„Just One Kiss“ (Bokuto x reader)
Summary:
You’re tired of your mom’s constant nagging about finding a boyfriend, so in a desperate moment, you rope in your best friend—Bokuto Koutarou, volleyball star and certified menace—to play the part of your “fake boyfriend.” It’s supposed to be simple: a little hand-holding, some cheek kisses, and a whole lot of convincing smiles to get your family off your back.
But Bokuto takes his role very seriously. Maybe too seriously.
Words: 5795
Another day, another family dinner full of suffering.
You’d lost count of how many times your mom had mentioned the “nice son” of the new neighbors.
“And he’s such a gentleman,” she added knowingly in your direction, a light smile plastered across her face.
Of course your aunt and dad were instantly impressed with him too.
Of course, you thought bitterly. Once again, here you were, stuck listening to the same lines on repeat.
“When will you bring someone home, Y/N?” your mom pressed—probably for the fiftieth time that evening.
You rolled your eyes. “Let me live, Mom,” you muttered under your breath, stabbing at your food with your fork instead of eating it.
“You’re not that young anymore, young lady,” she scolded, laughing as if it was a joke. “Why not give the new neighbor a try? He seems like such a nice guy.”
“No thanks.” Your answer was instant, sharper than you intended. You’d already met him—he wasn’t interested in you at all, because he was gay. But of course your mom’s ears went conveniently deaf whenever she didn’t want to hear something.
Every time you visited, she came up with a new boy for you to try. She’d even set you up on blind dates once or twice. Complete disasters.
It wasn’t like your entire life depended on finding a husband or a boyfriend. Not that she ever listened to your side of things. You liked your life just fine—simple, cozy, and with your cat waiting for you at home.
“Y/N, are you listening to me?” she interrupted your thoughts.
“What?”
She sighed loudly. “Why can’t you be more like your sister? She already has a husband and is giving me a grandchild soon.”
You groaned. “Mom, we’ve had this conversation a hundred times. That’s not my priority. Please stop.”
“Y/N, stop being so difficult. You’re heading into your mid-twenties. You’d better find a boyfriend soon.”
And there it was. Appetite gone, patience gone. You shoved your plate away and glanced around the table. Everyone else was laughing like this was peak comedy hour, while your dad sat in silence, the least useful backup in history.
“How about trying one of those new dating apps everyone’s talking about?”
The look on your face must’ve said it all, because your mom immediately sighed.
“Don’t give me that look, Y/N. If you keep this up, you’re going to die alone.”
Your patience snapped. “What part of ‘I don’t need a boyfriend’ do you not understand?” Your voice rose with frustration as you waved a hand in her direction.
“Why are you so angry? I just want what’s best for you, darling. So stop acting up.”
Her voice was sweet as honey, but her eyes were sharp as a knife.
You’d had enough. Dinner was supposed to be food and laughter—not your mom dissecting your love life like it was a group project.
“Fine,” you blurted, louder than you meant to. Everyone froze, forks hovering mid-air. “I’ll bring someone next time. Happy?”
Your mom’s eyes lit up like Christmas morning. “Really?”
You nodded, even though you instantly regretted opening your mouth. “Yes. Really. Now can we please eat without another episode of Let’s Ruin Y/N’s Evening?”
The table relaxed, conversation shifted, and somehow the spotlight slid off you. But inside, you were screaming.
Because now you actually had to find someone to bring home.
And as much as you hated to admit it, there was only one person you knew who’d be ridiculous enough—and loyal enough—to play along.
Bokuto Koutarou.
___________________________________________________________________________
His first reaction was to laugh. Loudly.
Here you were, sitting in a downtown café across from none other than Bokuto Koutarou—the MSBY Black Jackals’ star player and one of your closest friends—while he practically doubled over in amusement.
“You actually agreed to your mom’s demands this time?” he wheezed between laughs.
Your face burned with embarrassment. “Yes, Kou, I did. Stop being meeeaaaan.” You puffed your cheeks out in protest while he kept right on laughing, clearly having the time of his life.
“I hate you,” you muttered, sinking back into your chair in defeat.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he giggled, trying—and failing—to get himself under control.
Finally, he leaned back, still grinning as he lifted his cup for another sip. “So why me? Why’d you come to me with this?”
You sighed. “Because you’re the only one who actually fits the role. And you’re the only one who’d play along with me until she finally backs off.”
Bokuto set his cup down with a thunk, eyes sparkling like you’d just offered him front-row seats to the championship finals.
“So basically…” he leaned in across the table, grin wide, “…you want me to be your boyfriend.”
You groaned. “Fake boyfriend, Kou. Fake.”
He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Fake? Y/N, that hurts. After everything we’ve been through?”
You rolled your eyes, but he was already grinning again, practically bouncing in his seat. “Okay, but honestly? This is gonna be awesome. Your family’s gonna love me. I mean—they already will, obviously. I’m charming, I’m fun, I’m tall—what’s not to love?”
“It’s not supposed to be fun, it’s supposed to be convincing,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face.
Bokuto pointed at you triumphantly. “Exactly! Which is why we need a plan. Like… do we hold hands right away, or save that for later? Should we have a backstory? Do you want me to kiss you in front of them?”
You nearly choked on your drink. “Excuse me?”
He leaned back in his chair, absolutely smug. “What? Gotta sell it, Y/N. Couples kiss. Unless…” His eyes narrowed playfully. “…you’re scared you’ll fall in love with me for real.”
You threw a sugar packet at him. He dodged it easily, laughing so loud that people turned to stare, but he didn’t care one bit.
You glared at him as he smugly sipped his drink. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Of course I am!” Bokuto beamed, leaning back with his usual larger-than-life confidence. “This is like… my dream role. Boyfriend of the year. You just upgraded your whole family dinner experience, Y/N.”
“It’s supposed to be temporary,” you reminded him, stabbing at the ice in your cup with your straw. “One dinner, Kou. That’s it.”
He tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. “Mhm. Sure. And what happens when your mom falls in love with me? What happens when your dad’s like, ‘Wow, this guy’s amazing, marry him immediately’?”
“Then I’ll fake-dump you,” you shot back, deadpan.
Bokuto gasped as if you’d just kicked a puppy. “Fake-dump me? Cold, Y/N. So cold.”
You smirked, but he was already leaning forward again, eyes glinting with mischief. “Okay, okay. But we need rules. Like… do I call you babe? Or honey? Or…” his grin widened, “…owl-ette?”
You buried your face in your hands. “Please don’t.”
“Fine, fine,” he said, though you could tell he was filing it away for later. “But what about couple photos? Do we take selfies to prove our love? Do we share milkshakes with two straws? Hold hands under the table?”
“We’re not writing a rom-com script, Kou. It’s just dinner.”
“Dinner with your entire family judging me like it’s the Olympics.” He shot you a thumbs-up. “Don’t worry. I’ll get a perfect score.”
You groaned, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, twitching upward. Bokuto noticed instantly, his grin stretching wider. “Ha! You’re smiling. That means you believe in us. We’re gonna crush this.”
You tried not to laugh. “God, I already regret this.”
“No you don’t,” he said confidently, eyes crinkling with that boyish excitement that always made it hard to stay annoyed at him.
And maybe, just maybe, he was right.
___________________________________________________________________________
Later that night, your phone buzzed with a new message.
Bokuto: Operation Fake Boyfriend is a go! 🦉💪✨
You groaned, flopping onto your bed. He hadn’t even waited a full day.
You: It’s not an operation, Kou. It’s literally just dinner.
Bokuto: Dinner = war. We need STRATEGY.
You: …You’re ridiculous.
Bokuto: Correct. But also handsome. Don’t forget that part when you introduce me. 😉
You tossed your phone aside, but it buzzed again almost instantly.
Bokuto: What’s my role? Am I the protective boyfriend? The funny one? The mysterious one? Should I wear a suit??
You: You’re my FRIEND pretending for one night. That’s it.
Bokuto: Boring. I vote for mysterious suit boyfriend. Akaashi would say it’s my best angle.
You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head.
The next morning, you woke up to a selfie from him at practice—sweaty, grinning, and holding up a peace sign.
Bokuto: Boyfriend material. Rate me 1–10.
You: 2. At best.
Bokuto: Rude. But I’ll win your mom over anyway. Watch me.
And the worst part? You had no doubt he would.
___________________________________________________________________________
You were pacing in front of the mirror, fingers tugging nervously at your sweater.
“Relax, Y/N, it’s just dinner,” you muttered to yourself.
The knock at the door made you jump. “Kou! You’re early!”
Bokuto leaned against the frame, holding a small bag. “Of course I’m early! A mission like this requires prep. I brought snacks… and my charm.”
You groaned, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Snacks, really? We’re going to dinner, not a volleyball match.”
He winked, stepping inside. “Details, details. Anyway, did you practice your smile? You need to look like you’re enjoying yourself, or my performance will be wasted.”
“I don’t need to practice smiling,” you said, but your face heated anyway.
Bokuto grinned, leaning closer than necessary. “Hmm… maybe. But we also need a handshake, secret signals… you know, couples stuff.”
You rolled your eyes, but your heart skipped when he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, holding it for a little longer than needed. “Kou…”
“What?” he asked, eyes twinkling, pretending innocence.
“Nothing,” you mumbled, looking away, but you couldn’t stop the tiny smile spreading across your face.
He nudged you playfully. “Good. That’s the smile we’ll show your mom. Perfect.”
And just like that, despite the ridiculous plan, you felt a little closer to him.
___________________________________________________________________________
You slid into the passenger seat of Bokuto’s car, trying to look casual even though your heart was doing its own little drumline routine.
“Seatbelt?” he asked, already buckled, eyes flicking to you with that impossible grin.
“Yes, Kou,” you muttered, fastening yours.
He tapped the dashboard dramatically. “Alright, mission briefing: Step one—impress your parents. Step two—keep them off your back. Step three—make sure I look irresistible while doing it.”
“Step three is definitely your favorite,” you muttered, smirking.
“Nuh-uh! Step two is my favorite. But okay, maybe step three is… fun.” He winked at you, elbow brushing yours in a way that made your stomach flip.
You glanced away, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “Just… act normal. That’s all I need. Normal boyfriend, normal Kou.”
He laughed. “Normal? You mean boring? That’s not me, Y/N.”
“I know.” You couldn’t help the soft smile that escaped.
For a moment, the teasing faded, and he just looked at you. Not the dramatic, over-the-top Bokuto, but him—closer, softer, like he knew something you didn’t. He reached out, almost instinctively, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead.
“Ready for this?” he asked quietly, voice lower than usual, almost serious.
You nodded, trying not to let your pulse betray you. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
His grin returned, wide and uncontainable. “Good. Because once we walk in there, we’re a team. Fake or not, they’re gonna love us.”
You felt his hand brush yours—just a fraction longer than necessary.
___________________________________________________________________________
You stepped through the front door, and Bokuto fell naturally into step beside you, arm brushing yours—just enough to sell the act.
“Mission Start,” he whispered, leaning close so only you could hear.
You groaned under your breath. “Stop talking like it’s a game, Kou.”
“It’s a very serious game,” he said, grinning. “High stakes, Y/N. Your mom’s approval is on the line.”
Your mother looked up the moment you entered, arms crossed. Her eyes narrowed slightly when they fell on Bokuto.
“And who might this be?” she asked, suspicious.
Bokuto straightened instantly, chest puffed out like a proud volleyball hero. “I’m Bokuto Koutarou, ma’am! A friend of Y/N’s… and, uh… her boyfriend.”
Your mother’s eyebrows shot up. “Boyfriend?” Her tone was sharp, skeptical.
You felt your stomach drop. “Mom—”
Bokuto ignored you entirely, giving her a winning smile. “Yes, ma’am! I promise to treat Y/N with all the respect she deserves. I’ll be charming, polite, and completely dedicated to her happiness.”
Your mom blinked, caught off guard by his intensity. She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms, still suspicious but intrigued.
“Is this… for real?” she asked, eyes flicking between the two of you.
Bokuto nodded earnestly. “As real as it gets, ma’am. I only agreed because Y/N is… well, let’s just say, impossible to say no to.”
You felt heat rush to your cheeks. “Kou…”
He gave your hand a subtle squeeze under the table, his eyes twinkling at you. “Relax. I got this. Step one: charm the mom.”
Your mother’s lips twitched, almost a smile. She seemed to soften a fraction, still wary but clearly assessing him.
“Well,” she said slowly, “I suppose we’ll see how this ‘boyfriend’ of yours behaves at dinner.”
Bokuto leaned back, whispering to you: “Step two: keep her off your back. Easy. Step three: make it look effortless. I’m basically a professional.”
You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. Somehow, this ridiculous plan felt less stressful with him by your side—and the subtle closeness under the table made your heart skip a little.
___________________________________________________________________________
The dining room smelled of roasted chicken, fresh bread, and your mother’s signature herb roast. The warm glow of the chandelier bounced off the polished table, but you hardly noticed. Your focus was split between Bokuto, seated beside you, and the sharp, appraising gaze of your mother. Every subtle glance from her made your chest tighten.
Bokuto’s presence at your side, however, was steadying. He hadn’t taken your hand yet, but you could feel the warmth from his arm brushing against yours under the table. He leaned slightly toward you, whispering just enough for your ears:
“Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ve got this.”
You swallowed, heart racing, and nodded. Somehow, his calm confidence made it easier to lift your chin, to meet your mother’s watchful eyes.
The first few minutes were a careful dance. Your aunt jumped in, eager to talk about Bokuto’s volleyball career. He leaned forward politely, speaking with the easy confidence of someone used to being in the spotlight, but never once sliding into arrogance. He answered each question thoughtfully, sprinkling in little jokes that were charming without being excessive. You could see your aunt soften almost immediately, leaning in, hanging on his every word.
Your mom, however, remained sharp and reserved. Her questions were precise, her tone skeptical. “And what are your intentions with Y/N?” she asked, not unkindly, but pointedly.
Bokuto’s gaze met hers, and for a fraction of a second, you noticed something different: the playful sparkle in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something serious, almost protective. “I want her to feel safe and happy, ma’am,” he said sincerely. “That’s why I agreed to come with her tonight. She shouldn’t have to handle this alone.”
You felt your stomach flip. Even if this was “fake,” the way he said it—the steadiness in his tone, the subtle sincerity—made it feel real. You glanced at him, and he offered a small, reassuring smile, brushing a stray strand of hair back from your face under the table. Your pulse quickened at the contact, a fleeting, private moment only you two shared.
The conversation continued, slower now, with Bokuto adapting perfectly to your family’s pace. He asked questions about your mother’s garden, your father’s work, and even your sister’s upcoming wedding. His laughter was natural, warm, and punctuated the conversation just enough to make it feel lively.
Your mom leaned back slightly, watching him carefully. You caught the faintest crease in her brow—still cautious—but the rigidity was softening.
“You really care about her?” she asked finally, quieter, almost under her breath.
Bokuto’s expression softened too. He met her gaze steadily. “Yes, ma’am. I care about her a lot. That’s why I agreed to help tonight. I wouldn’t let her face this alone.”
There was no bravado, no charm offensive—just honest words that carried weight. Your mother studied him in silence, and for the first time that evening, you saw her guard lower ever so slightly.
You let out a tiny, almost imperceptible breath. The tension in your shoulders eased fractionally, and you allowed your gaze to linger on Bokuto for a heartbeat longer than necessary. His fingers brushed yours again, this time just a little longer, a subtle, grounding touch under the table. You weren’t sure if anyone else noticed, but in that moment, the fake act felt like it was teetering dangerously close to something real.
You chuckled quietly, shaking your head, but couldn’t stop the small smile spreading across your face. Even with your mom’s cautious scrutiny, Bokuto made it feel like you weren’t alone in the spotlight, and for the first time all evening, you almost forgot that this was supposed to be an act.
___________________________________________________________________________
The rest of the dinner flew by in a whirlwind of laughter, teasing, and surprisingly smooth teamwork between you and Bokuto. He leaned in close when answering questions, letting his hand brush yours under the table when your mother wasn’t looking. Every time she asked a pointed question, he handled it with a mix of charm and confidence that made you breathe a little easier.
At one point, when your mom complimented your choosing, Bokuto leaned toward you and whispered, grinning: “See? Perfect date-night boyfriend.” Before you could protest, he pressed a quick, light kiss to your cheek. Your face heated instantly, but he just smiled, stepping back as if nothing happened.
“I told you I’d make it believable,” he whispered again, giving your hand a playful squeeze.
By the end of the night, your mother’s skeptical gaze had softened into something almost approving. She even laughed at Bokuto’s jokes and nudged him playfully when he complimented the meal.
As you helped clear the table, she said casually, a faint smile tugging at her lips: “Well, Y/N, I must admit… he’s quite charming. You two should come by again soon.”
You shot Bokuto a look, and his grin widened. “See?” he whispered. “Step one complete. Mom loves me.”
You groaned quietly but couldn’t stop the small smile that crept across your face. For all the chaos of pretending, he had managed to pull it off—and somehow, the “fake” boyfriend act felt just a little more real.
Finally, as you gathered your coats and headed toward the door, Bokuto walked beside you, his hand brushing yours again. “Mission accomplished,” he said softly, glancing down at you.
“Yeah,” you murmured, still catching your breath from the whirlwind of the evening. “Fake mission accomplished.”
He winked. “Totally fake. But also… maybe kind of fun.”
And somehow, you had a feeling both of you knew that fun wasn’t entirely pretend.
___________________________________________________________________________
You sank into the passenger seat, still feeling the warmth of Bokuto’s cheek kiss lingering on your skin. The city lights flashed past the window, but you barely noticed. Your thoughts were tangled between how convincing he had been and the absurdity of the night.
Bokuto threw his bag in the backseat and plopped down beside you, grinning like he’d just won a trophy. “So? How’d we do? I think your mom is officially Team Bokuto now.”
“If by ‘team’ you mean mildly suspicious but pretending not to be,” you muttered, buckling your seatbelt, cheeks still tingling.
He nudged your shoulder with his elbow. “Eh, that’s all part of the charm. Suspicion is temporary. Approval is permanent. Trust me.”
You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. “You make it sound so easy. I almost forgot I was supposed to be pretending.”
“Almost? Almost isn’t good enough,” he said, leaning closer, voice dropping to that playful whisper you knew all too well. “Next time, we need to be flawless. That means… training.”
“Training?” You turned to look at him, skeptical.
“Yes. Training. For the next family visit. Your mom is tricky. She’ll sniff out a fake boyfriend faster than a hawk spots prey.”
You groaned dramatically. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
He leaned back, grinning. “Oh, but you didn’t let me. You needed me. Admit it, you’d be hopeless without me by your side.”
You blinked, pretending to glare. “Hopeless? Really?”
“Absolutely,” he said seriously, then his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Which is why step one of training is… a single practice kiss.”
You choked on your laugh, turning away to hide the blush creeping up your neck. “A… what?”
“One kiss. Just to rehearse,” he said, leaning closer so his knee brushed yours. “Professionalism, Y/N. Authenticity. We need to make your mom believe we’re the real deal. One kiss, that’s all. Totally scientific.”
“Kou, you’re insane,” you muttered, heart hammering.
He grinned wider, brushing a loose strand of hair from your forehead. “Maybe. But you know it’ll work. And I’ll make it quick. Promise. Just… one.”
You groaned, burying your face in your hands, but you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. One kiss. But only because it’s… scientific.”
“Exactly!” He leaned back triumphantly, giving you a playful salute. “Team Bokuto strikes again.”
You peeked at him through your fingers, shaking your head. Despite everything, his confidence was contagious. Even though it was supposed to be fake, the thought of him leaning in made your stomach flutter—and you couldn’t tell if it was excitement, nerves, or something dangerously close to real feelings.
“Just… try not to make it feel too real, okay?” you murmured.
“No promises,” he whispered, brushing his fingers against yours just long enough to make your pulse skip, “but we’ll keep it convincing. One kiss. That’s all.”
As the car hummed along the streets, you realized that pretending to be a couple with Bokuto Koutarou was going to be far more complicated—and far more fun—than you ever expected.
___________________________________________________________________________
You perched on the edge of your bed, heart thudding like a drum.
“Okay,” you muttered, trying to steady your breathing, “just one kiss. For practice. That’s all.”
Bokuto leaned against the doorframe, grinning that impossible grin that made your stomach flip. “Exactly. Totally scientific. One kiss. That’s the rule. Strictly professional. I promise.”
You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped despite your nerves. “Yeah, yeah. Professional.”
He stepped closer, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. “Ready?”
You swallowed, nodding, and before you could overthink it, he leaned in. His lips brushed yours quickly, a soft, almost teasing contact—just like he’d said. Your heart jolted at the sensation.
“See?” he whispered, pulling back slightly, eyes sparkling. “All for practice. Easy.”
You blinked, trying to catch your breath. “Yeah… easy.”
But then he leaned in again, slower this time, and pressed his lips to yours for a longer. Your eyes widened in surprise, and your hands instinctively went to his shoulders to steady yourself.
“Kou—wait, it’s just for practice!” you murmured, voice flustered, though your heart betrayed you by hammering wildly.
“I know, I know,” he said softly, his forehead resting against yours for a heartbeat, “just for practice…”
And then he kissed you again. This time, there was no hesitation—soft, warm, yet impossibly tender. His hand brushed your jaw gently, tilting your face slightly so he could deepen the kiss just a fraction.
“For practice,” he whispered between kisses, his voice low and breathless. “Just one kiss. That’s all. Totally necessary.”
Your hands slid to his chest, gripping his shirt lightly as your body reacted before your brain could protest. Every brush of his lips, every soft press of his mouth, made your pulse spike and your thoughts scatter.
He pulled back for a fraction of a second, just long enough for you to gasp and try to catch your racing breath. “You okay?” he asked, voice gentle but teasing.
“I… yeah, fine,” you stammered, cheeks burning hotter than you’d thought possible.
And then he was back, pulling you in again, lips pressing insistently against yours. “For practice,” he murmured, the words almost meaningless against the heat and pressure of the kisses.
Over and over, he kissed you lingering and impossibly close. Each time, he pulled you slightly closer, fingers brushing your hair, your back, your sides, anchoring you against him as if he could feel your pulse racing just as wildly as his own.
“Kou… stop, it’s just—” you began, but the words dissolved into a gasp as he pressed a kiss along your jawline, then back to your lips, whispering once more, “Just… one more,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours again, softer this time, slower. “For practice… I promise, just one more.”
Before you could protest, his hands were resting lightly on your waist, tilting you toward him with a gentle but insistent pressure. Your breath hitched as his lips pressed fully against yours moving against you with a careful, teasing rhythm that sent shivers down your spine.
His fingers threaded into your hair, brushing it back from your face. Your hands, gripping lightly into his shirt once more. The world around you blurred, leaving only the warmth of him, the softness of his lips, and the steady, intoxicating rhythm of the kiss.
He pulled back just enough to let you breathe, his forehead resting against yours again, eyes half-lidded and sparkling with mischief and something softer, deeper.
Then, without a word, he leaned in again. His lips found yours, gentle at first, like if he wants to know if its okay what he is doing. Just to press more firmly again, deepening the kiss again. Your fingers twined into his hair as his hands slid up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks in a careful.
Your heart hammered in your chest. His lips moved with a rhythm, soft and slow. He was exploring you in a way that made your knees weaken and your breath catch. He pressed himself closer, grounding you and making the world outside the small space of the room fade away.
You tried to pull back slightly, to remind him—or yourself—that this was “practice”—but his hands held you firmly, so that he could keep kissing you. The tip of his nose brushed yours, a whisper of a caress, and you gasped softly against him.
He didn’t pause. He kissed you again, lingering over your lips and somehow making the kiss feel endless.
Your hands moved along his face, feeling the strength beneath his jaw. Each time you tried to catch your breath, he nipped gently at your lower lip, then kissed you again, drawing you into him more and more.
You could barely form words, every attempt swallowed by the way he kissed you over and over. Each contact was deliberate and exploratory. You felt dizzy, light-headed, completely absorbed in the feeling and the softness of each repeated press of his lips.
Even as your mind screamed, “What is going on!”, your body betrayed you, responding to the closeness of you.
And still he didn’t stop.
Minutes—or maybe seconds—blurred as he kissed you again and again until your chest ached, your lips tingled, and your thoughts scattered into the dizzying heat of the moment. He wasn’t saying “just for practice” anymore; there were no words, only kisses that left you trembling.
Finally, when he pulled back slightly, just enough to let you breathe, his eyes dark and half-lidded. A heart-flipping grin still playing across his face.
You could only stare at him, lips parted, mind utterly short-circuited, and realize with a jolt that “just practice” had long since stopped being the whole truth.
___________________________________________________________________________
Between kisses, his voice was barely above a whisper, rough and ragged. “I… I thought… I thought if I told myself this was just practice, I could stop. I could control it…” His lips hovered against yours again, “But I… I can’t. I can’t stop kissing you, Y/N. You’re driving me crazy.”
Your chest tightened at the confession, the honesty fueling your own desire. You pressed closer, lips moving over his again.
You could feel his breath against your mouth, slow and uneven and the small noises he made—soft groans, quick murmurs—sent tiny sparks through you with every repetition. His lips explored yours again and again, brushing, pressing, pulling back just a fraction, then diving in with renewed intensity.
It was just you and him, lost in the rhythm of kisses that seemed to stretch into forever.
___________________________________________________________________________
The kisses slowed, softening little by little until they were barely more than gentle brushes of lips, like he was reluctant to let the moment end. Finally, after what felt like forever, Bokuto pulled back just enough to see your face. His hand cradled your cheek, warm and steady, his thumb tracing lightly across your swollen lips as if memorizing them. The kisses slowed, fading into soft brushes until you were both left trembling in the quiet, hearts racing too fast for words.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick with everything unspoken, everything that had just broken free between you.
You swallowed, voice shaky as you whispered, “Kou… what… what was this?”
He shut his eyes briefly, a low exhale escaping him. When he opened them again, the mischief was gone, replaced by something softer, rawer, vulnerable in a way that stole your breath.
“It was me… failing at pretending,” he admitted, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek. “I’ve been in love with you for so long, Y/N. I thought I could handle being your ‘fake boyfriend.’ I thought if I called it practice, if I laughed it off, I could control myself. But tonight…” His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, aching and sincere. “…I couldn’t stop. I’m sorry it escalated like that, but I don’t regret it. Not for a second.”
Your chest tightened, the weight of his words settling over you, warming you from the inside out.
He took a shaky breath, his voice dropping lower, gentler. “So… what I’m asking now is… would you let me be your boyfriend for real this time? Not pretend. Not practice. Just me and you. Because that’s all I’ve ever wanted—”
He didn’t even get to finish.
“Yes,” you blurted, the word leaving your mouth before you could even think. Your heart knew before your head could catch up.
And before he had the chance to react, you leaned in and pressed a quick, sweet kiss to his lips, silencing his rambling and sealing your answer with all the certainty he’d been searching for.
When you pulled back, he stared at you, wide-eyed, stunned, and then his grin broke free—bright, uncontainable, the purest expression of joy you’d ever seen.
And just like that, you knew: You never were happier in your life.
___________________________________________________________________________
Two Years Later
Another family gathering. Same house, same living room, same food spread out across the table. But this time, everything felt different.
Bokuto sat beside you, his hand resting casually over yours, thumb rubbing lazy circles over your skin. He fit into the scene so naturally now, laughing with your dad about volleyball, listening intently to your aunt’s endless stories, even helping your mom carry dishes into the kitchen. He wasn’t your “fake boyfriend” anymore. He wasn’t even just your boyfriend.
He was yours. Your fiancé.
“So, Y/N,” your mother’s voice cut through the chatter, that same familiar sing-song tone she always used when she was about to start trouble. “When are you finally going to get married? You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
You almost laughed. Old habits die hard, apparently.
Instead of answering, you simply lifted your left hand and let the light catch the diamond ring on your finger. The sparkle was impossible to miss.
Your mom’s eyes widened, her words dying in her throat as the rest of the table gasped and leaned in.
Bokuto grinned like the sun itself, sliding his arm proudly around your shoulders. “Already asked her,” he said, chest puffed with pride. “She said yes.”
The room erupted into cheers and questions, but all you saw was the way your mother’s shock melted into a smile—soft, teary-eyed, the kind that admitted defeat but was full of love anyway.
You leaned closer to Bokuto, your ring catching in the light once more as you whispered, “Think she finally believes you’re not fake?”
He laughed, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Guess we were pretty convincing after all, love.”
