HIII lovely!!! so glad ur reqs are back open & i hope you are doing well and taking care of yourself 💖💖💖 and your writing is peak PER USUAL. literally have me kicking and squealing every time u write for any of my favs LMAOOO
anyways i was wondering if u could write something w kuroo & reader who plays vb? nothing totally specific i just feel like these are few and far between 🥲 please take ur time 💘
nationals
— tetsurō would actually sell his kidney, his textbooks, and probably lev if it meant keeping you within a ten-meter radius at all times.
kuroo tetsurō x vb player!f!reader
c: fluff!!
i did, in fact, take my time ദ്ദി๑>•̀๑) i’ve been really busy, i hope this is good mwuah mwuah!! THANK YOU BBY
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you know how people say “love makes you do stupid things”? well, kuroo tetsurō is living, breathing, six-foot-two proof of that. if love is a disease, he’s in the terminal stage. he’s not just down bad, he’s subterranean bad. like—if there were olympics for being whipped, he’d already have broken his spine doing a full-body bow to dedicate the gold medal to you, nekoma’s star ace and unofficial cause of his chronic heart palpitations.
the tragedy (for him, not you—you’re thriving) is that you winning nationals has only made things astronomically worse.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the gymnasium is still vibrating with the echoes of cheers, confetti sticking to sweaty foreheads, and kuroo? kuroo’s somewhere between proposing and passing out. he’s leaning against the wall, chest heaving like he played all five sets himself, when in reality all he did was scream encouragement from the stands until his voice cracked like a prepubescent middle schooler.
and then you—glorious, terrifying, beautiful you—walk over, still buzzing from adrenaline, medal clinking against your neck.
“tetsu,” you start, smiling that smile that makes his bones feel like noodles left too long in boiling water, “we did it.”
we.
oh, god. he almost collapses on the spot. never mind that he didn’t touch the court, you’ve included him in this victory, and kuroo’s brain short-circuits so violently he’s sure he’ll need therapy to restart it.
“y—you—” he tries, choking on his own words like a rookie in front of the net. “you—you were… phenomenal. a-a legend. a god. no—the god.”
you raise a brow, wiping sweat off your temple. “pretty sure i’m just a volleyball player, tetsurō.”
“blasphemy,” he whispers, clutching his chest like an 18th-century poet struck by cupid’s arrow. “absolute blasphemy.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the rest of the team is celebrating, but kuroo? he’s following you around like a very tall, very lovesick golden retriever with bedhead. except golden retrievers don’t usually mutter about how they’d happily construct a shrine out of knee pads just to honor your existence.
“tetsurō,” you sigh when you catch him staring again, his eyes practically shaped like cartoon hearts. “you’re acting like you’re the one who spiked the last ball.”
“in my heart, i did,” he says solemnly, because he means it. he felt every ounce of that hit like it was his soul slamming the court.
“in your heart?”
“yes. my soul and your spike are spiritually married now. you can’t argue with that.”
you blink. “that’s not how marriage works.”
he gasps like you’ve just stabbed him. “don’t say that, you’re breaking up our happy union already.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
on the bus ride back, the rest of nekoma’s girls team has officially decided that kuroo is an epidemic. a contagious disease. every time he opens his mouth, they either gag, laugh, or threaten to throw him out the window.
“you’re staring again,” yaku says flatly from the seat behind, smacking kuroo’s shoulder. “stop before she files a restraining order.”
“she wouldn’t,” kuroo scoffs, though the panic that flits through his eyes is definitely real. “would you, kitten?”
“depends,” you say, sipping water with the deadpan delivery of someone used to his theatrics.
kuroo almost drops dead on the aisle floor.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
he insists on carrying your bag—even though it’s heavy and probably smells like victory sweat—just so you won’t “strain your celestial arms, forged by the gods themselves for spiking.” he dramatically blocks doors for you, insists on “escorting” you home like he’s your bodyguard, and at one point even tries to kneel and tie your shoelace before you punt him in the shoulder.
“you’re insane,” you mutter.
“totally,” he shoots back without hesitation.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a week later, the school throws a celebration. the gym is decked out, the principal is giving a speech, and kuroo is vibrating with the energy of a man who has rehearsed a TED talk about you in his bathroom mirror.
when they call you up to accept a plaque, kuroo claps so hard his palms are probably bruised. he hoots, whistles, shouts your name like he’s trying to summon a spirit.
and then—you thank him. in front of everyone.
“and thanks to our captain of the boys’ team,” you say into the mic, eyes flicking toward him in the crowd, “for cheering so loudly i’m pretty sure half my adrenaline came from not wanting to embarrass myself in front of him.”
kuroo? oh, he’s gone. vaporized. spiritually ascended. he grips lev by the shoulders and shakes him like, did you hear that? she basically confessed to me in front of the whole school!
lev, confused, “she literally didn’t.”
“SHE DID, SHUT UP.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
his devotion spirals in hilarious ways. he starts showing up to your practices, sitting cross-legged on the floor like a proud soccer mom with a camcorder. he brings snacks “for the whole team,” but it’s always your favorite snacks, and the rest of the girls just steal them out of spite.
“you can’t keep doing this,” you scold when he nearly trips over a stray ball because he’s too busy staring at you serve.
“but watching you is a spiritual experience,” he argues. “i’m writing poetry in my head right now. do you know how hard it is to rhyme with your name?”
“not hard at all, you’re just dramatic.”
“exactly,” he grins, “dramatically in love.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the peak, though—the absolute pinnacle of his unhinged devotion—comes one rainy afternoon when you find him outside the gym, drenched, holding a very crooked cardboard sign that reads:
“WILL TRADE MY DIGNITY FOR YOUR SMILE.”
“kuroo,” you groan, dragging him under the awning. “what the hell are you doing?”
“grand romantic gesture,” he declares, water dripping off his hair into his eyes. “do you love me yet?”
you pause, staring at him—at this soggy, ridiculous boy who would probably lay down in traffic if you asked.
“…maybe,” you admit, lips twitching.
he gasps so loudly it echoes, nearly slipping on the wet pavement in his excitement. “MAYBE???”
“don’t push it,” you warn, but you’re smiling.
and kuroo? well, he looks like he’s just won his nationals.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
in conclusion: kuroo tetsurō is the definition of catastrophically down bad, and you—nekoma’s unstoppable ace—are the only one patient enough (and chaotic enough) to handle the storm that is his entire personality. together, you’re not just winning volleyball matches. you’re winning at life.
and that’s enough to keep him from auctioning off his kidney. for now.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a: i swear i’ll fix my masterlist, i’m just so busy (resting)
HI!!!! im literally obsessed with ur writing/writing style and youve had me HOOKED. since ur first post .. but could u posssiibbbly write maybe smth with bokuto or iwa??? no specific req u have fullll creative freedom 😌😌😌😌 i trust u !!!!! keep doing what u do !!! xx 💕💕 TYSM
AAAA THANK U PRETTY! I HOPE U LIKE THIS ദ്ദി๑>•̀๑)
boyfriend senses
— iwaizumi hajime probably knows even your 4am cravings and WILL show up in your front foor.
iwaizumi hajime x f!reader
category: fluff fluff fluff!?
ps. i put oikawa in the same class.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the first time iwaizumi's "boyfriend senses" truly kicked into high gear, you were pretty sure it was a thursday. a particularly grey, miserable thursday that had started with a pop quiz you hadn't studied for and ended with your shoelace breaking in the middle of a crowded hallway.
you were trudging home, feeling a distinct urge to curl up under a blanket and not re-emerge until spring, when a familiar shadow fell over you.
"haji? what are you doing here?" you mumbled, your mood instantly lifting at the sight of him and the offering of sugar.
"hey," iwaizumi's voice was a low rumble, and you looked up, startled. he was walking beside you, holding out a half-eaten bag of your favorite peach gummies.
he hadn't even texted you about your awful day. he just knew.
iwaizumi just grunted, pushing the bag closer. "looked like you needed these. could practically feel your bad mood from the gym." he didn't elaborate, didn't need to.
he just kept walking, his shoulder occasionally bumping yours in a comforting rhythm, his eyes scanning the path ahead, as if meticulously ensuring no further misfortunes would befall you. you took a gummy, chewing slowly, a small smile finally touching your lips. how did he even know? you hadn't even fully processed your bad mood yourself, but he had already identified, diagnosed, and prescribed the cure.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
"drink up," he'd said, his back already turned as he jogged back to the court. "you looked thirsty." looked thirsty? you hadn't even moved! you hadn't even made eye contact with him. but he was watching. always watching, a silent, ever-present guardian.
the small things started to pile up, little coincidences that quickly became too frequent to be coincidental. one time, you were at volleyball practice, sitting on the bench, completely zoned out and thinking about how desperately you needed a cold drink.
before you could even move, before the thought had fully formed into a conscious desire, iwaizumi tossed a chilled sports drink at you, which you fumbled and caught with a yelp.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
"i knew you'd forget it," iwaizumi muttered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "it was practically screaming at me from your empty spot, begging to be rescued."
another afternoon, you were frantically digging through your backpack, convinced you'd left your math textbook at iwaizumi’s, a wave of panic rising in your chest. you knew the exact page where you'd left off, the specific diagram that would be on the next page, and the crushing despair of having to ask to share.
just as you were about to give up, a familiar hand slid a well-worn textbook onto your desk. it was yours. you looked up to see iwaizumi, already settled in his seat, a small, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. he hadn't even glanced at you before doing it. he simply knew your distress and acted on it.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you were starting to wonder if he was actually psychic, or perhaps had a highly sophisticated surveillance system dedicated solely to your daily mishaps. you loved it, of course, because it meant you rarely had to worry about anything.
but it was also a little... a lot... uncanny. you were his primary focus, his most important mission, and he embraced it with a terrifying dedication.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
but the most memorable time, the moment that officially crowned him king of "boyfriend senses," was in history class. the air was thick with the droning voice of your teacher, mrs. yamamoto, who had a talent for making even the most dramatic historical events sound like a lullaby.
your mind, as it often did during these lectures, had started its daily wander. you were mentally composing a grocery list, debating the merits of different brands of instant ramen, when a very specific, very random craving hit you.
it wasn't just any craving. it was for a rich, creamy strawberry milk, the kind in the small, pastel pink carton that was always perfectly chilled.
not just any strawberry milk, but specifically the one from the vending machine on the third floor, the one that sometimes got stuck if you didn't hit the button just right. you could almost taste its sweet, artificial goodness, a symphony of sugary delight playing in your mind.
you leaned over to iwaizumi, who was sitting next to you, his hand resting on his chin, seemingly engrossed in the tale of ancient kingdoms.
you knew, though, that a part of his attention was always, irrevocably, fixed on you. "hajime," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of the classroom, "i'm really craving a strawberry milk. from the third floor vending machine."
you stared at the carton. then you stared at iwaizumi. your jaw had probably hit the floor. you hadn't even finished your sentence, and it was already there. the exact one.
he didn't even flinch. he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. without breaking eye contact with mrs. yamamoto, he reached down, unzipped his bag with a soft shhhht, and pulled out a small, pastel pink carton. he slid it over to you, under the desk, with a quiet thump.
it was perfectly chilled, beads of condensation clinging to its surface. it was exactly the one from the third-floor vending machine.
he finally turned his head slightly, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "i know," he mumbled, his voice low. "i could feel it coming. it was pretty loud in your head." he then turned his attention back to the lecture, as if he hadn't just performed a feat of clairvoyance right there in the middle of class.
you almost choked on your own spit. he could feel it coming? it was loud in your head? what did that even mean?! did he have a psychic radar for your cravings? was he just that terrifyingly in tune with your internal monologue? or was he just… the most ridiculously prepared, obsessively attentive boyfriend in the history of boyfriends? you didn't know which was more hilarious, or more endearing, or more completely and utterly devoted. his focus on your comfort and happiness was absolute, unwavering, and a little bit unsettling.
"iwa, you're so creepy!" oikawa whined, loud enough for a few heads to turn. "are you stalking y/n?! how did you know she wanted that?! i didn't even know she wanted that, and i'm her best friend!" he punctuated the last part with a dramatic sniff, as if truly offended by iwaizumi's superior boyfriending skills.
a few rows away, oikawa, who possessed the uncanny ability to hear a pin drop from across a football field when it suited his dramatic purposes, suddenly lifted his head from his feigned slumber.
his eyes, usually wide and dramatic, were now narrowed, a look of pure, unadulterated jealousy mixed with suspicion.
iwaizumi just shot him a lethal glare, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "shut up, shittykawa. i just know. now leave us alone." his arm subtly shifted, his elbow resting on the desk, effectively shielding your strawberry milk and your amused face from oikawa's prying eyes. it was a silent, protective gesture that made your chest warm.
oikawa just huffed, but he knew better than to push iwaizumi when he was in full protective mode. you just sat there, sipping your strawberry milk, completely in awe of the boy next to you. he was gruff, a little scary to others, but for you? he was pure magic, a perfectly honed machine dedicated to your well-being. he was also your dedicated stalker.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
his uncanny ability wasn't limited to predicting your cravings or forgotten items. it extended to your comfort, your moods, and even your potential clumsy moments. it was a constant, subtle hum of awareness, always present in the background of his mind, ensuring your safety and happiness.
during after-school study sessions, if you so much as furrowed your brow at a particularly vexing math problem, he'd already have a small stress ball in his hand, ready to press into yours. you didn't even have to sigh.
the pen would simply slip from your fingers, your posture would slump just so, and there he was, your own personal comfort dispenser. he didn't even need to look up from his own textbook; his senses were finely tuned to your slightest emotional shifts.
"take a break," he'd say, his voice a low rumble. "you're gonna overheat your brain. i don't want you to get a headache." he always had a small collection of your favorite snacks ready – salted crackers for when you were stressed, a small chocolate bar for a sugar boost, and a thermos of your preferred herbal tea for late nights.
it was like he had a mental inventory of your every need, meticulously updated in real-time. he didn't just guess; he knew. he simply couldn't stand the thought of you being uncomfortable or unhappy.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
one particularly chilly evening, as you were both walking home from the gym, you felt a shiver run down your spine. you hadn't even consciously thought about being cold yet, just a subconscious twitch, a tiny physiological response. before you could even register the chill, iwaizumi had his jacket off and draped over your shoulders, still warm from his body.
"you'll catch a cold," he'd muttered, pulling the jacket tighter around you, his eyes doing a quick, almost imperceptible scan of your face to ensure your comfort. you looked up at him, eyes wide..
"haji, how did you even...?"
he just shrugged, a small, fond smile touching his lips. "i saw the goosebumps forming." you immediately looked down at your arms. there were no goosebumps. he had predicted them. he truly was a sorcerer, or perhaps just a man whose entire being was devoted to noticing every miniscule detail about you.
oikawa, of course, was perpetually bewildered by iwaizumi's powers. he'd tried to replicate them, with disastrous and hilarious results, often just making you more confused or giving you something you absolutely did not want.
"iwa, you're totally cheating at being a boyfriend!" oikawa once whined, dramatically throwing his arm around your shoulders. "i try to use my oikawa's super amazing boyfriend senses, but y/n just looks at me like i'm crazy when i offer her a banana when she clearly wants a juice box!"
iwaizumi would just scowl, gently but firmly removing oikawa's arm from your shoulders and pulling you closer to his side. it was a swift, almost possessive movement, staking his claim without a word. "that's because you're an idiot, shittykawa. you don't actually pay attention. you just think you do. you just watch yourself in a mirror."
oikawa gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "how dare you! i pay attention to everything y/n does! i know her favorite color!"
"her actual favorite color is different now," iwaizumi corrected smoothly, without even looking at you. you blinked. he was right. you had changed your mind about your favorite color last week, a fleeting thought you hadn't even vocalized. it was a minor detail, but to iwaizumi, no detail about you was minor. everything was vital information.
oikawa sputtered, utterly defeated, while you just hid your face in iwaizumi's shoulder, laughing. he knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes, and it was a comfort beyond words. it was like living with your own personal, gruff guardian angel, who also happened to be a world-class volleyball player and your very handsome boyfriend. his devotion was a blanket, warm and all-encompassing, wrapped tightly around your entire existence.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the extent of his preternatural awareness was often displayed in the little, mundane moments that added up to a life of effortless comfort. if you were about to trip on an uneven pavement slab, his hand would already be there, ready to steady your elbow before your foot even faltered, his muscles tensing preemptively.
if you were fumbling with a difficult-to-open package, he'd already have it in his hands, tearing it open with effortless ease, his sharp eyes having spotted your struggle before you were even fully aware of it yourself. it was like he was living five seconds in your future, always a step ahead, always there to smooth out any potential bump in your day.
it wasn't just about preventing bad things, though. it was about enhancing the good. if you were admiring a particularly pretty flower, he'd subtly lead you to a whole patch of them, having noticed your lingering gaze.
if you mentioned a song you liked, he'd have it playing quietly on his phone the next time you were together, having memorized the fleeting comment.
he simply knew, not through magic, but through an intense, unwavering, almost suffocating focus on your every whim and desire. every one of your interests became his, every small joy of yours amplified by his subtle attention.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
one afternoon, you were at the beach with the team, enjoying a rare day off. you were sitting by the water, sketching in your notebook, completely absorbed in your drawing. you felt the distant rumble of a larger wave, but didn't register the immediate threat. before you could even react, before the wave crashed ashore, iwaizumi had his hand out, shielding the notebook, taking the brunt of the spray himself. his hand was a solid, unmoving wall, protecting your creativity.
"careful," he'd said, his hand still dripping, but his gaze solely on your protected sketch, a soft ferocity in his eyes.
"hajime, you got wet!" you exclaimed, grabbing a towel for him.
he just shrugged, a small, soft smile on his face, his gaze unwavering from your face. "it's fine. your drawing's safe. that's all that matters." he didn't care about himself, only about you. it was that absolute, unwavering devotion, that relentless prioritization of your well-being above all else, that made your heart swell.
his friends, especially oikawa, found it both endlessly annoying and incredibly fascinating. they often tried to test his "senses," as if to poke holes in his seemingly perfect facade.
"iwa, i bet you can't guess what y/n wants for dinner tonight!" oikawa would challenge, a smug look on his face, convinced he had finally found a loophole in iwaizumi's omniscience.
iwaizumi would just fix him with a withering stare, a silent warning for oikawa to mind his own business. then, he'd turn to you, his expression softening immediately. "you're craving udon, right? the spicy kind, with extra tempura? i saw you glance at that food magazine earlier."
your eyes would widen. "yes! how did you—"
"i knew it!" oikawa would shriek, throwing his hands in the air, his brief moment of triumph shattered. "it's a conspiracy! he reads her mind! it's not fair! he's got sensors everywhere!"
iwaizumi would just scoff, pulling you a little closer, his arm a secure, unyielding presence around your waist. "it's called paying attention, crappykawa. something you clearly don't do. i just know what's important." he said that last part with such conviction, such quiet intensity, that it left no doubt as to what, or rather, who was important to him.
it was true. he paid attention. he absorbed every little detail about you – your subtle shifts in mood, the way your eyes crinkled when you were truly happy, the slight twitch in your eyebrow when you were deep in thought, the exact timing of your hunger pangs.
he cataloged it all, processed it, and used it to predict your every desire and need. it wasn't magic, not really. it was a fierce, unwavering dedication, an intense focus that bordered on obsessive, but in the most profoundly loving way imaginable. he simply couldn't allow anything less than your absolute comfort and happiness.
you often wondered if he ever felt overwhelmed by it, by the constant influx of your unspoken needs and wants, by the sheer mental effort of always being a step ahead. but he never showed it. he just continued to anticipate, to protect, to provide.
he was your rock, your anchor, your own personal oracle, meticulously curating your world.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
one evening, as you were walking through a quiet park, the stars beginning to dot the darkening sky, you leaned your head on his shoulder. his arm instantly wrapped around your waist, pulling you gently but firmly against his side. it was a familiar comfort, a silent promise of his constant presence.
"thank you, hajime," you whispered, feeling completely safe and cherished, utterly enveloped in his care.
"for what?" he mumbled, his voice soft, his gaze momentarily sweeping your surroundings, ever vigilant.
"for everything. for always knowing. for always being there."
he chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through your chest. "someone's gotta keep you out of trouble, and fed, and warm, and hydrated, and from forgetting things, and from tripping, and making sure no one bothers you..." he trailed off, listing all the countless, unspoken ways he silently cared for you, his voice laced with an underlying possessiveness that was both sweet and absolute.
you laughed, a warm, bubbly sound. "you're the best, haji."
he squeezed your waist gently, then shifted his head, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. "i know."
he really did. he knew everything about you, even the things you hadn't realized yourself. and in his unwavering, almost supernatural attentiveness, you found a love that was as unique and extraordinary as he was. you wouldn't trade your psychic, gruff, and utterly devoted boyfriend for anything in the world. his world revolved around you, and you wouldn't have it any other way; you never even had a choice.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a/n: one more biology tiktok on my fyp and i’m gonna explode.
sugurugetos
stormborns
snowghoul
yousharknotpass