A/N: Thanks for the request dear, Now I gotta write something spicy >:)).
• Bokuto Kōtarō*°.
Bokuto is already riding the high of the century—wedding tux, adrenaline, everyone hyping him up—so when you slide the Polaroid into his palm, he doesn’t even process it at first.
Then he looks down.
His smile freezes.
His ears go bright red.
“—WAIT.”
He looks at you. Back at the photo. Back at you again. His grip tightens like he’s afraid someone might steal it.
“YOU— YOU CAN’T JUST—” his voice drops, reverent, almost shaky, “I’M SUPPOSED TO GO STAND AT THE ALTAR LIKE THIS?”
He laughs, breathless and helpless, pulling you in by the waist with zero shame.
“That’s my wife,” he says proudly, even though his brain is clearly gone.
He keeps the Polaroid in his inner pocket.
Absolutely refuses to give it back.
• Akaashi Keiji*°.
Akaashi accepts the Polaroid calmly. Too calmly.
He studies it in silence, eyes scanning with the same focus he uses in volleyball—except his ears slowly turn pink. Then red. Then dangerously red.
“…You did this on purpose,” he says quietly.
When he finally looks up, there’s something dark and affectionate in his eyes. Controlled. Devastating.
“You realize,” he murmurs, folding the photo carefully and slipping it into his jacket, “that I still have to give a speech.”
He leans in just enough for only you to hear.
“I won’t forget this.”
He absolutely does not.
• Kuroo Tetsurō*°.
Kuroo grins the second you hand it to him. He’s already expecting trouble.
“Wow, bold choice for a wedding gift—”
Then he sees it.
The grin turns slow. Dangerous. His thumb brushes the edge of the photo like he’s savoring it.
“…You’re evil,” he says fondly.
He lifts a brow at you. “Trying to make sure I can’t focus on anything else today?”
He tucks the Polaroid into his vest, right over his heart.
“Congratulations,” he whispers, leaning close, “you succeeded.”
The smirk never leaves his face for the rest of the ceremony.
• Atsumu Miya*°.
Atsumu makes a sound.
Not a word. Just a sharp inhale and a stunned, “—WHAT?”
He stares. Blinks. Stares harder.
“Yer kiddin’ me,” he mutters, then looks up at you like he’s been personally attacked. “On OUR wedding day??”
His ears are flaming. His grin is feral.
He immediately tries to hide the Polaroid—then panics when Osamu walks by and shoves it into his pocket like it’s contraband.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers, dragging you closer by the fingers.
“An’ you’re gonna pay for this later.”
• Sakusa Kiyoomi*°.
Sakusa hesitates before touching it. Of course he does.
He takes it carefully, eyes narrowing in suspicion… then widening just slightly.
His shoulders stiffen.
He swallows.
“…This was unnecessary,” he says flatly.
A pause.
“…Extremely unnecessary.”
He folds it with surgical precision and places it in his jacket, posture rigid, cheeks faintly pink. He refuses to look at you for a full minute.
When he finally does, his voice is low and very serious.
“You’ve compromised my composure.”
There is no complaint in his tone. Only promise.
• Sugawara Kōshi*°.
Sugawara gasps like he’s been handed a scandal.
“Oh my—” he laughs, covering his mouth, eyes sparkling as he looks between the Polaroid and you. “On our wedding day? You’re bold.”
He softens immediately, though—thumb brushing the photo lovingly.
“You look beautiful,” he says quietly, voice warm and sincere. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”
Then he leans in, smiling sweetly.
“But I’m absolutely farming this for our bedroom.”
Hope you liked it.LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!
Don't steal,copy,edit or use my works in any form without my permission.
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. the trophy isn't the prize
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
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.
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.
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.
Bokuto doesn’t know his own strength. He loves to lay himself right on top of you, pressing you into the mattress or couch. You love it, though, the warmth and weight of him. It’s soothing and your favorite way to cuddle. Even if it is a little hard to breath.
Bokuto is not fully oblivious to his size. He knows he has to prep you well to take him and he always does. Foreplay is never, ever skipped by him. He loves fingering your pussy, stretching it on his long, thick fingers. They’re rough from years of playing volleyball, but it only makes his touch more arousing. He’s not happy until you’ve cum as least twice around his fingers.
Bokuto’s strength is never more apparent than when he’s fucking you. Even with his dutiful work to make you ready for him, your pussy still stings with stretch every time he pushes into you. It’s a good kinda sting though, one that makes you bite your lip and your back arch off the bed.
Bokuto knows he should go slow. And he tries. He really, really tries. But the second he bottoms out in your sweet pussy he’s like a man possessed. He can’t stop himself from fucking into you with all he’s got. Each of his heavy, deep thrusts felt throughout your whole body. When his head isn’t thrown back moaning, because yes he is so vocal, he loves watching your tits bounce with each snap of his hips.
Bokuto being a pro athlete means that he is not only strong, but has an unbreakable stamina. Your pussy is sensitive and throbbing from multiple orgasms and he’s still fucking into you with no end in sight. “You feel amazing pretty girl.” He’s watching his cock slide in and out of you, loving how his dick looks covered in your slick arousal.
Bokuto buries his face into your neck when he’s close. He babbles through his orgasm, pussy drunk and half delirious. “So- fuck- so good angel. Gonna fill you up. Love you so much. So, so much.” His cum is hot and thick, making you feel impossibly full. You love it, racking your nails down his back just like he likes while he empties himself inside you.
Bokuto is also amazing with aftercare. He always gets a warm towel to clean you up. If you got particularly messy, he will carry you to the shower and clean you off. He’s so sweet and gentle with this part, peppering you with kisses every chance he gets. And, of course, when he’s done he’s climbing right on top of you to cuddle.
Morning practice - Akaashi Keiji x Bokuto Koutarou
Summary/tags: An early morning takes an unexpected turn for Akaashi. MDNI, fluff, smut (rimming, fingering, hand job, oral), swearing.
AN: this is the first smut ive written so be kind :(
The sunrise causes a soft glow in the silent bedroom. Akaashi groans, blinking slowly as he wakes up. Blurry vision focusing on the sheer curtains across the room. It was too early.
He sighs, knowing it was just a matter of time before Bokuto's alarm goes off. He loved his boyfriend but god did he hate his morning training. His hand moves under the blanket, fingers searching for the familiar warmth next to him.
Akaashi's fingers trail up Bokuto's side, thankful the other man insisted on sleeping shirtless. His hand travels over Bokuto's chest feeling the firm ridges of his muscles. He shifts closer, hand settling over Bokuto's heart.
Nuzzling against Bokuto's neck, Akaashi breaths in his faint scent. The steady heart beat under his palm relaxing him. Bokuto shifts in his sleep, Akaashi's soft breath against his skin waking him up.
His hands find Akaashi's waist under the blanket. He gives a soft squeeze, groaning as he adjusts to the soft light in the room.
"Good morning Ji."
Akaashi shivers at Bokuto's deep morning voice. Pressing a kiss to the base of Bokuto's neck.
"Gotta shave today. The guys keep giving me shit."
Akaashi hums in response, pressing kisses into his boyfriend's skin. His lips graze under his chin, brushing against the hair there. Akaashi sucks lightly at the skin, causing Bokuto to groan. He shifts closer, chest to chest, meeting Bokuto's eyes.
Bokuto crushes his lips against Akaashi's, catching the man off guard. He struggles to keep up, letting Bokuto to take control and deepen the kiss. His hands push against Akaashi's waist, guiding him back onto the bed.
Akaashi sighs as Bokuto's weight settles on top of him. He shifts, brushing his clothed cock against Bokuto's. The firm grip on his hip stops the movement. They break apart, lips brushing as they catch their breath.
"Fuck Ji."
Akaashi shivers as Bokuto nuzzles into his neck, beard hair prickling his skin.
"You like it that much?"
Bokuto sucks at the soft skin of his neck. Akaashi whines, eyes closed as he nods his head in response.
"You look so hot with it Kou. So big and buff."
Bokuto grunts pressing Akaashi further into the bed. "Fuck it."
Akaashi opens his eyes confused at the loss of contact. His hands searching for Bokuto's to drag him back down. Bokuto sits up, reaching towards the night stand. He fumbles for his phone, before quickly silencing the device.
"Koutarou?"
Bokuto slides further down the bed, hands settling against Akaashi's waist.
"What about practice? You're gonna be late."
Bokuto ignores Akaashi's concern, tapping against his hip. Akaashi lifts, following Bokuto's silent command. His fingers hook into Akaashi's boxers.
"Practice can wait I need to taste you first."
Akaashi lets out a whimper as Bokuto drags his underwear down, his neglected cock twitches at the action. Bokuto presses a kiss to the reddening tip. Bokuto looks up from his spot, smirking at his boyfriend's flushed face. He grips Akaashi, giving him a gentle squeeze.
"You good Ji?"
They lock eyes, Akaashi's hazy gaze meeting Bokuto teasing one. Akaashi opens his mouth, his response cut off by a sharp moan. Bokuto's tongue collecting the precum at his slit. Akaashi rolls his hips, chasing Bokuto's mouth. Bokuto laughs, thick arms settling across his waist.
"Hold on baby."
Bokuto moves, settling at the end of the bed. Lifting one of Akaashi's thigh over his shoulder. He sucks a hickey into the skin, digging his chin into his firm thigh. He bites, leaving one last mark before making his final decent.
"You love my beard so much, huh? You'd miss it so much, right?"
His teasing tone sends goosebumps over Akaashi's body. A pink flush covers Akaashi's chest as he eyes Bokuto's movements. He pushes Akaashi's thigh further into himself, spreading him open. Giving a teasing lick against his sensitive rim.
Akaashi's dick jumps at the sensation, leaking against his abdomen. Bokuto pulls away, eyes searching for Akaashi's . He clicks his tongue, annoyed at the arm draped over his boyfriends eyes.
"Want you to watch."
Akaashi whines, need settling at the base of his stomach as Bokuto teasingly flicks at his rim. Akaashi's hand trails up his chest, fingers catching against his pebbled nipple. He lets out a gasp.
"Koutarou."
Bokuto hums, pressing a kiss against his hole. "Yeah Ji? Whats up."
Akaashi reaches down, fingers gripping the gray hair between his thighs. Bokuto lets out a soft growl at the tugging on his roots. His mouth warm against Akaashi's skin.
"Hurry up Kou."
Bokuto flattens his tongue, burying his face into Akaashi's ass.
"Anything for you baby."
His fingers comes up to meet his tongue, pressing one finger in as he licks at the rim. He takes his time working Akaashi open, chest swelling with each gasp and squirm from his boyfriend. He grinds his cock against the bed, trying to alleviate some of the pressure building in his lower abdomen.
"Gotta prep you first Ji."
Akaashi moans at the feeling, pulling harder at his hair. "Want you."
Bokuto chuckles, "Yeah baby, you'll get me. Let me enjoy myself first."
bokuto often fucks you in missionary cause he loves feeling you claw at his back while he’s deep inside you. the feeling of pain mixed with a bit of pleasure always thrills him.
you’ve got your legs wrapped around him tightly, your hands pinned above your head while he placed wet, sloppy kisses on your lips. he steadily rocks his hips into yours and he can feel that you’re close. he doesn’t need to stimulate you any more than he was with the way his happy trail softly brushed your clit each time his hips meet yours.
you being to moan uncontrollably, whimpering his name as you squirm under him. he wants to cum with you, so he lets go of your wrist, and your arms quickly wrap around his neck. you both are now a moaning mess as his hips snap into yours. he’s hitting the spot so good you can’t help but dig your nails into his back, clawing at the supple skin when you finally gush around his length.
bokuto hisses at the feeling, head now buried in the croak of your neck as he fuck you both through your orgasms.
Girls drool over him at the beach, giggling and ogling at the sight of his toned biceps and hard abs, they all began to bashed their eyelashes and swirl their hair, hoping to get his attention only to get visibly disappointed when he only walks pass them, didn’t even spare them a glance as he walks up to you, giving you a kiss on the lips when you tipped toed at him. He didn’t even notice these girls where looking at him when he only has eyes for you.
The practices began early morning and ended late at night during off days. And he usually had to stay behind after practice to get his serves and receives better polished. On game days, the routine became even more dizzying, with pre-game practice and warms ups, the game itself, after-game conferences and sometimes going out for drinks with his boys later. Bokuto loved the hustle and bustle, of course. He thrived in it. But it left almost no time for you, his beautiful fiancee.
He would get up at the ass crack of dawn to leave for a run and make it to practice on time, leaving your warm, sleeping figure under the covers, and he usually returned so late that you were already in bed, breathing quietly and curled into a cute little ball that Bokuto loved wrapping himself around. Sure, he texted you constantly during the day, and called you whenever he could, but it wasn’t the same as being in your presence.
And he was really starting to miss you. Emotionally and physically. Afterall, Bokuto was still a man. A healthy, young man. And he had needs.
Today found Bokuto in a predicament he was often met with these days. He woke up not to the sound of his alarm, but to the hypersensitive feeling of his raging boner. He blinked a couple of times, groaning softly when he realized what exactly the problem was and what woke him up.
That’s another thing he was struggling with. Bokuto had a high sex drive. Like, really high. Much higher than his peers. He knew it had to do with his unending stamina. But he had never had a problem with it before. And when he woke up like this, the small vestiges of his wet dream still clinging to his mind, with your warm, pliant body right next to him, it was really hard to control himself, no pun intended.
Bokuto pouted and grumbled, turning his back to you and closing his eyes again. He blearily stared up at the clock hanging off the wall, nearly groaning when he realized his alarm was about to ring in ten minutes.
He could probably cum in ten minutes…
Bokuto bit his lip in contemplation, turning to look at your sleeping figure again. Should he do it? You had given your permission to wake you for sex one time weeks ago. He had never done it, but maybe now…?
You sighed in your sleep and shifted, and Bokuto’s eyes shot down to your ass. God, he hadn’t felt you up in so long. You wouldn’t mind, right? You had said you wouldn’t. So what was stopping him?
His erection gave another painful throb, and Bokuto threw caution to the wind, he pressed his front into your back, sighing in relief when his crotch made contact with your ass, easing the pressure a bit. You were sleeping in his old jersey, as you usually did, and tiny sleep shorts. Bokuto made quick work of them until your lower half was bare, shirt pushed up to your waist. He pushed his shorts down just enough to free his dick and gave it a few pumps, mouth dropping open at the sensation. It felt good. But he knew what would feel even better.
He couldn’t hold back his groan when he finally slid home, your pussy tight as anything, sucking him in even in your sleep. Bokuto shifted down a little, trying to hit deeper in the position he was in, jaw going slack when you unconsciously clenched around him. For a split second, he wondered how he had gone this long without feeling you wrapped around his cock like this. He also knew that now that he had done this once, there’s no way he was not doing this every single day going forward.
You shifted and moaned, and your sharp intake of breath told Bokuto that you were awake. Fuck, thank god.
“Kou?” Your voice was husky with sleep. Bokuto nearly came.
He wasted no time in hooking his hand under your knee, pulling your leg up and spreading you out enough for him to start pumping into you faster.
You gasped and arched back into him, presenting your bare neck to him. Bokuto licked a stripe up the skin, tasting salt on his tongue. He slid his other hand under you, wrapping around you so he could grope at your clothed breast, soft as ever and fitting in his hand perfectly. God, he had missed your body. He bit gently into your neck, reveling in the little sounds escaping your throat. The thought that he was making you feel good was intoxicating. It had always been a huge turn on of his. He didn’t need praise, just hearing you moan as his cock drove into your cunt over and over was validation enough for him.
Your walls were fluttering around him like mad, and Bokuto was so sure he would bust any moment. He picked up the pace and angled his hips just right, trying to chase that one spot in your pussy that he knew made you see stars. He felt himself grin a bit when you cried out and clenched hard around him, indicating he found it.
“Kou, ‘m gonna cum.” You slurred out, and Bokuto pounded into you faster. He wanted- no needed- for you to cum together. He’d missed you so goddamn much. He needed this. As much as he needed to win his next match.
The sound of both your moans as you finished drowned out Bokuto’s phone, which started chiming his usual wake up tune. Bokuto could give less of a shit though, his thighs shaking as he emptied his load into your hot opening, reveling in the way you pushed your ass eagerly back on him, whimpering and whining through your own orgasm. As he came down his high. Bokuto wrapped his arms tight around you, not bothering to pull out, wanting nothing more than to feel every inch of your body against his.
“Kotarou,” you whispered affectionately, and Bokuto’s heart skipped. “Your alarm is still going off, babe.”
Bokuto hummed into the back of your neck. “Let it.”
You giggled and sighed, finally slumping against him. Bokuto thought his chest might burst from how content he felt.
A/N: For those whose tags arent working, im sorry! I tried and for some reason, your names wont show up in the mentions :( another way of being notified is to turn on my blog notifs for @teamatsumufics . I only reblog my fics there so it serves almost like being in a taglist!
