beach msby4 and beach femsby4 !! first (proper) colored hq art
found out recently that when u edit a post with a new version of your art it doesn’t update previous reblogs, and now i’m forever haunted by the fact that there are like 10 variations of my drawings out there. how am i supposed to live laugh love under these conditions
so now i’m trying to be more careful before posting, tryna wait a day or two after finishing the art so i can spot mistakes 🙂↕️
Bokuto, your big beefy hunk of a man, who has severe “big dog who thinks they’re a lapdog” syndrome.
The second he’s home, he’s flopping down on you like he’s light as a feather (he’s not).
Cuddle session? Oh you mean being smothered until you’re actually shoving a pouting Bo off of you because you literally cannot breathe but he’s just like “oh so you hate me and want me DEAD?” ?
Don’t forget the struggle of trying to free yourself when he’s napping on you, big body draped over yours (you eventually just give up)
He also, unironically, loves being little spoon. What can he say? He’s just a big teddy bear!
when you leave it got me feeling like so depressed.
timeskip!MSBY!bokuto kōtarō x f!reader
being MSBY’s and bokuto’s beloved manager is easy until you get sick, and bokuto loses the light of his life.
entropy is a scientific concept, but in the msby black jackals’ gym, it looked exactly like a six-foot-two man slumped in the corner behind a stray ball cart.
the atmosphere was practically tectonic. usually, the gym vibrated with the sound of ‘HEY HEY HEY!’ and the thunderous percussion of spikes hitting the floor. today? it sounded like a funeral for a very loud bird.
bokuto was currently experiencing the psychological equivalent of a total solar eclipse. you weren’t there. for the first time in the history of his professional career, the spot three feet to the left of the bench—the spot where you usually stood with a clipboard and that specific, grounding smile—was vacant. empty. a void.
“he’s been there for twenty minutes,” atsumu whispered, gesturing toward the ball cart where bokuto was currently trying to make himself small, which is physically impossible for a man built like a greek god made of boulders. “he’s sulking.”
“it’s pathetic,” sakusa muttered, eyeing bokuto from a safe, ten-foot distance. “he thinks she’s dead. or worse, that she moved to brazil without telling him.”
bokuto was convinced the universe had finally decided to punish him for his ‘emo modes’ by taking away his north star. by the second day of your absence, the ‘thick cloud of sadness’ had evolved into a localized weather system. he hadn’t spiked a single ball into the court. he’d missed every serve. he spent most of the morning staring at his phone, waiting for a text that never came because your migraine was so aggressive that even the thought of a blue-light screen felt like an ice pick to the brain.
it wasn’t until sakusa—driven to the brink of insanity by the lack of structural integrity in the team—snapped and texted the coach.
sakusa: where is the manager? bokuto is currently trying to merge with the floor tiles.
coach foster: oh! right. she’s got a nasty flu. told her to take the week. forgot to mention it. my bad.
when sakusa relayed the news, the transformation was instantaneous. bokuto detonated.
“she’s sick?!” the roar echoed off the rafters. “she’s dying?! i have to go. omi-omi, i have to go right now.”
he didn’t wait for permission. he was a white-and-black blur, bolting out of the gym with the frantic energy of a man who had just realized he left the stove on—if the stove was the love of his life and currently suffering from a 40°C fever.
𓏵
the convenience store clerk had never seen a man move with such desperate, feral intent. bokuto was tossing things into a basket with the precision of a hawk: expensive honey-lemon tea, every flavor of jelly drink available, the softest tissues in the prefecture, and three different types of high-end porridge.
then came the pharmacy. he stood in the aisle, looking like a deer in headlights, staring at a wall of cold medicine as if it were a complex offensive formation. naturally, he called the only person who could tether him to reality.
“agaashiiii! if she has a headache but also a cough, do i get the blue box or the red box? does the red one taste bad? she likes peaches! is there a peach-flavored medicine for adults?!”
“bokuto, please breathe,” came the weary, yet fond voice over the speaker. “get the standard tablets. and don’t give her caffeine. also, did you buy flowers?”
“flowers. yes. strawberries too. she needs vitamins. i’m a genius, akaashi.”
𓏵
when the doorbell rang at 2:00 pm, you were currently a cocoon of blankets, feeling like your brain had been replaced by wet cement. your eyes were puffy, your nose was a shade of pink that would rival a sunset, and your hair looked like a bird’s nest that had survived a hurricane.
you shuffled to the door, peering through the peephole. all you saw was a giant bouquet of sunflowers and a mop of silver-and-black hair.
the moment you turned the deadbolt, the door flew open—not with force, but with a desperate kind of urgency.
“my favorite human!”
bokuto lunged. for a split second, you braced for the impact of a 190-pound professional athlete, but he slowed down at the last centimeter. he caught you in a hug that was as light as a feather, his large hands hovering over your back as if you were made of the finest, most fragile porcelain.
he pulled back, his golden eyes scanning your face with enough intensity to melt lead. “you look... you look...”
you winced, expecting him to say ‘terrible.’
“…absolutely stunning,” he breathed, his voice cracking. “even when you’re melting, you’re the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen. i thought you quit! i thought you hated me! i thought i did a spike so bad you decided to never look at me again!”
his knees actually buckled a little. he looked like a kicked puppy who had just been offered a steak. before you could even protest that you were contagious, his arms were under your knees and behind your back. he swept you up in a bridal carry so smooth it felt like you were floating.
𓏵
“bokuto, you’ll get sick,” you croaked, your voice sounding like a rusted gate.
“i have the immune system of a mountain lion!” he declared, marching toward your bedroom. “and even if i catch it, then we can be sick together. it’ll be a team bonding exercise!”
he settled you into bed with more care than he’d ever given a volleyball. then, the babbling started. it was as if two days of silenced thoughts were bursting out of him.
“the gym was so quiet,” he whispered, tucking the duvet around your chin. “i kept looking at the spot where you stand. i even sat there for a while, just hoping i’d catch your scent or something. everyone told me to stop being weird, but they don’t understand. i can’t function without hearing your voice telling me my form is slightly off. i missed your voice so much it felt like my ears were broken.”
he was peeling an orange for you, his large, calloused fingers working with surprising delicacy.
“i even tried to hide in that little gap between the equipment shed and the wall,” he admitted, looking genuinely ashamed. “like a lost dog. hinata tried to lure me out with buns, but i wasn’t hungry. how can i eat when my manager—my favorite person in the whole wide world—is suffering alone?”
he fed you the orange slices one by one. you were too tired to argue, and honestly, the way he was looking at you—like you were the center of his entire solar system—was doing more for your recovery than any pill could.
when you mentioned you needed to freshen up, he went into full bodyguard mode. he prepped the bathroom, steamed it up just right, and then insisted on waiting right outside the door.
“if you slip, just yell! i’m right here!”
when you emerged, damp and shaky, he was sitting on the floor with a literal blindfold tied over his eyes.
“bokuto... what are you doing?”
“akaashi said i have to be a gentleman! i’m not looking! but i’m here if you need balance!”
you laughed and he visibly brightened, his head whipping toward the sound of your voice. “that! i missed that! that’s the best sound in the league! forget the roar of the crowd, i want that on a loop!”
he spent the next twenty minutes drying your hair. he used the lowest heat setting, his fingers combing through your strands with a gentleness that made your heart do backflips. he was so focused, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration, ensuring he didn’t pull a single hair.
“there,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head once it was dry. “now, medicine time.”
he watched you swallow the tablets with an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration. it was the look of a man who was completely and utterly gone for you. he was at the bottom of the ocean, and he didn’t want air.
𓏵
by evening, the exhaustion of being a full-time nurse-slash-fanboy caught up to him. you were drifting off, the medicine finally kicking in, when you felt a weight settle on the side of your mattress.
bokuto was sitting on the floor, his head resting on the edge of the bed, his hand firmly but carefully clutching yours. he looked so small in the dim light, the usual bravado replaced by a quiet, desperate need for proximity.
you reached out, your fingers trembling slightly from the fever, and brushed a stray lock of silver hair away from his forehead.
“i like you too, kōtarō,” you whispered into the quiet room, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to his brow. “so much.”
you fell asleep shortly after, missing the way his eyelashes fluttered and the way his entire body went rigid the moment your lips touched his skin.
𓏵
the next morning, the fever had broken. you woke up feeling lighter, the cement in your head having turned back into actual thoughts. however, there was a new weight—a very warm, very solid weight.
bokuto was in the bed. he wasn’t technically under the covers, but he was on top of them, his arms wrapped around you in a protective, suffocatingly sweet embrace. he was staring at you with wide, awake eyes. he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink, but he also looked like he’d just won the olympic gold.
“you’re awake!” he chirped, though his voice was uncharacteristically soft.
“i feel much better,” you smiled, trying to shift, but his grip only tightened.
“so...” he started, his lower lip trembling in a way that was almost tragically cute. “about last night. you said you liked me. and you kissed my head. and i’ve been thinking about it for six hours and twelve minutes.”
he sat up, pulling you with him so you were sitting in his lap, encased in his warmth. he looked at you with such yearning, such raw, pathetic hope, that your heart felt like it was going to burst.
“i already decided in my head that we’re dating,” he whispered, his face inches from yours. “i already told the group chat we’re ‘engaged in spirit.’ but... i should probably ask the official way, right?”
he took a deep breath, his golden eyes shimmering with a mixture of devotion and sheer desperation. “would you let me be your boyfriend? i’ll take care of you every day. i’ll spike every ball for you. i’ll even let you have the last bite of my meat buns. please?”
you didn’t even have time to get the ‘yes’ out before his face transformed. when you nodded, he looked completely discombobulated, his brain short-circuiting at the sheer joy of it.
“really?! yes?! hey hey hey!”
he peppered every single inch of your face with tiny, frantic kisses. your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your chin—he was like a heat-seeking missile of affection.
“i’m gonna be the best boyfriend ever,” he promised, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his tail-wagging energy practically shaking the bed. “i’m never letting you get sick again. i’m banning germs. i’m fighting the flu with my bare hands!”
as he pulled you back down into the pillows, refusing to let go for even a second, you realized that being managed by bokuto was going to be a lot more intense than managing him—and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
n: i love it when men are pathetically in love. yk? y’all get me? right? RIGHT??
he is always greedy about eating you out. he can even pout if you deny him his favourite dessert. his hands grab your thighs harshly, leaving his digits marked on your flesh as he takes his time savouring your fluids as your soft moans fill his ears. his tongue goes sooo slowly but it’s just the perfect rhythm to make you feel good for hours.
✶ SAKUSA KYOOMI ⋮
despite of how collected he looks like, this man is nasty when it’s about eating you out. he doesn’t do it often, but when he does it, it’s messy. his tongue is all over you as he uses his hand to stimulate your clit as well. your fluids dripping down his chin as he kisses your inner thighs as well, looking up at your face just to see how you fall apart just because of his tongue.
✶ HINATA SHOYO ⋮
he gets really excited. like a little kid getting his favourite lollipop. he can even cum just from eating you out. his hands holding your plushie thighs to keep your legs spread as his tongue tries to reach every single spot of your delicious cunt. no fingers, no dick, he just wants to use his tongue because he will never miss how sweet you are.
✶ BOKUTO KOTARO ⋮
oh. my. god. despite what y’all can think, this man is rough when he eats you out. he licks, bites, sucks, kisses flicks and anything he can do to your heaven in earth. he loves to spit on it and moans against your cunt when you pull him flush against your core — as if he needs you to tell him twice. it’s his favourite thing in this world, but especially when you’re riding his face. hands on your butt as he completely devours your sweet pussy. as he says, heaven in earth.
Bokutō Kōtarō teaching your daughter how to say “Hey Hey Hey” —fluff
“C’mon, baby, I know you can do it! Say: Hey. Hey. Hey.”
Your babygirl grins widely, looking incredibly cute in her Hello Kitty Onesie. “H…H!! He!”
You giggle, gently tickling her sides, making her squirm on your lap. Your Husband shakes his head slowly, “No, no. It’s: Hey! Hey! Hey!”
Your daughter laughs loudly and slaps Bokuto with her tiny hand. “Dada! Da-Da!!”
You gently tangle your fingers in her black and white Hair, making her look up to you, “Ma-Ma-Ma!!” Her little toddler fingers grab your hand, being completely distracted by them.
Bokuto’s hair falls down and he pouts softly, “Cmon, I believe in you.”
He taps his pointer finger against your Daughter’s shoulder, trying to get her attention back. “Just say Daddy’s Catchphrase: Hey! Hey! Heyy!”
He tries to make her say it for thirty more minutes, failing miserably.
Later that Day, you’re all watching ‘Bluey’ together as your Daughter randomly shouts, “Hey! Hey! Heeey!”
You gasp loudly and Bokuto jumps up immediately, just to drop on his knees dramatically, “She said it!! She actually said it! I’m the happiest man alive!”
You giggle so hard, your belly hurts and your daughter just looks confused from one parent to the other.
。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。
a/n: English isn’t my first language, criticism is welcomed but please be nice. Likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! Do not steal or copy my work.
n: I’m having baby fever and need to be Bokuto’s wife so bad // divider by @cursed-carmine
synopsis: making out with bokuto in the back of his car
~
You were in the backseat of Bokuto’s car, making out with him. His car parked at the end of the driveway far away from the party.
You straddled his lap, bare legs, nothing on but underwear and a T-shirt. His hands roamed over your hips, squeezing your ass slowly, deliberately.’
“I missed you,” he murmured against your neck.
“Did you?” Your hands wrapped around his neck, playing with hairs at the nape of his neck.
"What kind of question is that?" Bokuto scoffed, though the amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips betrayed him.
"Because..." you began softly, reaching up to gently guide his face away from the crook of your neck until his golden eyes met yours. "You don't act like you love me."
For a brief moment, he simply stared at you. Then a slow grin spread across his face, warm and unmistakably confident.
Without saying a word, his hands slid up your arms until they cradled your face with surprising tenderness. His thumbs brushed lightly across your cheeks as he leaned in, closing the distance between you.
When his lips met yours, the kiss was slow at first, affectionate enough to make your heart skip. It deepened naturally as he smiled against your lips, his quiet reassurance saying far more than words ever could.
Almost instantly, every doubt swirling through your mind dissolved. You found yourself melting into the kiss, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back, completely forgetting the question you'd asked only moments before.
Bokuto slowly pulled away, leaving only a breath of space between the two of you. His forehead rested against yours as he struggled to steady his breathing, his chest rising and falling with every uneven inhale. His amber eyes searched yours, filled with an intensity that made your heart pound.
"I fucking love you," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.
There wasn't a trace of hesitation in his words.
They were raw, honest, and overwhelming.
His thumb brushed gently across your cheek as a small, breathless smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as though saying it aloud had lifted a weight from his chest. Even without another kiss, the way he looked at you said everything you needed to know.
Your entire body felt as though it had been set ablaze, and Bokuto was the one fanning the flames. His hand rested at the curve of your hip, his thumb absentmindedly tracing slow circles against your skin as he looked at you with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs.
"I want you," you whispered, your voice steadier than you expected. "Right here, in the back of this car."
A low groan escaped him as your words sank in. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, fighting to collect himself while you shifted closer, making his resolve falter.
"You have no idea what you're doing to me," he muttered, his voice strained.
His fingers tightened around your hips as he gently but firmly stilled your movement, forcing himself to create a sliver of distance between the two of you.
"Not in the car," he said, shaking his head despite the temptation written across his face. "Come on." A small, breathless smile tugged at his lips as he met your gaze. "Let's go inside."
"In the party?" you repeated, your nose scrunching in disbelief. "People might walk in on us."
Bokuto shot you a look, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. "When has that ever stopped you?"
Your eyes widened as you reached over and smacked his chest lightly.
"That was one time!" you argued, trying to hide the embarrassment creeping onto your face. "And that is exactly why I don't want to do that anymore."
Bokuto laughed, the sound warm and effortless as he caught your hand before you could pull it away. "Okay, okay," he said, still smiling. "No more risky decisions."
You narrowed your eyes at him, knowing he was enjoying how flustered he had made you. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"Maybe," he admitted, his grin widening. "But you're cute when you're trying to act serious."
You rolled your eyes, though the smile on your face gave you away.
Bokuto leaned closer, his expression softening as he looked at you. The teasing faded, replaced by the same warmth that had drawn you to him in the first place.
"Come on," he said quietly, squeezing your hand. "Let's get somewhere we can actually have sex together."
Despite the chaos of the party still happening around you, the two of you lingered there for a moment, caught up in your own little world.
