no laughing matter.
pairing bokuto koutarou x gn reader
word count 3,297
notes enjoy !! :) @http-404-error-unknown
WARNINGS dark/ yandere bokuto, mentions of (consensual) sex throughout, implied dubcon/noncon at the end, but there’s nothing explicit.
MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.
+
You look so gorgeous today, even if you look like you could use another hour or two of sleep. Your hair's a little messy, but Bokuto just wants to weave his fingers through and ruffle the strands a little more. Your eyes look a tad swollen — as if you've been crying and haven't slept properly — and he wants to kiss away your tears; he wants to hold you close and lull you to sleep whilst whispering sweet nothings in your ear, keeping you nice and warm in his embrace, where nothing can ever harm you.
The afternoon sun casts a golden glow over you, highlighting the way you shuffle and twiddle around with your fingers, looking ever so dainty and fragile in front of him — like you're nervous, like you're about to do something you shouldn't — and Bokuto can't keep his eyes off of you. He can't tear his gaze away from the way your lips curl and sway as you speak to him, as you call his name in that angelic lilt of yours, as you tell him you love him—
“Bokuto, are you even listening?”
He doesn't want to listen to you. On any other day, your words are gospel to him; he'd listen to you for hours on end as if you were telling him the secrets of the universe, as if all the answers to life's most important questions were hidden behind your chapped lips, and he's the only person blessed enough to hear a snippet of your sweet voice.
Today, however, he's perfectly content with just staring at you, losing himself in the way you shine, the way you squirm.
He doesn't want to listen to you. Not when you keep calling him Bokuto. Not when you're trying to break up with him.
"I'm sorry, baby, you just look so pretty right now," he chuckles, light and airy to dispel your discomfort, but you grit your teeth in annoyance.
You have no right being annoyed when you're out here breaking his heart. Do the other people in this café know what you're doing here? Can they see you tear his heart to shreds with your vicious tongue and sharpened claws? Are they watching as his face falls and tears burn his eyes, but you don’t even pause between spewing venom at him?
Is this what heartbreak is? That dizziness in his head. The ringing in his ears that just about masks your voice. Something tightens in his chest — each callous syllable you spit is another tug on the rope binding his lungs, and it squeezes him until he’s at the point of rupturing. His heart feels heavy, like it’s being pulled down to the soles of his feet, anchored to the dirt you step on; his body feels too weak, but he’s acutely aware of the numbness that falls over him. He feels like he’s floating, he thinks he’s never been more grounded. It doesn’t make sense. His body keeps flipping between hot and cold, focusing on your words then listening to the squeak of leather beneath you, watching you rub a hand across your face then staring out at a dog that passes by. It’s too much and yet not enough. He wants you to stop; he wants you to stay. None of this makes any sense.
He almost wants to laugh, to break down into tears and scream and cry and cause a massive spectacle, so everyone can see the way you wound him with your lethal words. Is that why you invited him out here? Not for a cutesy little lunch date, but so you could have an audience join in as you jeer and snicker at his demise, as you crush his heart in the tender, bruising palm of your hand like it — like he — never meant a thing to you?
He knows you're not like that — not his sweet, precious partner, his dearest, his beloved — no, no, you would never do that, you would never break his heart like this. You love him, like an artist loves a blank canvas, and like a singer needs their voice, you need him just as much as he needs you; he is nothing without you, and you're nothing without him, you can't be anything without him. He won't let you become something without him, because then you won't be you.
"Don't— Stop saying things like that, Bokuto."
Bokuto. Bokuto. Bokuto. God, he loves your pretty voice, but if he doesn't hear a Kou or baby soon, he's going to break the table separating you from him and force it out of you.
"I'm serious" — so is he — "we're done."
He's done with this conversation.
You don't say anything else. You just pick up your bag, turn heel and leave him there. You're so cruel to him — looking away so you can't see the tears welling up in his eyes, leaving him trembling in some stupid café, all alone with your untouched drink.
+
He spots you in the university hallways the next day. He comes in bright and early to see you, to hug you and laugh with you over the silly prank you pulled on him yesterday, but when he waves and calls you over to him, you don't even look his way before you slip into your lecture hall.
He pouts, thinking you didn't hear him (even though his voice is deafening, more akin to a lion's roar than a grown man yelling) and Konoha — who'd been standing beside him, talking endlessly about his latest fling — snickers at the display.
"Trouble in paradise?"
Bokuto huffs, crossing his arms as he eyes the door to your lecture, debating whether or not he should go in after you. "Nah, they’re just playing a prank on me, but I miss them so much!"
Konoha rolls his eyes, muttering a you're so fucking whipped before he throws an arm around Bokuto's shoulders. "Come on, you can cry about them later, let's get to class."
Bokuto's always hated not having the same modules as you because he loves admiring you as much as possible, for as long as possible. The arrangement does, however, mean that when he sees you at lunch, he gets to hear about everything you got up to without him, and he always loves listening to how your day went. You must not have been feeling very hungry today, though, since you never came to your usual lunch spot. Bokuto misses swiping food from your bento box, and his own meal tastes bland when you're not there to feed it to him, but he thinks you must be very dedicated to the dumb little joke you're playing.
He’s grown tired of it already. If you don't end it soon yourself then he will.
The rest of his day goes by uneventfully, the hours passing dreadfully with you not by his side. Even volleyball practice is draining and he finds it hard to come out of his slump when he doesn't see you in the stands. Even when you both get into a little argument, you still show up, studying and doing coursework as you wait for him to finish practice. Then, he twines your hand with his, shoulders your bag, and you both talk out your woes on the way to your house. The journey is always filled with apologies and promises to be better; he cherishes the sweet sound of you saying yes, I still love you, Kou — what he wouldn't give to hear you say that right now — but more than that, he loves the way you let him mold your body to his once you're in your bedroom, all pretty and pliant beneath him as he shows you just how sorry he truly is.
He brushes off Akaashi when he asks him if he's feeling okay, because of course he's not. He loves you to the moon and back, but you're being annoying, taking this prank way too far, and his heart's aching in his chest. He's the last one in the locker room, and just before he gives up all hope of you showing up, he decides to send you a quick picture. He pulls off his volleyball shirt — because he knows how much you like the sight of his firm, tanned body (and he loves the way you love it) — and he grins as brightly as he can before he snaps a quick picture of himself, and sends it to you.
And then he waits. Fifteen minutes pass and he doesn't hear a word back from you, even though he's said, time and time again, he wants you to reply back in five minutes or less. The picture (and all the other messages he'd sent to you throughout the day) stays undelivered.
The joke has gone on for long enough.
+
He knows the way to your house — he could walk there blindfolded and bleeding out without stumbling once — and he follows the path down to where you are hidden away in your room easily. He knows your parents are out, that they never come home early on weekdays, and that your siblings are out at work or school or whatever. He knows because on days like these, he'd be in your room with you, pushing away your reading material and dragging you onto his lap so he can make out with you. He'd be up there, stealing food from you and kissing your lips right after. He'd be with you, holding you close, telling you how much he loves you, just you, only ever you.
Today shouldn't be any different to how the two of you spent last week all cosied up beneath your blanket, tongues tangled with his hands down your pants, and there's a certain pep in his step as he thinks about that, rushing to the entrance and using the key you gave him to unlock the door. He can't wait to have you sprawled out all for him, wet and wanting, so he hurries up the stairs when he hears you leave your room.
You're at the top of the staircase when he stands on the first step.
"What the fuck?"
His fists clench at your rude greeting, but at least you've finally given him some attention.
"Baby, I missed you!" he says, bearing a grin as he eyes the way your face drops, the way your hands tighten into fists. "I didn't see you at practice, so I wanted to check up on you! You okay?"
"You need to leave, Bokuto. How'd you even get in?"
"What, you don't want me here?" he asks, a playful pout on his face as he climbs up a few steps. You stumble back, away from him, and his eyes narrow in a dark glare. "You avoided me all day, you know. I don't like what you're doing."
"No, I don't want you here," you state and now your voice is really starting to grate on his ears. "Get out, Bokuto."
"I'm not going anywhere," he retaliates, walking up some more steps, and when he notices you distancing yourself, he jumps over the last few steps. He manages to catch you just before you lock yourself into the bathroom, slamming the door open with such power it leaves a crater behind in the wall. You're tripping over your feet as you move away from him, but there's nowhere for you to go.
You're leaning against the sink, eyes darting around the room for something to defend yourself with, but Bokuto's always been faster than you, and there's nothing for you to grab. Razors and scissors are tucked safely in your cupboard, you left your hairbrush in your bedroom earlier — you wish you were a little more careless, wish there was something other than shower curtains and a toilet at your disposal.
"Where are you running off to, baby?" he says, grin darkening into a spiteful smirk as he knows he's got you trapped in his clutches, just how he likes. His body — built and solid and all dense muscle — fills up the doorway and he's like a beast looming over your helpless form.
"Bokuto, please—"
"And why are you still calling me that?" he asks, taking slow steps towards you, prolonging your misery and terror.
"It's your name—"
"Not to you! You always call me Kou, I miss hearing you say that."
He sounds so whiny and childish, yet the nasty glint in his eyes speaks volumes; he may act like a hyperactive puppy most days, but you know there's a ruthless, bloodthirsty wolf in him that's dying to be unchained.
"Kou, you're— you're scaring me."
"Oh, baby." For a second he seems to soften, reminding you of the old Bokuto that would pepper gentle kisses all over your face, the one that would make butterflies flutter in your tummy with just his smile. He opens his arms to you — the place once a source of comfort, but now his arms swell with muscles that are too suffocating, his hold too much like a cage, like a bear trap. You stay still, clutching at the rim of the sink like it's your lifeline. "Come here, you know I'd never hurt you."
You shake your head. You're cowering away from him, but you can't fall into his arms so easily. You're done with him, and he needs to understand that. Needs to get that through his thick head: you're not together anymore. You don't want him.
"Kou, you can't be here, you need to go."
His arms drop to his side, face falling with dejection when you don't move to him like he wants.
If you won't come to him, then he'll go to you.
"I'm tired of your stupid prank." Your brows furrow in confusion and he answers you before you even open your mouth. "Don't tell me you've forgotten what you did yesterday."
Your eyes widen in realisation. "That— Kou, that wasn't a joke. We're not— I broke up with you, okay? It's not your fault, I just— I really need to focus on uni, and you have volleyball, and we can’t— I just don't think I can handle a relationship right now. I'm sorry."
You're lying through your teeth. He knows because you've never brought any of this up before; he's told you time and time again, he's going to make it big, make a name for himself in the volleyball scene, so you won't have to worry your pretty little head about university or a job, he'll take on the big work, so all you have to deal with is handling your relationship. He'll go out and earn the money, keep a roof over your head, deal with the real world — all you've got to do is make sure you're dolled up nicely for when he comes home. You cook the food he buys, and you spread your legs for him at the end of each day so he can love you right. He'll treat you so well, you won't have to worry about a single thing besides what he'll have for dinner, and what lingerie he'll be tearing off of you for dessert.
He laughs, shoulders hunching over as he lets out deep, unamused chuckles, and the sink digs into your back as you crane away from him.
"We're not breaking up, don't be silly." His word is final. Seriously, he's tired of this stupid prank you're playing on him. He just wants to hold you close and forget this day ever happened. "Now let's go to bed, I'm tired."
"I mean it—"
"I mean it," he interrupts, and his voice is darker than it was just moments ago. "I don't wanna hurt you, baby, but if you say one more thing about us breaking up, I'm gonna get real mad, got that?"
You gulp, nodding stiffly and digging your nails into your palms as you try to hold back the tears springing up. You know about the power that dwells inside him, the way gentle kisses can turn to vicious bites, the way he can carry you around like a sack of junk, the way he can twist and turn your body to his liking as if you're clay, all for him to sculpt and perfect.
"Good," he sighs, a smile forming on his face. "Now, let's go."
His hand laces with yours, forcing you by his side as he takes you to your bedroom. He doesn't let up as he shoves your clothes and bag off of your bed, turning to pick you up like it's nothing before he falls back on the bed, hugging you close to him. He lifts your leg over his, a large hand wrapping around your thigh to squeeze the fat and keep you in place. His grip is so tight, you're sure it'll leave a bruise behind, but you're too scared of him to voice your pain.
"See, this is nice, isn't it?" he asks, burying his nose into your hair after he closes his eyes, finally able to revel in the feeling of your embrace. "Missed you all day. I don't ever want you doing something like that again, okay? It really hurt. Konoha kept making dumb jokes about you moving on when he saw you talking to some asshole after school, but you wouldn't do that to me, would you, baby?"
He waits for you to reply, and you swallow down your unease, trying to keep a level voice. "No, Kou, of course not. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, baby, I forgive you." he says, sweetly kissing the top of your head, before his lips curl slyly. "But… I do know how you can make it up to me."
You gulp, not wanting to know what he has in mind. You just want to go to sleep, pretend this is all a bad dream, a horrid nightmare but nothing more than a figment of your imagination. The beefy arms wound tightly around your body anchor you to reality.
"How?"
In lieu of a reply he shuffles down the bed, coming face to face with you, and immediately tips his head to lock you in a kiss. His tongue is more than eager to come and play with you, and the hand that was on your thigh moves up to knead your ass so hard you gasp, giving him the space he’s after to invade your mouth.
You're helpless to his attack, unmoving as his tongue explores freely, as he refamiliarises himself with every single taste bud, as he dips into each divot in your molars before finally pulling away. His lips instantly trail to litter wet, sloppy kisses along your jaw, humming as he follows the curve of your neck. He nips over your racing pulse, your heart beating through your ribcage, before sucking hickeys all over your soft skin, not leaving an inch of you untouched.
You get your answer when he rolls his hips against yours, and you feel his hardness poke at the apex of your thighs, rubbing against your sex with unyielding fervour.
You look so gorgeous today, alluring and dazzling as your skin shines with his spit, as you glow beneath his rough hands. He brushes your hair back, kissing over the apples of your cheeks, licking away the tears that fall from your eyes. Bokuto can't keep his eyes off of you. He can't tear his gaze away from the way your lips curl and sway as you whimper for him, as you call his name in that angelic lilt of yours, as you tell him you love him—