesn’t greet her. He doesn’t have to.

She’s used to these transactions. People standing idly by until she notices them. People pointing out their order instead of saying it out loud.

Minghao points at the photo of the chicken noodle soup. She nods and goes through the motions— thermos, styrofoam bowl, plastic bag. He presses his payment into her withered, wrinkled hand, and gives out the first two words he speaks on a good day like this. 

“Thank¹ you²,” Minghao says, because the government can take his voice, but it will not take his manners. 

The auntie smiles up at him, her grin all gums and decaying teeth. She reaches out to gently pat Minghao on the elbow, and he accepts it like the blessing of goodwill that it’s supposed to be.

There’s no way of predicting what kind of day it will be in the office.

Sometimes, Minghao uses up more than half of his words arguing with stubborn clients— often ones who have the status to buy more words, to twist the government’s arm into bending the system a bit. Then there are days where Minghao doesn’t have to speak at all, and he clocks out with 165 still on his plate. 

No one at work particularly misses Minghao’s voice.

Not the same way some of them lament the loss of Seokmin’s singing or Junhui’s stand-up comedy. No, Minghao fell in with the likes of Jihoon and Wonwoo, who all knew how to play this game rather well. 

It’s no surprise that by the time lunch is rolling around, Minghao is still going strong while others are already down for the count. 

“You¹⁵³ know¹⁵⁴ what¹⁵⁵ I¹⁵⁶ miss¹⁵⁷?” Soonyoung announces. 

Half the break room looks up at him, their expressions caught between amusement and exasperation. It was just like Soonyoung to squander his words like this, to command everyone’s attention so he can proclaim, “Karaoke¹⁵⁸! I¹⁵⁹ miss¹⁶⁰ karaoke¹⁶¹, man¹⁶²!”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. Hansol pulls a face. 

“What¹⁶³?!” Soonyoung demands. “I¹⁶⁴ used¹⁶⁵ to¹⁶⁶ slay¹⁶⁷—” 

His tongue clicks. 

The words are stolen right from him; the song Soonyoung once supposedly ‘slayed,’ now a mystery. 

Minghao shakes his head. Soonyoung is red-faced but undeterred, already reaching for his phone so he can pull up Spotify and subject everybody to what was once his go-to karaoke track.

Music nowadays is mostly instrumental. Maybe there’s a phrase or two in the chorus, but artists bear the brunt of this new world’s order. 

Lunch ends. Minghao is still comfortably in the 160’s range. A feat in itself. 

But then the telephone at his desk rings. It’s a sharp, shrill sound. One he’s come to hate. His lips tug into a frown and— for a moment— he considers not answering. 

It rings a second time, and Minghao concedes he would rather not get fired for being stingy. 

He picks up the phone.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t greet the other person with hello or how are you or what do you need. 

The person on the other end pauses for a beat. Then, as if realizing this is Xu Minghao they’re phoning, they break the silence. 

“Update¹⁰³ on¹⁰⁴ the¹⁰⁵ Kim¹⁰⁶ account¹⁰⁷?” Chan asks, his voice crackling over the line. 

One thing Minghao has started to do is to compare and critique. 

To compare— the Chan of a couple of years ago would have definitely not gone straight to the point. Pre-decree, Chan had been the type of person to offer an entire backstory before finally getting at what he needed or wanted from you.

To critique— the question is two words too many. Minghao would have simply said the Kim account, or even just update? if he was feeling particularly spiteful. It’s a twisted, holier-than-thou mindset that has no place in this world that’s already taken so much, but he can’t help it. 

Minghao is not wasteful with his words anymore. Repetition is a felony; all unnecessary conversation, a transgression. 

He grits out the updates, each phrase carefully chosen and weighed as if there’s an invisible scale in his mind. The entire time, he thinks to himself: This could have been an email.

Once again, he ends the conversation with a murmured “thank⁵⁸ you⁵⁹” and that cruel, smug impression he’s somewhat better than his coworkers. 

Work crawls to its eventual conclusion. Minghao practically flies out of the office, communicating with his coworkers through glances and gestures. A wave of his hand. Goodbye. A tilt of his head. Have a good weekend. A hint of a smirk. Thank fucking God it’s Friday.

He gets home and kills time.

A silent film on the television. Microwave pizza and a can of cola. Afterwards, he puts on a playlist of old songs, the ones made when words were still a luxury that could be taken for granted. 

There was a time where Minghao might’ve belted along. Nowadays, he just dances. 

He weaves through the furniture. He taps his foot along to the beat. He is sand in an hourglass, an ellipsis at the end of a sentence…

His phone rings.

This time, it’s a sound he loves. 

He practically stumbles over his couch in his excitement. His screen has lit up with your name, with a photo of you from your first date. You had talked his ear off, then, and he had hung on every word. You’re smiling sweetly up at the camera. It’s a reminder of the things that have changed, and what hasn’t. 

The moment he answers the call, he’s already giggling.

“Hello⁶⁰,” Minghao breathes. “I⁶¹ only⁶² used⁶³ fifty-nine⁶⁴ today⁶⁵; I⁶⁶ saved⁶⁷ the⁶⁸ rest⁶⁹ for⁷⁰ you.⁷¹” 

You don’t respond.

He hears the huff of your laugh.

The click of your tongue. 

Ah.

It can’t be helped. As much as he wants to be selfish, to demand that you save at least three words for him, he knows these things are inevitable. It doesn’t happen often, anyway. You’re usually just as careful and cautious.

He’s sure he’ll get the full story over text. Some complaint about how work had demanded a little too much of you, how you had no choice but to give. 

So, now, it’s Minghao’s turn to give; yours, to take. 

“I⁷² love⁷³ you⁷⁴,” he says. 

Depending on what kind of night it is, he might say the words differently. I love you with an over-the-top British accent that has you chuckling below your breath. I love you in sing-song, reminiscent of the days he could once still afford to hold a tune. I love you sleepily, while lying in bed, like it’s the last words he wants on his lips. 

Tonight, he says it in a slow, reverent whisper. “I⁷⁵ love⁷⁶ you.⁷⁷” 

He enunciates every word, letting them mean something new each time. 

“I⁷⁸ love⁷⁹ you⁸⁰,” he says, because he means to say, It’s me, Minghao, Myungho, whatever you want to call me, and I love you. It’s me. I’m yours. All of it, all of me. 

“I⁸¹ love⁸² you⁸³,” he says, in a way he hopes you understand that the verb is interchangeable. He loves you, yes, but he also adores you. He reveres you. He worships you, and misses you, and wants you. He packs all of it in that single four-lettered word and prays it is enough. 

“I⁸⁴ love⁸⁵ you⁸⁶,” he says. 

You, long-distance lover. You, the only one he would waste his words on. You, you, you.

He says I love you thirty-two and a third times. 

He’s cut off with an unceremonious “I¹⁶⁷—,” his tongue clicking to signal his quota. The day ends, quietly as it began,—

Minghao lies on his couch and stares at the ceiling, his phone pressed in between his cheek and his shoulder.

You stay on the other end of the line. 

The two of you listen to each other breathe. 

[okayto]

Neopets is so funny right now. It's a 24-year-old website and half its pages haven't been updated in 15 years. Its ostensible audience is children. The core active audience appears to be nostalgic 20-40-year-olds. Old code means no accounts or pets can ever be renamed. The virtual pound is full of virtual pets named after Justin Bieber. It has an economy and inflation is rampant. New ownership is combating this with the stimulus of random super-rare items via daily quests and events, while the equivalent of Neopian Upper-Crust complain that their investments are deflating. You can't say seaweed or grapes.

[xinyuehui]

Nikki playing the Dizi, and Momo playing the Suona 🧧

Year of the Snake 🐍

[minslune]

. ﾟ ❀ 다시 봄날이 올 때까지 꽃 피울 때까지

[bokutoko]

hi abs my darling, this is a lovely flower shop you have here! i was wondering if i could send a mini bouquet of tulips, carnations, and sweet pea! i would love if you could send them to oikawa with love from bug <3

-love bug <3 🍪

quarter after one

t. oikawa x f!reader

wc: 1252

cw: hurt/comfort, second chance romance, studying for exams, brother’s best friend (iwaizumi is reader’s brother), uni!au

you were sure your organic chemistry final was going to kill you.

and if the exam didn’t, being in an assigned study group with your ex-boyfriend would.

the december air was painfully bitter, cutting through your coat as you walked to the 24/7 floor of the campus library.

“do you want me to be there?” iwaizumi’s voice rang through your headphones, “just to be a buffer?”

a sigh escaped you as you muttered a “no.” the library building was one of the dingier buildings on campus, with the smell of old books and mildew overwhelming your senses as soon as you walked in. “that’d just make it more awkward since you’re friends.”

your brother, always so protective, was silent on the other line, trying to find the right words to say. “okay, well if you need anything, call me, okay? i know he’s my best friend, but i’ll still beat his ass.”

“i know you would,” you laughed, hanging up as you approached the arranged study room. the moment you’d been dreading was finally here. everyone was already inside, studying their respective “problem chapters” before coming together to do a big review. slipping in, you sat by one of your classmate acquaintances, starting your work as everyone chattered quietly to each other—very little of which was about chem.

remaining so engrossed in your work, you hardly noticed oikawa’s stolen glances in your direction. you only noticed when he slid a drink to you from his bag—he’d bought everyone drinks. it just so happened that he remembered to buy you your favorite.

in his eyes, you looked as beautiful as always, studying so diligently. he remembered how your brows furrowed a little when you concentrated, his gaze adopting almost a yearning expression as he saw that this time was no different.

when it came time for everyone to work through problems together, you were happy to help out and point out something, until—

someone interrupted you.

smiling, albeit awkwardly, you sat back and let them say what they needed to say. they were incorrect.

so you spoke up again, trying to explain where they went wrong—

and then someone else talked over you.

every time you tried to talk, to explain, to help, another student would ignore you and try (and fail) to solve the problem themselves. the air in the room suddenly felt hot, prickling your skin—or maybe it was just you.

feeling invisible, and being treated as such, made your eye twitch and blood begin to slowly come to a boil. your vision clouded red, ready to blow up, but before you could say anything—

oikawa gently said your name paired with “what were you saying? i think they interrupted you.”

your eyes shot toward him, and everyone quieted down to hear you, though too proud to mutter any apologies.

oikawa had always been the one to see you.

talking a deep breath, you knew you needed to calm down. “i was… just trying to tell you that since you’re in acidic conditions, it’s going to favor protonation first,” you said with a shrug, “he talked about it last week. that’s the reason it’s not working, because you’re acting like everything is in basic conditions.”

out of the corner of your eye, you noticed oikawa’s subtle smile as everyone began muttering “ohhhh…” you felt a little proud to be the reason someone understood something, then continued working to finish the practice problem.

throughout the night, oikawa would be the one to make sure your voice was heard when going over more problems. you wanted to be annoyed, but it was nice to be seen.

not by him. no no, definitely not by him… by the group! just the group.

finally, it struck one o’clock, and the number of students was slowly decreasing as they left for home. you stayed, needing a little bit longer to go through some practice exams, when you noticed someone else stayed as well.

for fuck’s sake…

quietly, you kept to yourself and kept working on your exams, hoping oikawa wouldn’t say anything to you. but of course…

“can you walk me through question 4 on the practice exam?” his voice was soft, his eyes laced with exhaustion. very unlike him.

a part of you actually pitied him. “sure.”

walking him through the problem, you scooted your chair next to him and caught a whiff of his cologne, that familiar sea breeze scent making you feel slightly dizzy. in a good way, frustratingly so.

as you finish, you look up at him and meet his eyes—oh his beautiful brown eyes. the two of you are frozen, just staring at the other as your arms barely touched.

for a moment, you thought he would kiss you. and it aggravated you over how much that made your heart flutter. the two of you ended things to focus on your respective studies, though he was the one to initiate it.

you cleared your throat and continued explaining the problem, ensuring no eye contact.

“look at me.”

that soft, sweet tone of his voice made you want to cave, to give in to temptation.

“no.”

oikawa’s finger gently hooked beneath your chin and angled your face up to match his gaze. “don’t do this,” he whispered.

oh, that was when you snapped. “me?” you stood up, your chair scratching on the ground as it pushed out. “you don’t want me to do what? to have a normal reaction around my ex? to not want to be around you? is that so bad of me?!”

he huffed. “i know we ended things to focus on school, but i just miss you, okay? i’m allowed to miss the one i—”

the air suddenly went still, the two of you frozen in place once more. you didn’t want him to finish that sentence, but it was like a train wreck. you couldn’t stop.

“the one you…?”

he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “don’t make me say it.”

“say it, tooru.”

and god, his heart melted in his chest when he heard you call him by his given name. ‘tooru’ sounded like the sweetest honey from your lips.

“the one i love.” you stood there in silence, just staring at him as he continued, “the one i want to hold, to kiss, to cheer on when you do well, to comfort you when you are upset. is that so wrong of me?!”

he stepped an inch closer, silently begging you to not pull away. you didn’t.

“i fucked up,” he whispered, “and that’s fully on me.”

all you could do was stare at him, your face undoubtedly betraying your inner turmoil as you whispered, “it is.”

another step closer, and you didn’t move. “being apart from you was like losing a part of myself. please, can we just at least try being friends again? and maybe, just maybe, we can see where it leads?”

you took a look at the time—it was a quarter after one. your final was in less than eight hours.

“let’s finish up this practice exam, and we’ll talk after the final,” you said gently. his gaze was so sweet, so understanding, as he nodded with a quiet ‘ok.’

so the two of you studied for about half an hour longer, going through old exams as you both caught soft brushes of the other’s hand against your own. it was shy, it was gentle.

hopefully, it was the start of something new.

something that would last a lifetime.

a/n: hi bug <33 this is my “how can i make this about organic chemistry” request MUCH LOVE FOR YOU

want to see more by me in this event? here's my masterlist 🌷

main masterlist

my obligatory oikawa truther tag: @deadwtr

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

[cherimoyatea]

Look at our fine men, gracing our eyes with their splendid beauty 💐🫠

Glad these aren't physical magazines... with the upcoming banner, I'd probably burn my wallet buying them all.

[tofuproductionz]

[solarbunzzz]

Rainy day 🌧️

This image has been on my brain since I was playing this omg..... Maybe they need more paint on each other ermmm..my

[lucidve]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀♪˚. ❀ᅠ aint no doubt , ure my answer ☘︎ ﾟ ��˖ ࣪⊹ ! ✧

[acorn-and-oakleaves]

Welcome to April! Let's shake off winter with some new Hobbit prompts! Mix and match prompts or just pick your favorites. The event is open to writers, artists, and creatives alike!

If you create something, just @acorn-and-oakleaves so we can showcase your work!