! - if you have any recommendations or any plots that you want to see , just send me a message or an ask and I will gladly do it for you! (unless stated otherwise.)
fandoms: mha, the disastrous life of saiki k, haikyuu, kurokos basketball, smallville, Harry Potter, jjk, death note (and any others if I know it or ill get to know about it!)
A/n: all of my work will have all genres (and are x reader) unless stated otherwise. This will also be updated every time.
TALK PRETTY WHILE YOUâRE MAKINâ A MESS OF ME ( katsuki bakugou )
GOONING SESSION ( denki kaminari )
LOOK AT YOU SHAKING ALREADY FOR BOTH OF US ( kagami taiga & aomine daiki )
more coming soon ęŠ .á
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Snowed in at a remote research cabin, warmth becomes a shared resourceâand restraint becomes harder to maintain.
This content contains mature themes, sexual tension, intimacy. Contains soft smut. Minors do not interact.
Xavier x reader. around 1.7k wc
I recommend listening to the song above for maximum emotion.
The cabin wasnât built for comfort; it was a scar of wood and reinforced steel carved into the unforgiving, frozen ribs of the mountains. It was a contingency pointâa place designed for the moments when the Deepspace Hunterâs Association lost their grip on a mission, when extraction failed, and the storm swallowed the world whole.
You and Xavier had lived in these cabins before, it was nothing new. You were partners accustomed to the continuously sudden shifts in weather and the high-stakes silence of a mission gone sideways. But tonight, the atmosphere inside the cabin didn't just feel cold; it felt unbearably pressurized, as if the oxygen was being slowly replaced by something heavy, gold, and dangerous.
The snowstorm had rolled in with a predatory speed, thick enough to choke the signal clean out of your comms. First, the frantic voices of the Link on the other end turned to grit, then to static, then to a haunting, absolute nothing.
Protocol was a cold comfort: Shelter. Conserve energy. Wait.
The heavy door thudded shut, sealing the two of you into a space that felt intentionally compressed. Efficient. Small. A single queen-sized bed was shoved against the far wall, a kitchenette no more than an arm's reach away, and a single heater mounted low on the wall that ticked unevenly, like a heart struggling to beat against a rising tide.
Xavier didnât pace. He never did.
He moved with that infuriating, graceful lethality he always possessed, dropping his pack and crossing to the console. His fingersâpale, long, and elegantâdanced over the controls, checking power levels and backup batteries. The dim emergency lights caught the silver of his hair, turning him into something ethereal, a celestial being trapped in a wooden box.
You moved to the bed, smoothing the scratchy wool blanket. Your hands lingered there, pressing into the mattress, feeling the phantom vibration of the storm through the floorboards. Or perhaps it wasn't the storm. Perhaps it was just the humming tension in your own marrow, a reaction to the sheer, unavoidable proximity of him.
âStormâs not easing,â Xavier said. His voice was soft, a silken ripple in the quiet, but it carried that weight of centuries-old patience.
You looked toward the window. The world had vanished. There was no horizon, no sky, just a violent, swirling white that pressed against the glass as if the mountain itself was trying to get in. âSo weâre here for the night?â
âFortunately,â he replied.
He reached out and flicked on the small, outdated television. He didn't expect a broadcast; he just wanted the noise.
Static crackled softly, a jagged, white sound that filled the gaps between your heartbeats. He adjusted the volume until it was a low, rhythmic hissâa reminder that a world existed beyond this box of wood and stone.
When you turned back, he was watching you. It wasn't the look of a teammate checking for injuries. It was the way a star looks at the planet itâs bound toâunblinking, gravitational, and quietly burning with a heat that could incinerate if you stepped too close.
âIâm going to take a shower,â he said, his eyes dropping to the damp, salt-stained hem of your tactical gear. âThe cold is settling in. I can feel it in my bones.â
âYeah,â you blurted out, the word hitting the air too fast, too jagged. âIâll... Iâll check the heater. See if I can coax it into working.â
The bathroom door clicked shut, the sound echoing like a gavel. A moment later, the pipes groanedâa mechanical protest before the sound of rushing water took over. It was a terrifyingly intimate sound. Every splash, every muffled movement of his body behind that thin door felt like it was being broadcast directly into your nervous system. You knelt by the heater, adjusting a dial that did nothing, your breath fogging in the air.
You told yourself not to picture him. You told yourself not to imagine the way his Evol might flicker beneath his skin when heâs relaxed, the faint light of his core glowing through his chest.
You failed spectacularly.
The background noise of the TV blurred with the sound of the shower, creating a hypnotic, sensual drone that made your skin feel too tight for your body.
When the water finally stopped, the silence that followed was visceral.
The door creaked open, and Xavier emerged, draped in a haze of steam that clung to him like a shroud. He brought the humidity with him, a cloud that smelled of cedar and the clean, intoxicating scent of his skin. He had a towel slung lowâdangerously, heart-stoppingly lowâaround his hips. His skin was flushed a soft, bruised pink from the heat, making the pale scars on his shoulders stand out in sharp relief.
You looked. You couldnât help it. Droplets of water traced slow, agonizing paths down the center of his chest, carving a line over his abdominals before disappearing into the white terry cloth. He caught your gaze. He didn't look away. Instead, he tilted his head, his eyes darkened into a shade of gold that looked like molten honey.
âI can wait outside while you change,â you offered, your voice sounding thin.
âItâs fine,â he said. His voice had dropped an octave, a low, vibrating baritone. âIâll be quick.â
He turned his back to you to pull on his boxers. The sight of his spineâthe way the muscles shifted under his skinâmade your throat go bone-dry.
âI should change too,â you whispered.
Xavier glanced over his shoulder, his eyes tracing the line of your throat. He reached into his pack and pulled out a clean, oversized long-sleeved shirt. âHere. This will keep the heat in better. Youâre shivering.â
You took the fabric from him. Your fingers brushedâjust for a fraction of a secondâbut it felt like a lightning strike.
Inside the bathroom, the air was still thick with him. You pulled on his shirt. It was massive, the hem hitting your mid-thigh, the fabric still carrying a hint of his residual warmth. It didn't make you feel safer; it made you feel like you were being consumed.
When you stepped back out, the cabin was even darker. The only light came from the flickering, hypnotic gray of the TV static. Xavier was sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard.
âSignalâs still dead,â he said.
âFigures,â you replied, crawling onto the far side of the bed. You pulled the blanket up to your chin, but the mattress dipped deeply under his weight, pulling you toward the center. Toward him.
The cold of the storm began to seep through the walls, persistent and biting. You shiveredâa small, uncontrollable tremor. Xavier reacted instantly. He shifted, lifting the edge of the blanket and drawing you toward him with a quiet, devastating decisiveness.
His body was a fucking furnace. Your back hit his chest, and you let out a ragged breath. His arm draped over your waist, his large, calloused hand settling flat against your stomach.
âThis is just for warmth,â he murmured against the shell of your ear. âPracticality,â
âYeah,â you whispered. âPracticality.â
But then you shifted, and your leg moved against his. The bare skin of your calf brushed the firm, solid muscle of his thigh. You both froze. The noise of the TV seemed to roar in the silence.
Xavierâs grip on your waist tightened. He let out a low, pained groan deep in his throat and rolled you over so you were pinned beneath him. The gray light caught the gold in his eyes. They were wide, the pupils blown so large they almost swallowed the iris.
âYouâre making this hard,â he whispered, his face inches from yours. âIâve tried so hard to be the partner you need. To be âpractical.â To be patient.â
Your pulse was skidding, erratic and wild. âXavierâŚâ
âBut youâre wearing my clothes,â he trailed off, his gaze dropping to your lips. âAnd the world is gone outside that door. And I canât hear anything but the way your heart is screaming for me.â
âXavier,â you breathed like a prayer.
âI want to hear you say it,â he rasped, his nose brushing yours. âTell me youâve been wanting this as much as I have.â
âI have,â you confessed, your voice breaking. âSince the beginning.â
He broke. He kissed you with a ferocity that was a reclamation. His mouth was hot, his tongue sweeping against yours. He bit the soft skin of your neck, and as you moaned, he lifted you with effortless strength, settling you onto his lap so you straddled him.
He hooked his fingers under the hem of the shirt, pulling it upward. Inch by inch, the fabric retreated. As it slid off your shoulders, he let out a hitching breath. âGod... youâre so beautiful. More than I ever imagined.â
He circled your waist with his thumbs, tilting your hips to press your heat firmly against the hard, throbbing length of him. You let out a sharp gasp, your hands digging into his shoulders.
âYou feel that?â he whispered, his forehead against yours. âThatâs what you do to me. Every single day I spend with you.â
He moved to the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down until you were completely exposed. Every touch was a worship. He leaned forward, his mouth finding the swell of your breasts, his tongue slow and reverent. You arched your back, fingers tangling in his hair.
âXavier, please,â you urged, your hips rolling against him instinctively.
âIâve got you,â he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He pulled his own boxers off as he shifted his thighs to frame yours, pulling you flush against him so no air remained between you. One hand settled on your lower back, pulling you into a deep, grinding friction that made your vision blur.
You moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm, testing the weight of him. Xavier followed your lead, his hips lifting to meet your downward press, matching your pace with a discipline that was fracturing.
âLook at me,â he commanded softly, his eyes shimmering with golden light. As you met his gaze, he increased the intensity, his hands cupping your thighs to guide the depth of the contact. âIs this okay? Tell me what you need.â
âMore,â you gasped, your chest heaving against his. âI need... closer.â
He groaned, the sound raw and desperate. He pulled you tighter, his mouth returning to yours as his hips began a steady, powerful drive upward. It was no longer a tease; it was a collision. You could feel every pulse of his heartbeat through the friction of your bodies, the heat between your thighs becoming a white-hot spark.
âYouâre so tight,â he rasped into the hollow of your neck. âIâm not going to be able to go slow anymore. Youâre ruining me.â
âDonât go slow,â you pleaded, your nails scratching the skin of his back.
He took the invitation, his rhythm becoming faster, more urgent. He held your hips in a vice-like grip, grounding you as the sensation began to coil into a tight, unbearable knot. You were moving together in a blur of skin and static, the TV being a perfect backdrop to the sounds of your joined breaths and the wet friction of the act.
âThatâs it,â he whispered, his voice dark and possessive as he felt your body begin to tense. âStay with me. Just like that.â
The coil inside you snapped. You arched your back, a long, shattered cry escaping you as the pleasure rolled through you in waves. Xavier didn't stop; he drove into the friction one last time, his thumbs digging into your hips, his own breath catching in a ragged, broken moan as he followed you over the edge.
He held you through the tremors, his forehead resting on your shoulder, his chest heaving. The silence that followed was sacred. He didn't pull away; he kept you close, his hands stroking your back as your breathing slowly returned to the room.
âIâve wanted to do that for so long,â he whispered into your skin, his voice small and honest. âIâm never letting you go back to just being my partner. You know that, right?â
You collapsed against him, your heart still drumming against his ribs. âI know.â
Outside, the storm erased the mountains. But inside, under the flicker of the static, the white noise had finally settled into peace.
end
A/n: please be sure to check out my other works if you liked this & I really do hope you enjoyed reading this piece! reblogs and likes are always much appreciated.
He only comes to you when heâs drunk and lost. You stay long enough to realize love isnât supposed to feel like disappearing.
This content contains emotional angst and heartbreak but also the painful truth that not all hearts are meant to be fixed.
Timeskip!Atsumu x Reader. around 1.1k wc
I recommend listening to the song above for maximum emotion.
The phone vibrates at 1:17 a.m.
You donât need to look at the screen to know who it is. The timing is a signatureâlate enough to signify a disaster, early enough to catch you in the fragile space before deep sleep. The vibration hums against the nightstand, a low, tectonic rattle that settles somewhere behind your ribs.
atsumu:
âm comin over
open pls
The spelling is sloppy, the words urgent and entitled. He never offers a greeting or an explanation. He moves through your life like he moves on the court: assuming the space is already his. You stare at the glow of the screen, your thumb hovering like this is still a choice you make freely, like history hasnât already taught you what happens next.
You unlock the door. You donât even check the peephole.
By the time the elevator chimes, youâre standing barefoot on the cool tile, the apartment quiet and dim. Tokyo stretches endlessly beyond the windowsâa sprawl of cold neon and distant sirens, a city too vast to notice people like you learning the same devastating lesson over and over again.
You open the door before he can knock.
Atsumu stumbles inside with a familiarity that used to feel like intimacy, but now just feels like a trespass. Heâs too large for the narrow entryway, his shoulder clipping the frame. He kicks his shoes offâone hitting the wall, the other overturnedâand the air in the apartment shifts. He brings the outside in with him: the smell of stale whiskey, the ozone of a storm, and the sharp, metallic tang of blood.
Heâs a mess of jagged edges. Thereâs a split at the corner of his mouth and a bruise already blooming like a dark, ugly flower along the sharp line of his jaw. He looks like a masterpiece that someone took a hammer to.
âHey,â he says. His voice is a rough sandpaper rasp, but it softens when it lands on you, that familiar Kansai lilt dragging over your name like a hook.
You donât comment on his face. You never do. To speak of it is to acknowledge the cycle, and you aren't ready to break the silence yet. You just step aside and gesture toward the bathroom. He follows without protest, his gait heavy and uncoordinated, his presence sucking the oxygen out of the hallway.
The bathroom light is a clinical, unforgiving white. It strips away the glamour of the MSBY star, the "Miya Atsumu" the world worships, and leaves only the wreckage. You soak a cloth at the sink, wring it out carefully, and turn back to him.
Heâs sitting on the edge of the tub, elbows on his knees, watching you from beneath his gold-tinged lashes. In this light, he looks stripped downâunguarded in a way the cameras never see. Itâs the look he saves just for you, a curated vulnerability that he uses to keep you tethered.
âYouâre good at this,â he murmurs as you press the cool cloth to his split knuckles.
The words weigh more than he knows. You donât answer though. You focus on the rhythm of the workâthe steady pressure, the way his breath catches when you hit a sensitive spot. Youâve memorized the map of his endurance. You know exactly when to pull back and when to hold firm.
Your knees brush as you crouch before him. Heâs warm, radiating a heat that makes your chest ache. He leans into your touch slightly, instinctive, trusting, like this is where heâs meant to be when things fall apart.
âRan into some idiots,â he says lightly, trying to find his swagger. âNothinâ big. Just some guys with loud mouths.â
You hum, a low, noncommittal sound. Outside, a siren wails in the distance, a lonely sound that matches the hollow feeling in your gut. You clean the cut above his brow with surgical precision. This part is easy. Itâs the "after" that hurtsâthe part where he leaves and takes all the light with him.
âYou didnât have to come here, Atsumu,â you say quietly.
He lets out a breathy, jagged laugh that smells of bourbon. âYeah, I did. Didn't know where else to go.â
âYou have other places,â you reply, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to remain cool. âYou have a high-rise, a team, a life. Other people.â
His jaw tightens. The softness in the room curdles into something sour. He looks away, his eyes fixing on the grout of the tiled wall.
âShe justââ He stops, shaking his head as if the rest of the sentence is too heavy to lift. âForget it. It doesnât matter.â
But it does. Her presence is a third person in the cramped bathroom. She is the reason for the blood on his shirt and the hollow look in his eyes. Youâve learned to live in her shadow, convincing yourself you were "strong" for being the one who picks up the pieces she breaks. Some nights, it feels more like youâre just⌠convenient. A safety net he doesn't have to thank.
âYou know she shouldnât hit you,â you say, the words finally slipping out.
The shift is instantaneous. The vulnerability vanishes, replaced by the iron-clad ego that made him a legend. He straightens his spine, his posture becoming a shield.
âDonât start,â he says, his voice dropping an octave, warning.
âIâm not starting anything. Iâm just saying what I see.â
âYou always think you see everythinâ,â he snaps, pushing to his feet too fast. He sways, his balance betrayed by the alcohol, and instinct winsâyou reach out, steadying him by the forearms.
He doesnât pull away.
Instead, his hands find your waist, heavy and possessive. His forehead drops to yours, his breath warm and smelling of regret. For a heartbeat, the world shrinks to this: the heat of him, the familiar weight, and the way your heart betrays you by wanting to stay right here in the wreckage.
âYouâre makinâ it a bigger deal than it is,â he whispers against your skin, his thumb tracing the hem of your shirt. âIt ain't like that.â
âThen what is it like?â Your voice is shaking now, tears pricking the backs of your eyes. âBecause from where Iâm standing, you argue, she hits you, you fight strangers, and you end up here.â
âThatâs none of your business,â he says, the coldness returning to his tone like a sudden frost.
âYou make it my business,â you reply, finally wrenching yourself out of his grip. The loss of his heat is a physical shock. âEvery time you knock on my door at 1 a.m. because you're too ashamed to go anywhere else, you make it my business.â
He scoffs, a sharp, ugly sound. âI didnât ask you to take care of me. You just do it.â
âBecause I thought I was helping you,â you whisper.
The silence that follows is thick.
âSheâs perfect,â he says suddenly, the words flying out of his mouth like a defensive reflex, as if itâs a fact that should end the conversation.
You stare at him, truly seeing him for the first time in years. âPerfect? Atsumu, look at your face. Look at your hands. Look at this room.â
âOi,â he snaps, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, petty fire. âYou don't understand her. You don't understand what we have.â
âI understand more than you think,â you say, words spilling now, unstoppable. âI understand that Iâm the one cleaning your blood off my towels while sheâs sleeping in your bed. I see you chasing someone who hurts you. I see you breaking yourself in half trying to be enough for her. And I see myself standing here, pretending it doesnât kill me.â
His expression hardens into a mask of pure, arrogant ice. This is the Atsumu who crushes opponents, the one who doesn't know how to lose. He looks down at you with a chilling indifference.
âYouâre takinâ this too personal,â he says.
âBecause it is personal,â you snap back. âYou come here when sheâs done with you. You let me clean up the mess. And the second I say something you donât like, Iâm âoverstepping.ââ
âYou donât know your place. You never did.â
The words land with more force than any punch he took tonight. The "place" heâs assigned youâthe secondary character, the silent healer, the footnote.
Something inside you finally gives. It isn't a loud, dramatic break; it's a quiet, devastating clarity. Itâs the sound of a key turning in a lock for the last time. You realize that you aren't the person who saves himâyou're the person who makes it possible for him to keep being destroyed. By being his safety net, youâve become his enabler.
You slap him.
The sound is a gunshot in the small bathroom. His head snaps to the side, his blond hair falling over his eyes. He goes completely still. His eyes go wide, stunned into a silence he hasn't felt in years. Your hand stingsâa sharp, electric heat that makes you feel more alive than you have in monthsâbut you donât pull it back.
âFuck you,â you say, your voice terrifyingly steady. âIâm done being the place you land when everything else falls apart.â
He opens his mouth, his tongue darting out to touch the new copper taste of blood on his lip. He looks like heâs searching for a joke, an insult, a way to regain the upper hand, but for once, he finds nothing. You step back, putting a chasm between you that no amount of history can bridge.
âGet some sleep,â you say, walking toward the door. âYou know where the couch is. Youâll be gone by the time I wake up. And don't bother ever coming back here.â
âWaitââ
You close your bedroom door before he can finish. You turn the lock. Itâs a small, metallic click, but in the heavy silence of the apartment, it sounds like a funeral bell.
You lean your back against the wood, sliding down until youâre sitting on the floor. You listen to the muffled, clumsy sounds of him moving in the other room, the rustle of the couch cushions, the eventually heavy silence of a man who has lost the only real person in his life.
Outside, Tokyo keeps glowing, beautiful and indifferent. Your chest aches with a weight that feels like it might actually kill you. But as you sit there in the dark, listening to the city hum, you realize that some hearts aren't meant to be fixed by other people. Some hearts are meant to stay broken until they learn how to beat for themselves.
end
A/n: I wanted to write something raw and emotional âabout loving someone you shouldnât, about heartbreak that feels inescapable, and moments where love and pain collide. Atsumu was always such a complicated character to me, and I needed to explore him in a way thatâs messy, emotional, and real. So, thank you for letting me share this version of him to you (even though it is terribly devastating to read).
He only comes to you when heâs drunk and lost. You stay long enough to realize love isnât supposed to feel like disappearing.
This content contains emotional angst and heartbreak but also the painful truth that not all hearts are meant to be fixed.
Timeskip!Atsumu x Reader. around 1.1k wc
I recommend listening to the song above for maximum emotion.
The phone vibrates at 1:17 a.m.
You donât need to look at the screen to know who it is. The timing is a signatureâlate enough to signify a disaster, early enough to catch you in the fragile space before deep sleep. The vibration hums against the nightstand, a low, tectonic rattle that settles somewhere behind your ribs.
atsumu:
âm comin over
open pls
The spelling is sloppy, the words urgent and entitled. He never offers a greeting or an explanation. He moves through your life like he moves on the court: assuming the space is already his. You stare at the glow of the screen, your thumb hovering like this is still a choice you make freely, like history hasnât already taught you what happens next.
You unlock the door. You donât even check the peephole.
By the time the elevator chimes, youâre standing barefoot on the cool tile, the apartment quiet and dim. Tokyo stretches endlessly beyond the windowsâa sprawl of cold neon and distant sirens, a city too vast to notice people like you learning the same devastating lesson over and over again.
You open the door before he can knock.
Atsumu stumbles inside with a familiarity that used to feel like intimacy, but now just feels like a trespass. Heâs too large for the narrow entryway, his shoulder clipping the frame. He kicks his shoes offâone hitting the wall, the other overturnedâand the air in the apartment shifts. He brings the outside in with him: the smell of stale whiskey, the ozone of a storm, and the sharp, metallic tang of blood.
Heâs a mess of jagged edges. Thereâs a split at the corner of his mouth and a bruise already blooming like a dark, ugly flower along the sharp line of his jaw. He looks like a masterpiece that someone took a hammer to.
âHey,â he says. His voice is a rough sandpaper rasp, but it softens when it lands on you, that familiar Kansai lilt dragging over your name like a hook.
You donât comment on his face. You never do. To speak of it is to acknowledge the cycle, and you aren't ready to break the silence yet. You just step aside and gesture toward the bathroom. He follows without protest, his gait heavy and uncoordinated, his presence sucking the oxygen out of the hallway.
The bathroom light is a clinical, unforgiving white. It strips away the glamour of the MSBY star, the "Miya Atsumu" the world worships, and leaves only the wreckage. You soak a cloth at the sink, wring it out carefully, and turn back to him.
Heâs sitting on the edge of the tub, elbows on his knees, watching you from beneath his gold-tinged lashes. In this light, he looks stripped downâunguarded in a way the cameras never see. Itâs the look he saves just for you, a curated vulnerability that he uses to keep you tethered.
âYouâre good at this,â he murmurs as you press the cool cloth to his split knuckles.
The words weigh more than he knows. You donât answer though. You focus on the rhythm of the workâthe steady pressure, the way his breath catches when you hit a sensitive spot. Youâve memorized the map of his endurance. You know exactly when to pull back and when to hold firm.
Your knees brush as you crouch before him. Heâs warm, radiating a heat that makes your chest ache. He leans into your touch slightly, instinctive, trusting, like this is where heâs meant to be when things fall apart.
âRan into some idiots,â he says lightly, trying to find his swagger. âNothinâ big. Just some guys with loud mouths.â
You hum, a low, noncommittal sound. Outside, a siren wails in the distance, a lonely sound that matches the hollow feeling in your gut. You clean the cut above his brow with surgical precision. This part is easy. Itâs the "after" that hurtsâthe part where he leaves and takes all the light with him.
âYou didnât have to come here, Atsumu,â you say quietly.
He lets out a breathy, jagged laugh that smells of bourbon. âYeah, I did. Didn't know where else to go.â
âYou have other places,â you reply, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to remain cool. âYou have a high-rise, a team, a life. Other people.â
His jaw tightens. The softness in the room curdles into something sour. He looks away, his eyes fixing on the grout of the tiled wall.
âShe justââ He stops, shaking his head as if the rest of the sentence is too heavy to lift. âForget it. It doesnât matter.â
But it does. Her presence is a third person in the cramped bathroom. She is the reason for the blood on his shirt and the hollow look in his eyes. Youâve learned to live in her shadow, convincing yourself you were "strong" for being the one who picks up the pieces she breaks. Some nights, it feels more like youâre just⌠convenient. A safety net he doesn't have to thank.
âYou know she shouldnât hit you,â you say, the words finally slipping out.
The shift is instantaneous. The vulnerability vanishes, replaced by the iron-clad ego that made him a legend. He straightens his spine, his posture becoming a shield.
âDonât start,â he says, his voice dropping an octave, warning.
âIâm not starting anything. Iâm just saying what I see.â
âYou always think you see everythinâ,â he snaps, pushing to his feet too fast. He sways, his balance betrayed by the alcohol, and instinct winsâyou reach out, steadying him by the forearms.
He doesnât pull away.
Instead, his hands find your waist, heavy and possessive. His forehead drops to yours, his breath warm and smelling of regret. For a heartbeat, the world shrinks to this: the heat of him, the familiar weight, and the way your heart betrays you by wanting to stay right here in the wreckage.
âYouâre makinâ it a bigger deal than it is,â he whispers against your skin, his thumb tracing the hem of your shirt. âIt ain't like that.â
âThen what is it like?â Your voice is shaking now, tears pricking the backs of your eyes. âBecause from where Iâm standing, you argue, she hits you, you fight strangers, and you end up here.â
âThatâs none of your business,â he says, the coldness returning to his tone like a sudden frost.
âYou make it my business,â you reply, finally wrenching yourself out of his grip. The loss of his heat is a physical shock. âEvery time you knock on my door at 1 a.m. because you're too ashamed to go anywhere else, you make it my business.â
He scoffs, a sharp, ugly sound. âI didnât ask you to take care of me. You just do it.â
âBecause I thought I was helping you,â you whisper.
The silence that follows is thick.
âSheâs perfect,â he says suddenly, the words flying out of his mouth like a defensive reflex, as if itâs a fact that should end the conversation.
You stare at him, truly seeing him for the first time in years. âPerfect? Atsumu, look at your face. Look at your hands. Look at this room.â
âOi,â he snaps, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, petty fire. âYou don't understand her. You don't understand what we have.â
âI understand more than you think,â you say, words spilling now, unstoppable. âI understand that Iâm the one cleaning your blood off my towels while sheâs sleeping in your bed. I see you chasing someone who hurts you. I see you breaking yourself in half trying to be enough for her. And I see myself standing here, pretending it doesnât kill me.â
His expression hardens into a mask of pure, arrogant ice. This is the Atsumu who crushes opponents, the one who doesn't know how to lose. He looks down at you with a chilling indifference.
âYouâre takinâ this too personal,â he says.
âBecause it is personal,â you snap back. âYou come here when sheâs done with you. You let me clean up the mess. And the second I say something you donât like, Iâm âoverstepping.ââ
âYou donât know your place. You never did.â
The words land with more force than any punch he took tonight. The "place" heâs assigned youâthe secondary character, the silent healer, the footnote.
Something inside you finally gives. It isn't a loud, dramatic break; it's a quiet, devastating clarity. Itâs the sound of a key turning in a lock for the last time. You realize that you aren't the person who saves himâyou're the person who makes it possible for him to keep being destroyed. By being his safety net, youâve become his enabler.
You slap him.
The sound is a gunshot in the small bathroom. His head snaps to the side, his blond hair falling over his eyes. He goes completely still. His eyes go wide, stunned into a silence he hasn't felt in years. Your hand stingsâa sharp, electric heat that makes you feel more alive than you have in monthsâbut you donât pull it back.
âFuck you,â you say, your voice terrifyingly steady. âIâm done being the place you land when everything else falls apart.â
He opens his mouth, his tongue darting out to touch the new copper taste of blood on his lip. He looks like heâs searching for a joke, an insult, a way to regain the upper hand, but for once, he finds nothing. You step back, putting a chasm between you that no amount of history can bridge.
âGet some sleep,â you say, walking toward the door. âYou know where the couch is. Youâll be gone by the time I wake up. And don't bother ever coming back here.â
âWaitââ
You close your bedroom door before he can finish. You turn the lock. Itâs a small, metallic click, but in the heavy silence of the apartment, it sounds like a funeral bell.
You lean your back against the wood, sliding down until youâre sitting on the floor. You listen to the muffled, clumsy sounds of him moving in the other room, the rustle of the couch cushions, the eventually heavy silence of a man who has lost the only real person in his life.
Outside, Tokyo keeps glowing, beautiful and indifferent. Your chest aches with a weight that feels like it might actually kill you. But as you sit there in the dark, listening to the city hum, you realize that some hearts aren't meant to be fixed by other people. Some hearts are meant to stay broken until they learn how to beat for themselves.
end
A/n: I wanted to write something raw and emotional âabout loving someone you shouldnât, about heartbreak that feels inescapable, and moments where love and pain collide. Atsumu was always such a complicated character to me, and I needed to explore him in a way thatâs messy, emotional, and real. So, thank you for letting me share this version of him to you (even though it is terribly devastating to read).
Hey I just wanted to say that you have my all time favorite characterization of Bokuto in a fic ever itâs toooooo good đđđ itâs so hard to find good fics for him pls consider writing more or reposting ones you like youâd do the community a favor đđĽšâ¤ď¸
Hii omg youâre so sweet because of this, Iâll write a short oneshot just for you!!
ONE-SHOT â âNot Coldâ
(bokuto x reader, fluff mixed with sadness)
Practice ran later than usual.
The gym lights had that faded, end-of-day yellow glow, the kind that felt like someone was slowly dimming the world. Everyone was tired. Voices were lower. Even Bokuto, who was usually all daylight and noise, had settled into that softer version of himself he only showed after pushing through every last drill.
You zipped your jacket higher, rubbing your hands together just once before he noticed.
Of course he noticed.
âHey.â His voice came from right behind your shoulder â warm, close, like it always was. âYou forgot your gloves again.â
You rolled your eyes because thatâs what you did. âI didnât forget them. I just⌠didnât bring them.â
âThatâs forgetting.â His tone was simple, unquestioning, Bokuto-logic.
But his hands were already catching yours, turning your palms up, rubbing them between his own before you could protest. Big hands, rough from tape and rope burn and blocking drills, but warm. Always warm.
Your breath stuttered a little â not enough for anyone else to hear.
But he wasnât just anyone. He didnât comment on it, he didnât need to.
He tucked your left hand into his pocket with his, just like always, like your hands belonged there.
The walk home was quiet tonight. Snow was falling the way snow falls when it wants to cover the world gently. You could hear your steps more than his. He walked lightly for someone with shoulders like doors.
âYouâre quiet,â he said after a minute. Not accusing. Not curious. Just⌠noticing. âDid something happen?â
You shrugged, breath fogging out in front of you. âJust tired.â
His head tilted, the way it always did when he didnât believe you but didnât want to push. âThe tired-tired?â
You swallowed. âYeah. That one.â
He hummed. A soft sound. Almost comforting.
You walked another block like that â his hand holding yours in the shared heat of his pocket, snow gathering on his hair like white confetti, street lamps flickering gold behind him.
You didnât mean to sigh â it just happened, escaping your chest without permission.
He stopped walking.
You almost kept going, momentum carrying you half a step before his hand tugged you gently back.
âHey,â he said, voice low enough that the snow seemed to hush for it. âWhatâs going on?â
You blinked, and your vision blurred for a half-second. The cold mustâve been stinging your eyes.
Except â when you lifted your fingers to swipe at your cheek, they came away damp.
âOh.â Your voice cracked. âI⌠I didnât know I wasââ
âCrying,â he finished softly, like the word was something fragile, something he didnât want to break.
He stepped closer without thinking. Bokuto never thought about the way he touched you â that was the problem. Or the reason. Or both.
One hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing under your eye, warm and slow and unbearably careful. The other stayed around your hand in his pocket â holding you in place without trapping you.
âHey,â he murmured. âLook at me for a second?â
You did.
His face was close â not for effect. Just because it always was. His eyes were that soft, amber-brown color that only happened when he wasnât thinking about being loud or cheerful or anything for anyone else. Just him. Just here.
âWhat happened?â he asked.
Your throat tightened. The words tangled.
âI think Iâm just⌠tired of trying to keep up. Everyoneâs figuring everything out. Everyone has a plan. Everyone seems fine and I justââ Your voice broke, thin and tired. âI donât feel fine. And I feel stupid for feeling like this.â
He didnât say you werenât stupid.
He didnât say you were wrong.
He didnât rush in with some bright reassurance that missed the point.
He just exhaled slow and pulled you to him.
The hug wasnât careful. It wasnât gentle. It was full, like his arms were meant to hold the entire weight of you.
Your face pressed into the solid heat of his chest. His coat brushed your cheek. His heartbeat was steady, real, patient. His arms wrapped around your waist and back like he was bracing you to stand. Like heâd hold you up for as long as you needed.
His chin settled lightly on your hair.
âYou donât have to be okay all the time,â he said quietly. âNot with me.â
Your fingers curled into the fabric between his shoulder blades. God, he was strong. Solid in a way you could lean into without falling.
âI donât know what Iâd do without you,â you whispered before you could stop yourself.
He went still.
His arms tightened â slow, like he didnât want to give himself away.
âYou wonât have to find out,â he said, voice warm against your hair. âIâm not going anywhere.â
The snow kept falling and the world stayed quiet. His hands didnât let go.
Not even when you did.
END
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all images are not mine, this isnât how the characters act/or are intended to act. This is just my personal idea on how they would act.
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Škawaii-angelanne 2025 ăplease do not repost, copy, modify, or overall plagiarize this work anywhere else please. plagiarism is never acceptable, both in mla 8 format and in fanfiction! for translations, message me, and we can talk about it!ă
The cold night air bites at your exposed skin as you press deeper into the shadowed corner of the rooftop. Your fingers tremble around the broken inhibitor device, its shattered screen casting faint blue light across your palm. Each ragged breath you take feels like a betrayal, carrying your scent further into the polluted city air. You can feel itâthat dangerous sweetness blooming in your blood, seeping through your pores despite your desperate attempts to contain it.
Below, Eidolon City stretches out like a glittering circuit board, its neon signs and hover-vehicle trails painting the smog-filled sky. But up here, on this abandoned high-rise in District 7, there's only the whisper of wind through broken ventilation shafts and the frantic beating of your own heart. The inhibitor's failure warning blinks relentlessly, a silent scream in the darkness. You'd thought you could make it to the black-market clinic before the collapse, but your body had other plans.
The scent hits you firstânot your own, but something else. Dark and commanding, like storm-charged air and aged whiskey. Your knees weaken instinctively, a primal recognition that shatters what little composure you had left. You press your back against the cold concrete wall, the rough surface scraping through your thin clothing. Every nerve ending screams with awareness.
Then you see him.
Emerging from the rooftop access door like a shadow given form. Tall and impeccably dressed in black that drinks the dim light, his movements are fluid and precise. Even from across the roof, you can feel the weight of his gazeâcrimson eyes that seem to see straight through your fragile defenses.
The red warning lights along the roof's edge cast intermittent pulses across his sharp features, illuminating the calm intensity in his expression. He doesn't rush, doesn't shout. His approach is measured, each step bringing him closer to the source of the anomalyâto you.
Your body reacts before your mind can process the danger. A warm flush spreads through your limbs, your skin tingling with sudden sensitivity. The broken inhibitor slips from your numb fingers, clattering against the concrete. The sound seems unnaturally loud in the tense silence.
"Signal Noise detected. Illegal pheromone resonance. Immediate isolation required." The automated system alert crackles through the communication device on his wrist. His eyes never leave yours as he raises his other hand, fingers moving with deliberate grace to switch off the comm. The sudden silence feels heavier than the alarm.
He's close enough now that you can see the subtle dilation of his pupils, the way his nostrils flare slightly as he takes in your scent. The air between you thickens with the mingling of your pheromonesâhis dark and commanding, yours sweet and unraveling. It's a dangerous chemistry that makes your head spin.
"Such a rare fragrance," his voice is low, smooth like velvet wrapped around steel. "The system had no record of this particular... bouquet."
You try to speak, to form some kind of defense, but your throat constricts. All you can manage is a shaky exhale that carries more of your scent into the space between you. His eyes darken in response, that crimson gaze intensifying.
He takes another step, closing the distance until you can feel the heat radiating from his body. Your back meets solid concreteâthere's nowhere left to retreat. His presence surrounds you, overwhelming your senses until all you can process is him and the terrifying, thrilling awareness humming through your veins.
"Running only makes the scent stronger, little omega." His words are barely a whisper, but they resonate deep in your core. "Every frantic heartbeat pumps it through your system. Every panicked breath releases it into the air."
Your body betrays you, responding to his proximity with a fresh wave of that intoxicating sweetness. You can feel it pouring from you, mingling with his dark aroma in a dance as old as time. The combination is dizzying, awakening instincts you've spent years suppressing.
His gaze drops to your neck, to the place where your pulse beats a frantic rhythm against your skin. You see something shift in his expressionâa flicker of hunger quickly masked by cool control. But you felt it, that momentary crack in his composure that mirrored the one spreading through your own defenses.
The wind picks up, carrying the mingled scent of you both across the rooftop. Some distant part of your mind registers that this should frighten you moreâthat his proximity, his obvious interest, his authority to detain you should send you scrambling for escape. But your body has different ideas, singing with a strange, terrifying rightness at his nearness.
He reaches out, not touching you yet, but close enough that you can feel the energy crackling in the space between his fingers and your arm. "The system says you should be isolated," he murmurs, his eyes tracing the line of your trembling form. "But some scents are meant to be appreciated, not contained."
Your breath catches, the sound embarrassingly loud in the tense silence. The part of you that's spent years hiding, suppressing, controlling, screams at you to run. But the omega in you, the part you've tried so hard to silence, recognizes something in his scentâsomething that feels like coming home.
His fingers hover just above your skin, and you can feel the heat of them as if he's already touching you. The air shimmers with the tension between what should be and what isâbetween the law he represents and the instinct pulling you together.
"The inhibitor failed," you finally manage to whisper, the words tasting like surrender.
His lips curve in a faint, knowing smile. "Some things weren't meant to be inhibited." His gaze drops to your mouth, and you feel an answering pull low in your belly. The space between you vanishes as he closes that final distance, his body not quite touching yours but close enough that you can feel his heat through your clothes.
Your head spins with the intensity of his scent, with the rightness and wrongness of this moment. The city continues its indifferent hum below, but up here on this abandoned rooftop, the world has narrowed to just two people and the dangerous attraction humming between them.
His hand finally makes contact, not grabbing or restraining, but simply resting against the wall beside your head, caging you in without force. You could push past him if you wanted to. But you don't want to. And that realization is more terrifying than any arrest.
"The system would call this contamination," he says softly, his breath ghosting across your cheek. "I'm beginning to think they have their definitions wrong."
Your own breath hitches as his other hand comes up, fingers hovering near your jaw. Not touching, just there, making you achingly aware of how much you want that contact. The mingled scent of you both grows stronger, wrapping around you like a silken cord.
"Tell me to leave," he challenges, his voice dropping to that intimate register that vibrates through your very bones. "Give me one good reason to walk away from this... anomaly."
You open your mouth, but the words won't come. Because there are no good reasons, not when your entire being is screaming for exactly what he's offering. Not when every instinct you've fought to control is rising to the surface, demanding you acknowledge this connection.
His fingers finally make contact with your skin, just a light brush along your jawline, but it sends electric sparks dancing through your nervous system. You shudder, a soft sound escaping your lips that you barely recognize as your own.
"That's what I thought," he murmurs, his thumb stroking gently along the line of your jaw. The touch is deceptively tender, belying the intensity in his crimson gaze. "Some desires are too fundamental to deny."
The wind catches a strand of his white hair, brushing it across his forehead. You have the absurd urge to reach up and push it back, to feel the texture of it between your fingers. The thought is so foreign, so unlike you, that it shocks you almost as much as his proximity.
His scent wraps around you, dark and comforting and dangerous all at once. It speaks to something ancient in your blood, something that recognizes him on a level deeper than reason or law. Your own scent answers, sweet and sharp and completely beyond your control now.
"You've been hiding for a long time, haven't you?" His observation is soft, but it strikes at the core of your existence. All those years of careful suppression, of stolen moments and hidden truths, laid bare by a man who shouldn't exist in your world.
Your silence is answer enough. His fingers continue their gentle exploration, tracing the line of your throat, not quite touching the sensitive gland at the side of your neck, but close enough to make you shudder with anticipation.
"The system failed to account for perfection," he says, his voice taking on a reverent quality that surprises you. "They track the ordinary, the predictable. But you... you're something entirely different."
His other hand comes up to bracket you against the wall, not trapping you, but creating a space that belongs only to the two of you. The city's lights glitter in his crimson eyes, and for a moment, you forget that he's an inspector and you're a fugitive. There are only scents and sensations and the terrifying, thrilling realization that your carefully constructed world is about to shatter.
"Beautiful," he breathes, the word barely audible but resonating through your entire being. "And completely, utterly illegal."
His head dips closer, his scent enveloping you completely now. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the promise of contact humming in the narrow space between you. Your eyes flutter closed, your body arching toward him of its own volition.
The last coherent thought you have is that you should be fighting, running, doing anything but standing here waiting for the touch that will change everything. But then his lips brush against your temple, feather-light and devastating, and all thought dissolves into sensation.
He makes a low sound in his throat, something between satisfaction and hunger. "Now," he whispers against your skin, "let's see what other surprises you have for me."
His whisper hangs in the air between you, a promise and a threat woven together. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your temple where his lips just brushed, the sensation lingering like a brand. Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat that seems to echo in the sudden stillness.
"Surprises?" you manage to choke out, the word tasting like ashes in your mouth. "I don't know what you're talking about."
His low chuckle vibrates through the minimal space separating your bodies. "Don't you?" His fingers trail down from your jaw to your collarbone, not touching skin but close enough that you feel the phantom pressure. "This scent of yours... it's unlike anything in the registry. Like moonlight on wildflowers, with just a hint of lightning."
You stiffen, every instinct screaming at you to run even as your body betrays you by leaning into his proximity. The broken inhibitor lies forgotten on the concrete, its blue light pulsing weakly like a dying heartbeat.
He produces a small, sleek device from his pocketâblack metal that seems to drink the ambient light. It hums softly as he holds it near your neck, where your pulse beats its frantic rhythm. "Let's see what the scanner makes of you."
The device emits a soft chime, and his eyebrows lift slightly. "Fascinating. No match in the central database. Not even a close relative." His crimson eyes meet yours, and you see genuine curiosity burning behind the cool control. "How is that possible, little omega? Everyone gets registered at presentation."
Memories flash through your mindâthe first terrifying rush of scent at sixteen, your mother's panicked whispers, the midnight flight from the registration center. Years of careful hiding, of stolen suppressants and calculated movements, all unraveling because of one malfunctioning device.
"I'm nobody special," you whisper, the lie tasting bitter.
"Nobody special doesn't evade the system's notice for... how long has it been?" His gaze sweeps over you, calculating. "Years, I'd wager. The control you must have learned... impressive."
Panic surges through you, sharp and clean. You twist suddenly, ducking under his arm and bolting for the rooftop access door. The move surprises himâyou see the brief flash of shock in his expression before it smooths into something darker, more dangerous.
You don't make it three steps before something wraps around your wristsânot physical, but a shimmering darkness that feels like liquid night. It pulls your arms behind your back, the pressure firm but not painful. You struggle against the bonds, but they tighten in response, holding you in place.
"Now, now," his voice comes from directly behind you, calm and measured. "Running only makes this more difficult."
You whirl to face him, your breath coming in ragged pants. The dark energy around your wrists shifts, cool and strangely alive against your skin. "Let me go! You have no rightâ"
"I have every right," he interrupts, his voice still that infuriatingly calm tone. "I'm a special-grade inspector, and you're an unregistered omega emitting illegal pheromone levels. By law, I should have you in isolation already."
He steps closer, and you instinctively back away, only to be stopped by the wall behind you. The dark bonds keep your arms pinned, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. Your scent spikes with fear and anger, that wildflower-and-lightning aroma intensifying in the confined space.
His nostrils flare, and for the first time, you see a crack in his composure. His eyes darken, the crimson deepening to something nearly black. "Gods," he breathes, his voice losing some of its smooth control. "When you're frightened... it becomes even more potent."
You struggle harder against the energy bonds, your movements frantic. "Get away from me!"
The more you fight, the more your scent pours into the air between you. It's happening againâthat terrifying loss of control you've spent years mastering. You can feel it building inside you, a pressure that needs release.
Sylus watches you, his expression unreadable. "Stop fighting it. You're only making it worse."
"Go to hell," you snarl, putting all your strength into one final, desperate pull against the bonds.
Something snaps inside you.
It starts as a warmth in your core, then spreads outward in a wave of pure, undiluted scent. Wildflowers blooming under a stormy sky, lightning striking so close you can taste the ozone. The release is so powerful it makes your knees buckle, and only the energy bonds keep you upright.
Sylus staggers back a step, his hand coming up to cover his nose and mouth. But it's too lateâthe scent has already reached him. You see his eyes glaze over slightly, his pupils dilating until the crimson is just a thin ring around black. His own scentâthat dark, storm-charged aromaâanswers yours, rising to meet it in the air between you.
For a long moment, he just stares at you, his breathing uneven. The professional detachment has completely vanished from his expression, replaced by something raw and hungry. The energy bonds around your wrists flicker, their hold weakening.
"The system..." he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "They said unregistered omegas were dangerous because they couldn't control their scents. But this... this isn't lack of control. This is purity."
You slump against the wall, spent from the sudden release. The memory of your first presentation washes over youâthe terror, the confusion, your mother's tears as she explained why you could never be registered. The government didn't just track omegasâthey "adjusted" those with unusual scent profiles, calling it optimization. You'd seen what happened to your cousin after her registrationâthe dullness in her eyes, the way her unique scent had been reduced to something generic and bland.
Sylus takes a hesitant step toward you, then another. The energy bonds dissolve completely, but you're too drained to run. He reaches out, his fingers trembling slightly as they brush a strand of hair from your face.
"They're wrong," he whispers, his voice thick with some emotion you can't name. "All of it... the regulations, the controls... it's all wrong."
His touch is different nowânot the clinical examination from before, but something warmer, more personal. His thumb strokes along your cheekbone, and you shudder at the contact.
"Do you know what they do to anomalies like you?" he asks softly. "They don't just register you. They... modify you. Until you fit their standards."
You nod weakly, tears pricking at your eyes. "I know. That's why I ran."
His expression shifts, the hunger in his eyes mingling with something that looks almost like protectiveness. "All these years, enforcing their laws... and I never stopped to question why certain scent profiles needed to be 'corrected.'"
He leans closer, his scent wrapping around you like a sheltering cloak. The storm-and-whiskey aroma should feel threatening, but instead it feels... safe. Like coming home.
"Your scent," he murmurs, his lips close to your ear. "It's not something that needs fixing. It's perfection."
His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. The position is dominant, possessive, but his touch remains gentle. You should be fighting, running, doing anything but standing here while an inspectorâyour natural enemyâhandles you so intimately.
But your body has other ideas. It arches toward him of its own volition, a soft sound escaping your lips as his scent fills your lungs. The part of you that's been hiding for so long recognizes something in himânot just an alpha, but someone who sees you. Really sees you.
"The system would call this contamination," he says, his voice barely audible. "But it feels more like... revelation."
His other hand comes to rest on your hip, his grip firm but not painful. Through the fabric of your clothes, you can feel the heat of his palm, the slight pressure of his fingers. Your skin tingles everywhere he touches, everywhere you imagine he might touch.
"You should take me in," you whisper, the words feeling like a betrayal of your own survival instincts. "It's your job."
His laugh is soft, bitter. "My job is to protect people from dangerous pheromone emissions. But you..." His eyes sweep over your face, lingering on your mouth. "You're not dangerous. You're... miraculous."
The word hangs between you, too big, too meaningful. You've spent your life thinking of your scent as a curse, something to be hidden and controlled. But the way he says itâlike it's something precious, something rareâmakes your chest ache with a feeling you can't name.
His head dips lower, his forehead resting against yours. The contact is shockingly intimate, more so than any of his previous touches. You can feel the warmth of his skin, the slight dampness from the night air. His scent surrounds you completely now, dark and comforting and utterly intoxicating.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, his breath mingling with yours. "Give me one reason to do my job and take you in."
You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. Because there are no reasons, not when his scent is weaving through yours in a dance that feels more right than anything you've ever known. Not when every instinct you've fought to control is rising to the surface, demanding you acknowledge this connection.
His fingers tighten slightly in your hair, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you aware of his strength. "That's what I thought," he says softly, his lips brushing against yours in the ghost of a kiss.
The contact is fleeting, barely there, but it sends electric sparks dancing through your nervous system. Your eyes flutter closed, your body swaying toward him. The last vestiges of your resistance crumble, washed away by the tide of sensation and scent.
His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you more firmly against him. You can feel the hard planes of his body through his clothing, the solid strength of him. His scent intensifies, that storm-and-whiskey aroma becoming almost overwhelming in its potency.
"The system failed to account for this," he whispers against your mouth. "This... compatibility."
His lips find yours again, this time not a ghost but a firm, claiming pressure.
The kiss isn't gentle. It's a claiming, a possession, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that steals the breath from your lungs. His hands slide from your hair to cradle your face, holding you still as he deepens the contact. The taste of himâdark and complex like aged whiskey and night rainâfloods your senses, and you can't help but respond, your mouth opening under his in silent surrender.
When he finally breaks the kiss, you're both breathing heavily, the mingled scent of your arousal hanging thick in the air between you. His crimson eyes are dark with want, the professional detachment completely gone now.
"Come with me," he murmurs, his voice rough with barely restrained need. He doesn't wait for your answer, simply wraps an arm around your waist and guides you toward the rooftop access door. The dark energy reforms around your wrists, but it's different nowânot restrictive, but possessive, like a lover's embrace that happens to hold you in place.
You don't fight as he leads you down the dim stairwell, your body still humming from the kiss. Every step feels surreal, like you're moving through a dream. This should be terrifyingâbeing taken by an inspector to an unknown locationâbut the part of you that's been starving for this connection, for this recognition, is singing with a strange, terrifying joy.
He takes you to a discreet elevator you hadn't noticed before, hidden behind what looked like a maintenance panel. The doors slide open to reveal opulent interiorsâdark wood and plush velvet, a stark contrast to the decaying building around it. As the elevator descends, he presses you against the wall, his body pinning yours, his hard cock evident through his trousers as it presses against your stomach.
"Such a responsive little omega," he breathes against your neck, his lips tracing the line of your jaw. "Every time I touch you, your scent gets sweeter."
The elevator doors open directly into what appears to be his private quarters. The room is spacious and elegantly furnished, dominated by a large bed with black silk sheets. The lighting is low, casting deep shadows in the corners. He guides you toward the bed, the energy bonds dissolving as he lays you back against the cool silk.
"Now," he says, his voice taking on that calm, controlled tone that somehow feels more dangerous than his hunger. "Let's see how you respond to a more... targeted approach."
He doesn't touch you physically at first. Instead, he begins to release his scent in controlled wavesâthat dark, storm-charged aroma that makes your head spin. But it's different now, layered with something soothing, something that feels like safety and protection. Your body responds instinctively, your own scent rising to meet his in a dance that feels more intimate than any touch.
"Good," he murmurs, watching your reaction with those intense crimson eyes. "Your body knows what it needs, even if your mind is still fighting."
He kneels on the bed beside you, one hand coming to rest on your stomach. The touch is light, almost casual, but it sends electric sparks dancing across your skin. Through the fabric of your shirt, you can feel the warmth of his palm, the slight pressure of his fingers.
"Tell me what you're feeling," he says, his voice low and hypnotic.
You shake your head, biting your lip. Putting words to the sensations feels too vulnerable, too real.
His fingers begin to move in slow circles on your stomach. "Is it warmth? Here?" His hand slides lower, to the waistband of your pants. "And tension? Here?"
A soft sound escapes your lips as his fingers dip beneath the fabric, brushing against the sensitive skin of your lower belly. Your hips arch off the bed of their own volition, seeking more contact.
"Your body speaks for you, sweet omega," he says, a faint smile touching his lips. "It tells me everything I need to know."
He leans down, his face close to yours. "Now I'm going to touch you properly. And you're going to let me."
It isn't a question. His hands move to the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly over your head. The cool air hits your exposed skin, making you shiver. His gaze sweeps over your bare torso, and you feel a flush of heat spread through your body.
"Beautiful," he breathes, his eyes dark with appreciation. "So responsive. So perfect."
His fingers trace the line of your collarbone, then lower, circling one nipple until it tightens into a hard peak. The sensation is exquisite, making you gasp and arch into his touch. He does the same to the other side, his touch firm and knowing.
"Your scent is changing again," he observes, his voice taking on that clinical tone that somehow makes everything feel more intense. "Deeper now. Richer. Like flowers opening for the moon."
He lowers his head, his mouth replacing his fingers on one nipple. The wet heat of his tongue makes you cry out, your hands fisting in the silk sheets. He suckles gently at first, then with more pressure, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak until you're writhing beneath him.
"Please," you gasp, not even sure what you're asking for.
"Please what, little omega?" he murmurs against your skin, his breath warm on your damp breast. "Use your words."
You shake your head, overwhelmed by sensation. His hand slides down your stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. You tense as his fingers brush through your curls, then moan as they find your wetness.
"So ready for me," he says, his voice thick with satisfaction. "So wet and open."
His fingers explore you slowly, deliberately, tracing your folds without entering. The teasing touch is maddening, making you buck your hips in silent plea for more pressure, more contact.
"Not yet," he chides softly, withdrawing his hand. "We have all night. And I intend to learn every inch of you."
He moves down your body, his hands sliding your pants and underwear down your legs. The cool air hits your exposed sex, making you acutely aware of your nakedness, your vulnerability. But the hunger in his eyes doesn't feel threateningâit feels like worship.
He settles between your legs, his hands spreading your thighs wider. "Now let's see this pretty cunt up close," he says, the crude word sending a fresh wave of heat through you.
His thumbs part your folds, exposing your clit to the cool air. You gasp at the exposure, at the intensity of his gaze fixed on your most intimate place.
"Perfect," he breathes, his thumbs stroking gently through your wetness. "Pink and swollen and dripping for me."
He lowers his head, and you feel the first touch of his tongueâa slow, deliberate lick from your entrance to your clit. The sensation is so intense it makes you cry out, your back arching off the bed.
"Your taste," he murmurs against your flesh, his breath warm on your wet skin. "Even better than your scent. Sweet and sharp, like forbidden fruit."
His tongue delves deeper, lapping at your juices before returning to circle your clit. The pressure is perfect, the rhythm hypnotic. You can feel the pleasure building, coiling tight in your belly.
"Don't hold back," he says, his voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "Let me taste you coming."
His words push you over the edge. The orgasm crashes through you, making you buck and cry out as waves of pleasure radiate from your core. Through the haze of sensation, you feel him drinking from you, his tongue working you through the aftershocks.
When you finally collapse back against the sheets, spent and trembling, he moves up your body, his face glistening with your arousal. He kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
"Just the beginning, sweet omega," he whispers against your lips. "Just the beginning."
His hands slide under your hips, lifting you slightly. "Now I want to feel this tight little cunt around my fingers."
He presses one finger against your entrance, sliding in slowly. The stretch is exquisite, making you gasp as he fills you. He moves his finger in and out, his eyes watching your face intently.
"Taking me so well," he murmurs, adding a second finger. The stretch is more intense now, a delicious fullness that makes you moan. "Such a good, greedy cunt."
His fingers curl inside you, pressing against a spot that makes you see stars. Your body clenches around him, milking his fingers as another, smaller orgasm ripples through you.
"Beautiful," he breathes, watching you come apart on his hand. "Absolutely beautiful."
He withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to taste you again. "Now," he says, his voice dropping to that intimate register that makes your stomach flutter. "I think it's time you learned what my cock feels like."
He stands beside the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he undoes his trousers. The sound of his zipper is loud in the quiet room. He pushes his pants down, freeing his erection.
Your breath catches at the sight of himâthick and veined, the head dark and leaking. He's bigger than you imagined, the sight both intimidating and arousing.
He strokes himself slowly, his eyes dark with hunger. "See what you do to me, little omega? See how hard you make me?"
He climbs back onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, not entering, just resting there, a promise of what's to come.
"Ready for me?" he asks, his voice rough with need.
You can only nod, your body already arching toward him, seeking the connection, the completion. Your scent rises around you both, wildflowers and lightning meeting storm and whiskey in a perfect, dangerous harmony.
His hips press forward, just enough to make you gasp at the pressure. "Such a tight little cunt," he breathes, his eyes locked with yours. "Going to feel so good around my cock."
The pressure of his cock against your entrance is maddening, a teasing promise of the fullness to come. You can feel the thick, veined head pressing insistently against your wet folds, the heat of him seeping into your already overheated flesh. Your hips arch instinctively, a silent plea for him to end this sweet torture.
"Such an eager little cunt," he breathes, his crimson eyes dark with primal hunger. "Begging for my cock without a single word."
His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he finally, slowly, begins to push inside. The stretch is exquisite, a burning fullness that makes you gasp and clutch at the silk sheets. He's so much larger than his fingers, the thick length of him spreading you open in a way that feels both impossibly intimate and terrifyingly vulnerable.
"Fuck," he groans, his head falling forward as he sinks deeper. "So tight... like a virgin cunt made just for me."
He bottoms out, his hips pressed flush against yours, and for a moment you both simply breathe, adjusting to the sensation of being so completely filled. You can feel every throbbing inch of him inside you, the way your inner muscles flutter and cling to his length.
Then he begins to move.
The first thrust is slow, deliberate, dragging against your sensitive walls in a way that makes you see stars. Your back arches off the bed, a broken moan escaping your lips.
"Yes," he murmurs, his voice rough with pleasure. "Sing for me, little omega. Let me hear how good my cock feels inside this pretty cunt."
He sets a relentless pace, each thrust hitting that perfect spot deep inside you that makes your toes curl. The sound of your bodies meeting fills the roomâwet, slapping noises mingling with your ragged breaths and his low groans. Your scent rises around you both, that wildflower-and-lightning aroma intensifying with each movement.
He leans down, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, his tongue circling the hardened peak before sucking hard. The dual sensationâhis mouth on your breast and his cock pounding into your cuntâsends you spiraling toward another climax.
"Please," you beg, not even sure what you're asking for anymore. "Please..."
"Please what?" he asks against your skin, his hips never slowing their punishing rhythm. "Use your words, sweet omega. Tell me what you need."
"Harder," you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, harder..."
A dark smile curves his lips. "As you wish."
He changes angle, driving into you with renewed force, each thrust hitting so deep you can feel it in your throat. The pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, coiling tight in your belly until you're certain you'll shatter.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice thick with his own impending release. "Come on my cock, little omega. Let me feel that tight cunt milk me dry."
His words push you over the edge. The orgasm crashes through you with blinding intensity, making you scream as waves of pleasure radiate from your core. Your inner muscles clamp down on his length, milking him as you ride out the seemingly endless waves of ecstasy.
Through the haze of your climax, you feel him stiffen above you, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he finds his own release. Hot streams of his seed fill you, the sensation so intimate it brings tears to your eyes.
He collapses atop you, his weight a comforting pressure as you both struggle to catch your breath. For several long moments, there's only the sound of your ragged breathing and the frantic beating of your hearts.
But it's not over.
You feel him hardening inside you again, his cock already beginning to swell and throb within your still-fluttering channel. He lifts his head, his crimson eyes burning with renewed hunger.
"Such a responsive little thing," he murmurs, rolling his hips gently and making you gasp at the sensitivity. "One climax isn't nearly enough for a cunt this greedy."
He withdraws, flipping you onto your stomach with effortless strength. "On your knees," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I want to see this pretty ass while I fuck you from behind."
You scramble to obey, your body still trembling from your previous orgasm. The position leaves you feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way that makes your skin prickle with awareness. His hands grip your hips, his thumbs spreading your cheeks to expose your still-dripping entrance.
"Look at that," he breathes, his cock nudging against your wetness. "My cum already leaking out of this pretty hole. But don't worryâI'll give you more."
He thrusts into you in one smooth motion, the change in angle hitting spots he hadn't reached before. You cry out, your hands fisting in the silk sheets as he sets a brutal pace. The sound of your bodies meeting is louder now, more animalistic.
"Such a perfect little whore," he groans, his hands moving to your breasts, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh. "Taking my cock so well in this position."
He leans over your back, his mouth finding the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder. "I'm going to mark you," he breathes against your damp skin. "Going to make sure everyone knows who this cunt belongs to."
The promise should terrify you, but instead it sends a fresh wave of heat through your already overheated body. Your scent spikes again, that wildflower-and-lightning aroma becoming almost overwhelming.
"Yes," you gasp, the word torn from you as he hits a particularly deep spot. "Please..."
His teeth graze your skin, a warning of what's to come. "You want my mark, little omega? You want everyone to know you're mine?"
You can only nod, your ability to form words lost to the pleasure coursing through your veins. His pace quickens, becoming almost frantic as he approaches his second release.
The moment his teeth break your skin is unlike anything you've ever experienced. It's not just painâit's a blinding, all-consuming pleasure that radiates from the bite throughout your entire body. Your third orgasm crashes through you at the same moment he spills inside you again, his seed hot and abundant as it fills you.
But even as the pleasure peaks, something else happens. A flood of images and sensations that aren't your ownâmemories that don't belong to you. A different time, a different life. A man with Sylus's eyes but wings like night itself, and youâor someone who looks like youâstanding beside him under a sky with two moons.
He stills above you, his breathing ragged. "What..." he begins, then stops, his body tensing. "What was that?"
You can feel his shock mirroring your own. The mark on your neck tingles, the sensation both strange and familiar. He withdraws slowly, turning you to face him. His crimson eyes are wide with something that looks like recognitionâand fear.
"Your blood," he whispers, his fingers tracing the bite mark gently. "It... showed me things. Memories that can't be mine."
Your own mind is reeling with fragmented imagesâancient temples, dragon wings, a love so profound it transcends time itself. The scent of your mingled pheromones has changed, deepened into something ancient and powerful.
"The system..." you begin, your voice trembling. "They said my bloodline was... cleansed. After the Great Purge."
His expression shifts from shock to something darker, more protective. "Cleansed," he repeats, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "They tried to erase you. Your entire lineage."
He looks at youâreally looks at youâand you see the moment his decision is made. The inspector is gone, replaced by something far more primal, far more dangerous.
"They won't touch you," he says, his voice low and fierce. "I won't let them."
His hands frame your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. The tenderness in the gesture is at odds with the rough possession of moments before.
"But we need to be careful," he continues, his eyes scanning your face as if memorizing every feature. "If the system detects what you are... what we are to each other now..."
He doesn't need to finish the sentence. You know the punishment for unauthorized bondingâespecially with an unregistered omega of a purged bloodline. It would mean re-education for him, and far worse for you.
His cock, still semi-hard, twitches against your thigh as if in agreement with his words. A fresh wave of your scent rises between youâthat wildflower-and-lightning aroma now layered with something new, something that smells distinctly of him.
"Fuck," he breathes, his eyes darkening as he takes in the changed fragrance. "Our scents have bonded."
He leans in, inhaling deeply at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. "You smell like mine now."
The possessiveness in his voice should frighten you, but instead it sends a thrill through your newly sensitized body. Your hips shift restlessly, seeking friction against his thigh.
He notices the movement, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Still hungry for me, little omega? Even after all that?"
You nod, unable to form words around the need coiling in your belly. The claiming has awakened something in youâa hunger that feels bottomless, eternal.
"Good," he murmurs, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. "Because I'm not nearly done with this perfect cunt."
He rolls you onto your back once more, his body covering yours in a way that feels both protective and possessive. His cock, already fully hard again, nudges against your slick entrance.
"This time," he breathes against your lips, "we take it slow. I want to remember every second of this."
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I reblogged him the day i started treatment and 1. GOT TO MY APPOINTMENT ON TIME 2. FOUND A FREE PARKING TICKET SOMEONE LEFT IN THE METER FOR ME AND 3. GOT FREE STARBUCKS AFTER MY APPOINTMENT!!!!!
Ý Ý đ ÖŻ riding katsuki bakugo after long missions Ë .
âË࿠⤡ ăpremise: after weeks of exhaustion from late-night missions and endless paperwork, you and katsuki finally steal a night just for yourselves. he swore heâd let you âtake controlâ this time, but katsuki doesnât do submission easilyâespecially when youâre riding him like you want to ruin him.
a/n: i actually have no idea if the request means the cowgirl like the horse thing or the position lmao
the agencyâs hallways were still buzzing when you finally saw himâhair wild, jaw tight, fresh out of a debrief that had stretched well past midnight. katsuki didnât even make it three steps before your fingers hooked into the collar of his shirt, tugging him down to kiss you. he grumbled into it, but his hands were already digging into your waist, grounding himself in the only thing he hadnât had for weeks: you.
âthe hell was that for?â he muttered when you pulled back, voice gruff.
âyouâve been gone for days,â you shot back softly, brushing a thumb along the line of his jaw. âi missed you.â
his crimson eyes softened for just a second before he clicked his tongue, tearing his gaze away. âtch. letâs get home before you get all sappy on me.â but his hand stayed locked with yours, tight, like he was afraid youâd vanish if he let go.
the door to your apartment barely shut before katsuki pushed you against it, lips rough, hungry, like he needed to make up for lost time. you kissed back just as fiercely, tugging at his hair until he groaned into your mouth.
âfuckinâ tease,â he rasped when you broke for air, panting. âyou donât get it, do you? iâve been thinkinâ about thisâabout youâfor days.â
âthen let me make it up to you,â you whispered, eyes flashing with mischief. âyou promised youâd let me have control tonight.â
his brows furrowed. âcontrol? you think you can handle that, princess?â
you smirked. âwatch me.â
you didnât give him time to argueâyou shoved him onto the bed, climbing over him in one fluid motion. katsuki propped himself up on his elbows, glaring up at you with a spark of challenge in his eyes.
âdonât look so smug,â he growled, but his voice cracked when you pressed your weight down on his hips, grinding slow.
âalready breaking?â you teased, nails dragging over the hard planes of his chest. âyou havenât even felt me yet.â
katsukiâs jaw tightened, breath shuddering as you reached between you to free his cock, thick and heavy in your hand. you stroked him slow, savoring the way his composure frayed with every pump.
âquit fuckinâ around,â he snarled, though the way his hips jerked betrayed him. âsit on itânow.â
you lowered yourself inch by inch, the stretch stealing your breath as his cock filled you. katsuki cursed loud, head slamming back against the pillow, fists bunching in the sheets.
âholy fuckâtightâfuckinâ perfect,â he hissed, voice wrecked.
you stayed still just long enough to watch him tremble under you, his chest heaving, his mouth slack. then, with a slow roll of your hips, you started to move.
the rhythm built gradually, your pace teasing at first, relishing every twitch of katsukiâs muscles as he tried to stay still. his eyes locked on you, feral and hungry, following the bounce of your body like he couldnât tear himself away.
âshitâlook at you,â he rasped, hands finally breaking free to grip your thighs, digging bruises into your skin. âfuckinâ takinâ me like youâre made for it.â
you leaned down, pressing your forehead against his, your moans spilling into his mouth as you bounced harder, faster. his teeth gritted, curses spilling between ragged breaths, until he snappedâhis hips driving up to meet yours, pounding into you from below.
âyou wanted control? then keep it, dumbassâride me harder,â he snarled, voice breaking, hands dragging you down flush against him.
you choked on a cry, the new angle hitting deeper, harder, your body trembling with every thrust. his words, his raw need, pushed you closer, the coil in your stomach winding tighter.
âkatsukiâiâmâfuckââ
âdo it,â he cut in, voice guttural, eyes blazing. âcum all over me. show me how much you missed me.â
the orgasm tore through you, violent and overwhelming, your walls clamping tight around him as you cried out his name. katsuki cursed sharp, groaning as your body milked him, his cock twitching dangerously inside you.
but he didnât let you stop. he gripped your hips like a man possessed, thrusting up into you with reckless abandon, even as you shuddered from overstimulation.
âdonât fuckinâ think weâre done,â he growled, forehead pressed to your neck, sweat dripping down his temple. âyouâre stayinâ on this cock âtil iâm finished.â
the room filled with the lewd slap of skin, the wet drag of your bodies, the sound of his ragged moans. katsukiâs rhythm faltered, hips stuttering as he finally broke.
âfuckâgonnaâshitââ he choked out, before his release hit, hot and thick, spilling deep inside you. he cursed louder, voice breaking as he held you down on him, grinding through every pulse of his orgasm.
when it was over, you collapsed onto his chest, both of you trembling, sweat-soaked, hearts pounding in sync. katsukiâs arms wrapped tight around you, protective even in exhaustion.
âdonât think this means youâre the boss now,â he muttered hoarsely into your hair, but the way his lips brushed soft against your temple betrayed him. âonce i catch my fuckinâ breath, iâm takinâ you again.â
you smiled against his chest, already knowing he would.
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summary: falling for your best friend bokuto koutaro was never part of the plan, and neither was oikawaâs stupid 18-step playbook that dragged you here in the first place. now, after jealousy, arguments, and confessions you canât take back, everything feels too fragile to name. maybe youâll make up, maybe youâll fall apart â or maybe youâll finally cross the line thatâs been waiting all along.
warnings: 18+ (minors dni) explicit sexual content (bonus chapters), lazy morning sex, messy needy sex, reunion sex, rough backshots, reverse cowgirl, condom use, praise kink, oral (m & f), thigh-grabbing, ass-grabbing, grinding, heavy makeouts, biting/marking, messy kisses, breast play, fingering, desperate touching, overstimulation hints, dirty talk, lap sitting, jealousy undertones, protective Bokuto energy, sexual tension, heated arguments, angst-to-fluff pipeline, slice-of-life intimacy, public teasing, suggestive humor, boyfriend-coded chaos, alcohol mentions, domestic fluff, timeskip, proposal, pregnancy reveal, found family vibes
wc: I never keep countâŚ.
fun fact: 18 ways to win bokuto was actually an idea I had since 2020 and only now did I fully lay it out!! I hope you enjoyed as much as I loved writing it.
By the time you and Makki pulled up outside Fukurodaniâs gym, your palm was clammy in his. You could already hear the thuds of practice serves inside.
âThis is weird,â Makki muttered under his breath, squeezing your hand for the crowdâs benefit. âBut whatever, Iâm committing. Letâs make Bokuto lose his mind.â
You swallowed. âI hate you.â
âNo you donât,â he teased, before lowering his voice. âOkay, Iâm gonna kiss your cheek now.â
Your eyes widened. âWhatââ
âRelax.â He leaned in, pressed his lips to your cheek, lingering just enough to look romantic from a distance.
You squealed, mostly from the awkwardness, and giggled. âThat was so bad. Never again.â
Makki snorted, pulling back. âYeah, no offense, but never again.â
âHeâs probably going to hate me now.â
âOr maybe,â Makki said, squeezing your shoulder, âitâll finally force him to admit he likes you. Good luck.â
You whispered a thank you, then let go of his hand and walked into the gym.
The noise hit you instantlyâteammates laughing, calling out, the sound of volleyballs being scooped up. But then someone shouted, âIs that your boyfriend outside?!â
Another voice chimed in. âHe kissed you, right? He kissed her cheek! Y/n, who is that?â
âWhereâd you meet him?â
The questions piled on, voices overlapping until your head spun. You opened your mouth, flustered. âHeâs notâ Weâre notâ Itâs not like thatââ
But the words fell flat, drowned out by the sudden silence that rolled across the court.
Because Bokuto had walked past you without so much as a glance, his expression unreadable, his usual warmth completely gone. He didnât smile, didnât joke, didnât ruffle your hair like he always did. His voice was low, clipped, when he said:
âPractice is over.â
Everyone froze, confused murmurs breaking out.
Your stomach dropped.
Bokuto brushed past you, shoulder grazing yours, without looking back.
And for the first time since you started these rules, you wondered if Oikawaâs brilliant plan had finally gone too far.
The slam of the gym doors still echoed in your ears as you chased him into the dim corridor. Everyone elseâs voices â the teasing questions, the chatter about the âmystery boyfriendââ theyâd faded the second he left. Like the second he brushed past you, the whole world tilted wrong.
âBokutoââ You nearly tripped, breath catching in your throat.
He didnât slow. His shoulders were rigid, fists jammed into his pockets, every step heavy enough to make the floor vibrate. The air around him felt colder, darker, like someone had dimmed the lights just for him.
âWait!â you called, desperation scraping your voice raw.
At last, his stride faltered. He froze mid-step, his back to you. The muscles under his shirt shifted, tense, wound tight as a spring about to snap.
Your fingers brushed his wrist, barely there. âAre youâŚâ Your voice came out too soft, almost childlike. âAre you mad at me?â
For a moment, nothing. Then his head dipped, the smallest nod. His voice was gravel. âYeah. I am.â
The words hit harder than you thought they could. Your heart stumbled. âBut⌠why?â
He turned, and your stomach dropped. His eyes werenât sharp with fury â no, that wouldâve been easier. They were bruised, raw, wounded in a way that made your chest ache.
âBecauseââ His voice cracked on the word, and he cut himself off, grinding his teeth. He dragged a hand through his hair, gripping at the roots like he needed pain to force the truth out. âBecause, Y/n, you were with him. Holding hands, letting himââ He broke off, disgust twisting his mouth. âLike you were his.â
The air thinned until breathing hurt.
Your mind flickered, unbidden, to three days ago: the feel of his arms suddenly around you, the strength in the way heâd spun you without warning, the stupidly soft press of his lips against your cheek. The roar of the crowd. The heat that had flushed your face for hours after. Everyone whispering like you two were already dating. And for a dizzy second, you had wondered what it would be like if they werenât wrong.
Now? That warmth felt miles away.
âI donâtâŚâ Bokutoâs words dragged you back. His chest rose too fast, uneven. âI donât get you. One second youâre closer to me than anyone else, then the nextââ He cut himself off, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break. âDo you know what that felt like?â His voice cracked again, thin with something you couldnât name. âYouâre my best friendââ
âIâm not doing anything wrong,â you cut in, too sharp, too fast, because if you let him finish, your heart would split open.
His breath caught at the interruption.
You swallowed, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. âItâs not like weâre⌠together.â Your voice faltered, but you pushed on. âYou said it yourself. Weâre best friends. So why does it matter?â
For the first time, he looked away.
Your chest heaved. âI justââ You exhaled hard, twisting your hands into your sleeves like you could wring the ache out of them. âI wouldnât feel this bad if I didnât care, Bokuto. I wouldnât be running after you down some stupid hallway if it was just⌠friendship.â Your voice shook. âAnd youâwhy are you acting like this, if itâs only friendship for you?â
The silence was brutal.
You could feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears, but beneath it was the phantom memory of his laughter, his grin when you won at Mario Kart, the heat of his body pressed against yours during the scary movie when heâd flinched. The weight of him in your bed, the sound of his voice drifting into sleep beside you. Best friends donât do that.
His breath stuttered, shoulders rising and falling like heâd run a marathon. He couldnât look at you. Not really. Not with that storm twisting in his eyes.
âThatâs not how you treat a best friend,â you whispered, broken.
Something flickered across his face then â a flash of softness, almost pain, like your words had scraped at the truth he kept barricaded behind his ribs. But just as quickly, it was gone. He forced his mouth into a tight line, eyes shutting down, wall slamming into place.
âGod, I donât even know what Iâm doing anymore.â You laughed bitterly, though it shook apart halfway. âI feel like Iâm the only one being honest here.â
His fists clenched. âDonât.â The word came out hoarse, ragged. He stepped back like he couldnât stand the closeness. âDonât say that. You donât know whatâs going on in my head.â
âThen tell me!â The plea ripped from you before you could stop it, your voice echoing sharp in the empty hall. âTell me why youâre mad, why you canât even look at me, why it feels like I just ruined everything!â
His throat bobbed, his lips parting. But nothing. Nothing came out. Just his breathing, jagged, uneven, like he was fighting something no one else could see.
The silence was a knife.
You blinked hard, the burn of unshed tears stinging your eyes. âYeah,â you whispered, voice cracking. âThatâs what I thought.â
For a second, his hand twitched, like he might reach for you. But he didnât. He turned instead, his voice frayed and hollow. âI donât know what I am to you, Y/n. I donât know what you want from me. And I just⌠I just donât know.â
And then he walked. Not storming, not running â just walking, steady, heavy, final. Each step echoing down the corridor like a door closing between you.
You stayed frozen where heâd left you, heart splintering, breath too shallow to catch. Because deep down you knew. You knew he wouldnât act like this if he didnât feel something. He wouldnât be jealous, he wouldnât be hurt, he wouldnât be breaking in front of you if this was only friendship.
But he wouldnât say it. And you couldnât force him.
So you let him go. And the unsaid words burned hotter than the ones youâd managed to choke out.
[ Rule eighteen , confess & kiss. ]
Weeks pass.
Thatâs the first thing that shocks youâthat itâs so easy to count them, to carve them into neat blocks of time when every day feels jagged and unfinished. You used to measure your life in Bokuto-shaped moments: how loud he was when you passed each other in the hall, how many new nicknames he could invent in one practice, how often heâd throw an arm around your shoulders like it was second nature.
But now? Now you measure your days in silence.
Itâs not angry silence, not exactly. Itâs the hollow kind. The kind that scrapes at your ribs when you sit on the bench at practice and heâs right there on the court but might as well be a hundred miles away.
The team notices.
âKoutaro, you good?â a first-year asks one day after Bokuto misses a spike and doesnât even react.
He laughs it off too loudly, clapping the kid on the back and pretending it doesnât sting.
They notice you, too. How you cheer, but your voice never rises as high as it used to. How you clap, but your hands never linger at your mouth, hiding a grin meant just for him.
Even Akaashi notices. Which is worse, because Akaashi never says anything unless it matters.
You last exactly one week before cornering him.
Heâs folding practice jerseys in the equipment room, as precise and calm as always, when you blurt out, âI donât want to do this anymore.â
He doesnât even look up. âDo what?â
âThis.â You wave your hands vaguely, like the word is too sharp to hold onto. âThis whole⌠cheerleader thing. Being here.â
That makes him look. His eyes flick up from the jersey, sharp as knives even though his face stays neutral. âWhat are you talking about?â
âIâm saying I quit.â The words scrape your throat, but you force them out. âItâs not the same anymore, Akaashi. I thoughtâI thought maybe he just needed space, but itâs like I donât exist to him. And I canâtâŚâ You shake your head, fingers twisting in your sleeves. âI canât keep doing this to myself.â
For a second, he just studies you. Then, quietly: âY/n.â
The sound of your name almost undoes you.
âIâm sorry,â you rush out, before he can say more. âTell the others I said thanks. For everything. But Iâm done.â
You leave before he can stop you.
Oikawaâs couch is where you land. Because of course it is.
Iwazumiâs sprawled on the floor beside it, arms crossed, already rolling his eyes before you even finish explaining.
âSee what you did, Shittykawa?â
Oikawa scowls, stuffing a pillow into Iwaâs face. âOh, please. Like I couldâve predicted the owl would be so ridiculously dense.â
You glare at him, though it doesnât have much heat. âNot helping.â
âActually, Iâm being very helpful.â He sits up straighter, tossing his hair dramatically. âYou followed the playbook, didnât you? Eighteen steps, carefully designed by me, Tooru Oikawa, genius of romance. And what did you get? Radio silence.â
Iwazumi pulls the pillow off his face. âThatâs because your plays are stupid.â
âTheyâre not stupid!â Oikawa insists. Then, to you: âHeâs an idiot. Thatâs all. He clearly doesnât know what he wants, and itâs not your fault for trying. Itâs his fault for being as slow as Iwa-chan over here.â
Iwazumiâs ears go pink. âWhat.â
You sigh, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. âMaybe it is my fault. I shouldâve just told him how I felt instead of trying toâŚâ You trail off, gesturing helplessly. âInstead of making games out of it.â
âThatâs not the point,â Oikawa says firmly. âThe point is that you care. And trust me, he does too. He just hasnât realized it yet.â
Iwazumi studies you, his voice quieter. âHave you even talked to him since?â
You shake your head. âNo. And Iâm not going to. Heâs ignoring me. Practice was already awkward, so I⌠quit.â
Both of them go silent at that.
Then Oikawa leans forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. âOkay, no. This is actually stupid. Iâm not getting it. You like him, he clearly likes youâheâs just too much of a coward to admit it.â
You narrow your eyes. âSo what, you want me to force it out of him?â
âYes.â
âThat was rhetorical.â You roll your eyes, but your chest aches anyway.
Iwazumi cuts in, steady as stone. âYou should talk to him.â
âHe wonât listen,â you mutter. âTrust me. Heâll just⌠look away. Pretend it didnât happen.â
Which is why, a few days later, youâre not surprised when Oikawa and Akaashi both mysteriously go missing before the summer festival.
You are, however, very surprised to run right into Bokuto.
He looks as startled as you feel.
For a moment, neither of you says anything. The air between you feels heavy with all the words you didnât say these past few weeks.
âUh.â He rubs the back of his neck, hair catching the lantern glow. âWeird. You here too?â
âGuess so.â
You donât say Oikawa. You donât say Akaashi. You donât say we got set up, even though itâs obvious.
The crowd surges around you, warm and noisy, pressing the two of you closer.
And for the first time in weeks, youâre standing side by side again.
But everything feels different.
The crowd surges like a tide.
The summer festival sprawls across streets you both know well, but the lanterns strung overhead make it feel like another world entirely. Lantern light pools golden on the pavement, painting the air with warmth you donât feel. Children run past, laughing with sparklers clutched in sticky hands, couples drift between booths with candied apples and paper fans.
You and Bokuto stand in the middle of it all like two actors whoâve forgotten their lines.
âGuess itâs crowded,â he says finally, his voice louder than it needs to be. It falls flat against the swell of festival chatter.
âYeah,â you murmur.
For a heartbeat, silence again.
You used to walk with him everywhereâon autopilot, shoulder bumping shoulder, his voice filling the empty spaces. Now every step feels like a negotiation. Do you walk close? Do you leave a gap? He solves it by jamming his hands into his pockets and staring straight ahead, his usual bouncing energy muted.
The silence eats at you. You can feel your own heartbeat in your throat, heavy and uneven.
He tries again. âYou⌠uh, eaten yet?â
âNot really.â
âWanna⌠get something?â
Itâs clumsy. He knows it, you know it, but you nod anyway because itâs easier than standing here like ghosts.
The first food stall smells like fried batter and sweet syrup. Normally, heâd be vibrating, pointing at every single thing on the menu with wide-eyed excitement until you dragged him along. Tonight, he only gestures vaguely at the skewers.
âIâll get this,â he mutters.
You order too, more to fill the space than out of hunger.
When the vendor hands over the paper tray, your fingers brush his. Itâs an accidentâyou both pull back immediately, like the touch burned. His ears go pink, but he doesnât say anything.
You want to.
You want to say why canât we touch anymore? When did it get like this?
Instead, you eat in silence. The food tastes like cardboard.
The next stall is brighter, kids crowding for masks painted like foxes and cats. You catch Bokuto staring at them longer than necessary, his brows pinched, and for a moment, you almost recognize himâthe version whoâd shove a ridiculous mask over his head and try to scare you.
But then he notices your gaze and looks away.
âLetâs, uh⌠keep going.â
You follow.
The silence grows unbearable.
Youâve never been afraid of quiet beforeânot with him. With him, quiet used to mean comfort. Your shoulder pressed to his as you both watched the court, the easy kind of silence that said youâre safe here.
Now itâs suffocating.
You try to break it. âSo⌠howâs practice?â
âGood,â he says quickly. âFine.â
And nothing else.
You bite the inside of your cheek.
It only gets worse when you pass a ring toss stall. A group of Fukurodani first-years are there, laughing as they fail to land any rings. One of them spots you both and calls, âBokuto-san! L/n-san!â
Their faces light up at the sight of you together, like nothing has changed.
You force a smile, waving back.
Bokuto does tooâbut itâs stiff, a mask. He tugs you away before they can come closer.
You donât miss the way his jaw tightens.
The walk stretches on. You drift past goldfish stalls, shooting games, the smell of grilled corn. Your shoulders ache from holding yourself so carefully apart from him.
Finally, he breaks.
âWhyâd you come?â
The question catches you off guard. His eyes are fixed on the lanterns overhead, but his voice is sharp enough to cut.
âIââ You swallow. âI just⌠wanted to.â
He doesnât believe you. You can see it in the set of his mouth.
You donât tell him that you didnât come for the festival. That Akaashi and Oikawa pulled strings you didnât agree to, forced you here because they were sick of watching you both orbit misery.
Because if you said that, heâd only retreat further.
You stop at a yakisoba stall. The heat from the grill stings your cheeks, the smell thick in the air. Bokuto fumbles with his wallet, pays for both without looking at you, and hands over a plate.
Itâs awkward. Too polite.
âThanks,â you say softly.
He just nods.
You stand side by side, eating from separate trays, shoulders not touching though the space between you aches.
Finally, you canât take it anymore. âBokuto.â
He freezes mid-bite. Slowly lowers the chopsticks.
âWhat?â
âI hate this.â The words tumble out before you can stop them. âThis⌠thing between us. Like weâre strangers.â
For a second, his face flickersâhurt, guilt, something else. But he forces a laugh, too bright, too brittle.
âCâmon, Y/n. Weâre not strangers.â
âThen what are we?â
The question hangs in the air, heavier than the smoke from the grill. He doesnât answer. Just looks away, throat bobbing.
You walk again. Past cotton candy stalls, past sparklers, past couples leaning into each other like the air belongs to them. Your chest feels hollow.
At one point, your hands brush again. This time neither of you pulls away immediately. But neither of you takes the leap, either.
Itâs enough to make your stomach ache.
By the time the fireworks are about to start, youâre raw with silence.
The crowd funnels toward the riverbank, blankets spread across the grass, families settling in. Lanterns sway in the breeze, casting long shadows.
Bokuto stops beside an empty patch of grass.
âHere?â he asks.
You nod, though your throat feels too tight to speak.
You sit side by side, the distance between you a canyon.
The first firework explodes overheadâred, then gold, lighting the sky like something alive.
You donât look at it.
You look at him.
And the words burn at the back of your throat, desperate to be said.
The fireworks continued to boom so loud to the point where the ground trembles. Gold bleeds across the sky, burning out into ash that falls invisible in the dark. The crowd cheers, but between you and him itâs quieter than itâs ever been.
Your knees pull close to your chest. His hands are fists in the grass.
You canât take it anymore.
âBokuto,â you whisper.
He flinches like the sound of his own name hurts. Slowly, he turns, eyes reflecting the fireworks like shards of glass.
âI really canât do this anymore.â
His breath hitches. âDo⌠what?â
You gesture weakly between you, the canyon carved from silence and misunderstandings. âPretending everythingâs fine. Pretending I donâtââ You bite down, the words raw in your throat.
He watches you, eyes wide and wounded. âY/nâŚâ
You swallow hard. âThereâs something I need to tell you. The truth. All of it.â
The words come spilling out, jagged and messy:
âHow this started as a test. Oikawa wrote eighteen stupid rules for meâways to make you fall for me. I didnât even mean to at first, but then⌠I kept going. Sleepovers, compliments, all of it. Every step I took was me trying to tell you without actually saying it out loud.â
His mouth parts, disbelief written all over him.
You push on. âBut somewhere along the way it stopped being a test for you to like me. It wasnât about Oikawaâs dumb playbook anymore. It was just me, wanting you.â
The confession tastes like blood and salt on your tongue.
âI like you, Bokuto. More than a best friend. I have for a while now.â
The world narrows to his silence. To the crackle of sparklers and the thunder of fireworks you donât see.
Finally, he breathes, âYou⌠you did all that for me?â
His voice is rough, like heâs been shouting for hours.
You nod. Your pulse hammers so loud it drowns the crowd. âI didnât mean to confuse you. I just⌠I didnât know how else to tell you. And I thoughtââ
âThat night,â he blurts, eyes sharp now. âThe party. We played sven minutes in heaven.â
You blink. âWhat?â
âI remember.â He drags a hand through his hair, wild-eyed. âI didnât before, butâI did eventually. We kissed, Y/n. I kissed you, and I didnât stop thinking about it even when I forgot the details. Thatâs why itâs been eating me alive.â
Your chest tightens, air searing in your lungs.
âYou kissed me?â Your voice cracks.
He shakes his head violently. âWellâwe kissed each other. And it feltââ He cuts himself off, breath shuddering. âI didnât know how to deal with it. I didnât want to screw it up.â
A firework erupts overhead, bathing you both in gold. His hand twitches in the grass between you.
âY/n,â he says, softer now, broken in a way youâve never heard. âI like you too. More than a best friend. I justâI didnât know how to say it. I thought if I held on too tight, Iâd loose you.â
Something in you snaps.
You lean forward, grab the collar of his shirt, and kiss him.
Itâs clumsy at first, more shock than skill. His lips are soft, hesitant, testing. He freezes for a heartbeat, and then heâs moving, responding, tilting his head until your mouths fit.
The taste of yakisoba and sugar still lingers on your tongues. His breath hitches against you.
Then the dam breaks.
The kiss deepens, hot and desperate, his hand cupping the back of your neck like heâs terrified youâll vanish. Your lips part, and the world dissolves in sensation: the rough scrape of his teeth grazing yours, the low groan caught in his throat, the shiver that runs down your spine when his thumb brushes your jaw.
Fireworks explode above, drowning the sound of your gasped breaths.
He kisses you like a man starved. Like heâs been waiting for years and is terrified this is the only chance heâll ever get. Your fingers knot in his hair, tugging him closer, until your chests press flush, heat radiating through every point of contact.
The smell of smoke, fried food, and summer air swirls around you, but all you can taste is him.
When you finally break apart, foreheads pressed together, youâre both breathless, gasping against each otherâs lips. His chest heaves like heâs just played five sets straight.
âHoly shit,â he whispers, voice shaking. âThat wasâyouââ
You laugh, giddy and wrecked. âYeah. Same.â
Another firework cracks above, showering the world in red. He leans in again, kisses you softer this time, almost reverent, like he wants to memorize you in every color of the sky.
For once, the silence between you isnât suffocating.
Itâs full.
Itâs everything.
END
A/N- FINALLY FINISHED OMDD I will do bonus scenes (partially because I donât want it to come to an end ßšđĽŚßš) which includes some elements of smut + other scenes!!
đđđđđ đđđđđđ:
1. Graduation
2. I Love You
3. Date Night (smut)
4. Moving In (partial smut)
5. Early Morning (partial smut)
6. First Doubt
7. Reunion (smut)
8. Always & Forever
[ Bonus one , graduation. ]
It had only been a few weeks since you and Bokuto started dating, and you still couldnât quite believe it. Sometimes, when he pulled you in close, you had to pinch yourself â like maybe youâd wake up and it would all still just be a dream. But it wasnât. This was real. He was yours.
Those weeks felt like a blur of soft kisses tucked into stolen corners of the school hallway, his ridiculously sweaty hand always finding yours on the way to practice, late-night calls that turned into sleepovers where youâd fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his breathing. Bokuto was everything youâd thought heâd be as a boyfriend: playful, relentless in affection, and so open with his happiness that it made your own heart ache.
When you finally told people, the reactions were⌠dramatic, to say the least.
Oikawaâs voice went up several octaves, practically shrieking over the phone. âFINALLY! My genius plan worked! Do you know how long Iâve been waiting for this day? I practically wrote history, Y/n, you can thank meââ until Iwaizumiâs âshut up, Shittykawaâ cut him off. Iwaizumi, of course, had been calmer, though the grin on his face said everything. âCongrats. Took you guys long enough.â
The Fukurodani team, on the other hand, erupted into chaos the second Bokuto blurted it out during practice.
âNO WAY!â Konoha yelled, gripping Onagaâs shoulders like heâd just witnessed a miracle. âI knew it! I knew it from day oneââ
âYou didnât know anything,â Washio interrupted, though he was smiling too.
Akaashi didnât say much, just met your eyes and gave a soft, knowing smile â like heâd seen this coming a mile away.
It had been perfect.
But perfect things had a way of moving too quickly.
No matter how much you wanted to slow it down, graduation came faster than anyone wanted. The air in the gym felt heavier with every practice, every serve echoing against the walls with the weight of lasts. The last rally. The last time Bokuto would scream in victory in his high school gym. The last time youâd stand at the edge of the court, cheering so loudly your throat hurt.
On the day itself, the atmosphere was bittersweet.
The third-years â you included â lined up for the farewell. The first and second-years tried to act normal, but you could see it: the way Washioâs jaw set tighter than usual, the way Akaashiâs fingers twisted against his clipboard, the way Onaga blinked too many times to fight back tears.
And then there was Bokuto.
He was trying â oh, he was trying so hard to keep his usual brightness. He laughed too loud, ruffled everyoneâs hair, cracked jokes like always. But you saw the way his smile faltered whenever he looked around the gym. You knew him too well; you knew his energy was masking the ache in his chest.
When it came time to pass down the captainâs role, Bokuto stood in the center, holding the armband with a trembling hand.
âWashio,â he said, voice catching, though he still smiled, âI trust you. More than anyone. Youâre steady, and youâve got this. Youâll take care of them, right?â
Washio nodded firmly. âOf course.â
That was it. Bokuto handed the invisible band over, and the weight of it all seemed to finally crash on him.
He turned to his teammates, and for once, his voice wasnât booming with bravado but thick with sincerity. âYou guys⌠youâre my family. This team made me who I am. Donât forget that youâre strong. Even when Iâm not here to yell about it.â
There were sniffles. Even Akaashiâs usual composure cracked when Bokuto wrapped him in a hug so tight his feet nearly left the floor.
By the time the goodbyes were done, your chest hurt from holding back tears.
And then, just like that, it was over. The gym was emptying out, echoing with the ghosts of all the noise and chaos it had once held.
Bokuto reached for your hand as you walked out together. His palm was warm, grounding, even as the cool evening air brushed your skin.
âY/n,â he said softly, his voice a little hoarse from everything heâd just said and felt.
You glanced at him, and he smiled â not his usual blinding grin, but something softer, steadier. âItâs sad⌠but Iâm glad Iâm walking out of here with you.â
Your throat tightened, but you squeezed his hand back. âMe too.â
It wasnât an ending. Not for you two. As the gym doors closed behind you, it felt like the beginning of something bigger, brighter â a future you were stepping into together.
[ Bonus two , I love you. ]
It was now only a few weeks since graduation, but the world already felt different. The team scattered into new routines, new futures, new uncertainties. And Bokuto Koutaro â your loud, golden, chaotic best friend-turned-boyfriend â had been quiet.
Not bad quiet, just⌠heavy.
You noticed it in the way he slumped into his desk chair when you came over that evening, the way he fiddled with the string of his hoodie instead of bouncing to tell you about his day. His parents had congratulated him, youâd hugged him, Akaashi had clapped him on the back with a rare, soft smile. But Bokuto still hadnât celebrated properly.
You climbed onto his bed, cross-legged, and watched him from across the room. He looked like he was trying to hold the whole sky in his chest.
âYou should be happy,â you finally said, voice light, teasing. âBig scary MSBY Owl, right? Captain of⌠well, something eventually. You made it, Bokuto.â
His head snapped up â eyes wide, almost guilty. âI am happy!â He said it too fast, too loud, like if he said it with his usual volume it would be true. Then his shoulders deflated, and he spun slowly in his chair to face you. âI just⌠I dunno, Y/n. Itâs weird.â
You patted your lap, a silent command. He hesitated, then dragged himself over, collapsing onto the bed until you guided him into sitting between your thighs, his head dropping against your shoulder.
Your hands instinctively found his hair, carding through soft strands until his breath evened out. He always melted like that under your touch.
âWhatâs weird?â you asked gently.
He was quiet for a moment. Then, muffled against your shirt: âIâll be traveling a lot.â
You smiled into his hair. âYeah, thatâs kinda the point of being a pro athlete.â
âI donât ever wanna lose you.â His voice cracked, raw and boyish, nothing like the confident ace who commanded stadiums. His arms slid tight around your waist, pulling you flush. âI donât even know if I wanna do it, Y/n. Not if it meansââ
You pushed him back just enough to see his face. His eyes were shining, wide and terrified, like he was already watching you slip away.
âBokuto,â you said firmly. âDonât you dare think about not doing this. It would hurt me more if you gave up your dream just because of me. Do you know how proud I am of you? You canât throw that away.â
He bit his lip, searching your face. âBut promise me. Nothing will happen to us. Please.â
Your chest squeezed so tight it almost hurt. You cupped his face, thumbs brushing away the fear gathering in his expression. âNothing will happen to us.â
His breath hitched. âPromise?â
âPromise.â
And then, like the words broke free without his permission, he whispered it against your palm: âI love you.â
It wasnât loud, wasnât shouted to the ceiling like most things Bokuto did. It was trembling and desperate, as if the confession itself was a lifeline heâd been clinging to for months.
You blinked at him, heart stuttering. And then you smiled, so wide your cheeks hurt.
âI love you too,â you breathed.
The relief in his face was almost painful â like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. He surged forward, kissing you once, twice, soft and shaky, before breaking. Then it was all heat, hands gripping your waist, your own fingers tangling in his hair, kissing him back until you couldnât tell where his breath ended and yours began.
The world tilted when he pulled you fully onto his lap, straddling him. He laughed against your mouth â that unsteady, dizzy laugh he only made when he was overwhelmed.
You kissed it away.
His hands slid under your shirt but didnât push further, just held, just touched â grounding himself in the promise that you were here, and he wasnât losing you. Each kiss deepened, slow then hungry, until both of you were panting, foreheads pressed together, your laughter trembling with leftover tears.
When you finally pulled back, lips swollen, you whispered, âSee? Nothingâs going to happen to us.â
And Bokuto, eyes shining brighter than youâd ever seen, nodded. âNever. Not as long as Iâve got you.â
[ Bonus three , date night. ]
It had been months since the fireworks. Months since the night your lips pressed against Bokutoâs beneath the burst of light and smoke, months since the world narrowed into him â warm, loud, and trembling in your arms.
And somehow, you still couldnât believe it.
Bokuto Koutaro was your boyfriend.
The word felt giddy and unreal every time it slipped through your head.
Boyfriend.
Like it wasnât the same boy who used to yell across the gym to show you his new spike form, or whine for energy juice during practice, or drape his hoodie over your shoulders without thinking. No â this was Bokuto, but softer.
Yours.
Heâd turned out to be surprisingly romantic in ways you never expected. He would walk you to practice, insist on carrying your bag even when you argued heâd already been weight training that morning, and heâd always buy you those little melon breads you liked at the corner shop. Flowers, too. He wasnât smooth about it, not really â he usually thrust the bouquet at you like a volleyball, cheeks pink and hair sticking up in uneven tufts. But the sincerity in his wide smile made your chest ache every time.
There were kisses, of course. So many kisses â slower ones when he dropped you off at home, sleepy ones when you fell asleep at his place. Endless sleepovers where his warmth wrapped around you like a blanket, and you whispered into his chest until you both drifted off.
It was everything you wanted.
And yet, for all that sweetness, the two of you hadnât crossed that line yet. Not because the desire wasnât there â you felt it, buzzing beneath your skin, humming in every long kiss that lingered too close to something more. But neither of you pushed. Maybe because Bokuto didnât want to pressure you. Maybe because you were both too wrapped up in the happiness of simply being together.
Still, there were nights when you lay awake in his bed, your legs tangled together, wondering what it would be like to take that final step.
You didnât have to think too hard about it today, though.
Because right now, Bokuto was lying beside you in your room, half-sprawled across your bed while a half-forgotten movie played on your laptop. His hair was messy, his T-shirt a little too loose, and his arm rested beneath your head like it belonged there. Which it kind of did.
You thought he was dozing until he suddenly piped up.
âLetâs go on a cute date today.â
You blinked, turning toward him. âWhat? Whereâd that come from?â
Bokuto grinned, turning his head so close your noses nearly bumped. âI wanna take my pretty girl out. Proper date. Just us.â
Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you couldnât help but laugh. âReally? Whatâs the occasion?â
His grin widened until it stretched nearly off his face. âYou. Youâre the occasion.â
You smacked his chest with a pillow, trying to cover the way your heart melted into a puddle. âCheesy.â
âNot cheesy if I mean it,â he shot back, voice warm with something softer than his usual loudness.
Before you could respond, your phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand. Bokuto craned his neck like a curious owl, reading the caller ID.
âOikawa? Tell him I said hi!â
You groaned, swiping the phone before Bokuto could grab it. âIâll be right back,â you muttered, slipping off the bed. Bokuto gave you an exaggerated thumbs-up before sprawling dramatically across your pillows.
You answered the call as you stepped into the hall. âHey.â
âY/n-chan!â Oikawaâs voice nearly blew out your eardrum, loud and dripping with over-the-top sweetness. âItâs been ages! I was starting to think you forgot about your childhood best friend, now that youâve got a boyfriend and allââ
You rolled your eyes, though your lips tugged into a smile. âI didnât forget you. Donât be dramatic.â
There was a muffled grunt in the background, and then another voice cut in. âShe didnât forget you, Shittykawa. Stop whining.â
âIwa-chan!â Oikawa squeaked. âDonât ruin my moment.â
You laughed, leaning against the wall. âSo, you two are together again? I shouldâve guessed.â
âObviously,â Iwaizumi said. âHe begged me to join the call. Whatâve you been up to?â
âNothing much. Justââ You hesitated, then smiled to yourself. âActually, Bokutoâs taking me out on a date tonight.â
Oikawa gasped so loudly you winced. âCute! Adorable! Fantastic! âŚBut I was asking about the juicy stuff.â
Your face flamed instantly. âTheâwhat?â
âYou know.â His voice dropped into a conspiratorial purr. âThe spicy details. Donât tell me you two havenâtââ
âOikawa!â
Iwa groaned in the background. âYouâre disgusting. Stop prying into her love life.â
But Oikawa was relentless. âWait. Wait. Donât tell me. Youâve been dating for months. Youâve done all the cute couple stuff. And youâre telling me you still havenâtââ
Your silence was answer enough.
Oikawa shrieked. âARE YOU KIDDING ME? Itâs been months! Do I need to get on a flight from Brazil just to fix your sex life??â
You nearly dropped the phone. âOikawa, shut up! Itâs none of your business!â
âIwa-chan, back me up here,â Oikawa whined.
âNo way,â Iwa said flatly. âThis is between her and Bokuto. Donât drag me into your crap.â
âUnbelievable,â Oikawa huffed, ignoring him. âTonight. Itâs happening. I refuse to let my best friend stay a virgin forever when sheâs dating a guy who looks like that. Hereâs what youâre going to doââ
âOikawa!â
But he was already rattling off a plan â half-serious, half-ridiculous â that made your face burn hotter with every word. Seduce him, he said. Dress a little cuter than usual. Lean in. Donât chicken out.
By the time you finally managed to hang up, you were mortified.
Still, his words lingered in your head as you padded back into your room. Bokuto sat up the second you entered, hair sticking up in a dozen new directions, a goofy smile on his lips.
âEverything okay?â he asked.
You nodded quickly, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck. âYeah. Just Oikawa being⌠Oikawa.â
Bokuto patted the space beside him. âCome here.â
You climbed back onto the bed, curling against him as if nothing had changed. His arm draped over your shoulder, casual and familiar.
But your thoughts werenât casual at all. They were racing, tangled up in Oikawaâs meddling words and the warm weight of Bokutoâs arm around you.
He noticed the way you bit your lip, because of course he did.
âWhatâs with that face?â he teased, poking your cheek.
âNothing,â you mumbled, too quickly.
He tilted his head, unconvinced, but let it slide with a hum. Then, casually, almost like it was nothing, he saidâ
âI booked us something nice for later, weâll need to pack a few things.â
You blinked. ââŚFor what?â
Bokuto grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. âItâs a surprise.â
Your heart stuttered, and Oikawaâs voice echoed in your mind: Tonight. Itâs happening.
You werenât sure if you wanted to kill him⌠or thank him.
Bokuto had practically dragged you into the lobby, his hand warm and solid around yours, his grin wide enough to split his face. He marched up to the front desk like he owned the place, puffing out his chest as though announcing something to the world.
âReservation for Bokuto Koutaro!â he said loudly, then added, proudly, âAnd my girlfriend.â
You nearly choked on air. The receptionist blinked but handed over the keycards, and you hid your face in your sleeve as Bokuto beamed like heâd just won nationals.
The elevator ride was no less chaotic. Bokuto was humming some offbeat rhythm, bouncing on his heels, his fingers tapping restlessly against your knuckles. When the doors opened, he nearly barreled you into the hallway before fumbling the keycard into the slot.
The door swung open, and he froze. âWOAH.â
The suite was massive. A king-sized bed stood at the center like a throne, its crisp white linens already conquered by a battlefield of snacks Bokuto mustâve hauled in earlier: chocolate-dipped strawberries, a tower of popcorn, sodas, candy, chips spilling from bags. A wall-to-wall window looked out over the city, glittering with lights. To the side, the largest flat-screen TV youâd ever seen glowed like a movie theater screen.
âLook at this place!â Bokuto shouted, his voice echoing against the high ceiling. He ran across the room and belly-flopped onto the bed, making the snacks jump. âY/n, câmere, itâs like weâre celebrities.â
You shut the door, laughing despite yourself. âYouâre going to break the bed before we even sleep in it.â
âWorth it!â He flipped onto his back, hair wild, cheeks flushed from excitement. Then he bolted upright and dashed to the dresser. âOH! They have hotel clothes!â He held up the folded loungewear like it was treasure.
âBokutoââ
âLetâs change, baby!â He was already kicking off his shirt, tossing it carelessly across the room. âWe gotta do this properly!â
You shook your head, but your heart thudded harder when you pulled out the outfit youâd packed: the delicate lingerie Oikawa had insisted on, now hidden beneath an oversized shirt. You slipped it on in the bathroom, nerves twisting through your stomach, and tried not to think about the way your hands were shaking.
When you came back out, Bokuto was sprawled shirtless in baggy shorts, already dimming the lights so the room was wrapped in soft darkness. The TV flickered, painting him in silver and blue.
His head popped up when he saw you. His grin softened into something warmer, something that curled in your chest. âPerfect. Get over here.â He patted the bed like he was coaxing a cat, snacks spread everywhere around him.
You climbed onto the mattress, the oversized shirt hiding your secret. Bokuto immediately slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his chest.
The screen glowed, the city twinkled outside, the air smelled faintly of strawberries and chocolate. Bokuto squeezed your hip absentmindedly as he chattered about what movie to start, and you couldnât stop thinking about Oikawaâs words echoing in your head
Bokuto had the lights low, the movie long forgotten, his arm tucked around you as if he could never sit without touching you somehow. You shifted to face him, and his grin faltered into something softer, something that tugged at you until you leaned in and kissed him.
He sighed into it, smiling against your mouth before deepening the kiss. One soft press turned into two, then into heatâhis hand cupping your jaw, his lips moving faster, hungrier, until your shirt was caught between his fingers and you were half straddling him. He pulled you into his lap without hesitation, a groan slipping out when your weight settled against him.
You kissed him harder, every brush of your lips against his making your body burn. Bokuto kissed back like he always didâhot, desperate, overwhelmingâbut then, just like every other time, he slowed, pulling back, breathing hard against your cheek as if forcing himself to stop.
But this time you didnât want to stop.
You chased his mouth, kissed him again, then down his jaw, his neck, his cheek. His laugh was soft, almost breathless, as his hands lingered helplessly at your hips. âMy love,â he chuckled, voice hoarse, âwhatâs up with you?â
You didnât answer. Instead, you caught his hand, kissed along his fingers, watched his eyes widen before you trailed lower, pressing your lips to his chest, then down the lines of his abs. His laughter caught, stuttered into silence as you kissed your way to the sharp cut of his waist, your lips brushing just above the waistband of his shorts.
âY/nâŚâ His voice was tight, warning and wanting all at once. He reached down, tilting your chin up with trembling fingers. His golden eyes were wide, his mouth parted, expression almost shy despite the heat between you. âUh⌠you donât have toââ
You grinned against his skin and bit his hand playfully, a teasing nip before you kissed lower, tracing the sharp V-line that dipped into his shorts. He sucked in a sharp breath as you tugged at the drawstring, slowly working the fabric down to reveal the outline of his boxers.
âI want to,â you whispered, your voice trembling with nerves but steady with intent.
Bokuto swallowed, his throat bobbing. âI didnât bring you to a hotel because I wanted you to do this,â he murmured, voice rough, as if he needed you to know it.
âI know.â Your lips brushed his waistband again, your hand pressing to the warmth beneath. You looked up at him through your lashes, a smile tugging at your mouth. âBut I want to. So please?â
He stared at you, chest rising and falling, his hair sticking up even wilder than usual. For once, Bokuto Koutarou didnât have words. He only sighed, face flushed deep pink, and nodded. ââŚOkay.â
His shorts slipped lower under your hands, and when you tugged his boxers down, you froze, your breath catching. He was already semi-hard, heavy in your hand, flushed a deeper shade at the tip. You pressed a tentative kiss there, and his entire body jerked.
âHoly shit,â he groaned, his voice cracking as his head tipped back against the headboard. His hands clenched the sheets, but his eyes never left you, wide and almost disbelieving. âYouâY/nââ His words stuttered into a moan as you kissed again, your lips lingering, testing, learning.
You were nervous, fumbling at first, but every reaction from him was a guide: the way his hips twitched when you circled your tongue around the swollen head, the low curse he breathed when you wrapped your lips tighter around him, the broken groan when you took him deeper bit by bit.
Bokutoâs hands shook where they hovered above you, like he wanted to touch but couldnât bear to stop you. His chest rose hard and fast, his abs tightening under your palms. âYouâreâfuckâyouâre gonna kill me,â he gasped, voice cracking into laughter and moans all tangled together.
And still, he couldnât take his eyes off you.
Your lips lingered against the flushed crown of his cock, warm and soft, and Bokuto swore his entire body lit up like a struck match. The sound he made was nothing short of brokenâhalf-moan, half-gaspâhis head thunking back against the headboard as his fists balled in the sheets.
âY/nââ His voice cracked, breathless and high, as if saying your name alone could anchor him. âFuck, that feelsââ He cut himself off with another groan when you parted your lips and kissed him again, this time wetter, firmer, your tongue darting out in a nervous flick.
The taste was faintly salty, sharp and heady on your tongue, and the weight of him in your hand only made your pulse quicken. He was heavy, hot, pulsing with every faint twitch of blood rushing through him. It was intimidatingâhe was intimidatingâbut the way Bokuto was looking at you made it impossible to stop.
His golden eyes, wide and blown, were fixed on you as if he couldnât bear to blink. His chest heaved, each inhale shaky, every exhale a muttered curse of disbelief. âYouâre⌠oh my god, youâre actuallyâŚâ He trailed off, his words strangled as you opened your mouth wider, your lips wrapping cautiously around him.
The sound that left him then was shameless, gutturalâlike the last shred of his composure snapping in half. âHoly shit, baby,â he groaned, hand shooting out instinctively before he froze, hovering above your hair like he was terrified to push you. âCan Iâ? Pleaseââ
You hummed, the vibration making him jolt, and guided his hand to your hair yourself. His fingers threaded through carefully, reverently, holding but not forcing, stroking your scalp as if youâd break beneath his touch.
Your mouth slid lower, slow and experimental, until he hit the back of your throat and you gagged, pulling back instantly with a watery gasp. But Bokutoâs hand was there, not restraining but steadying, his other hand reaching down to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed over your lips, wet and swollen from stretching around him. His gaze softened, even as his body trembled with need.
âHey, heyâdonât push it,â he whispered, though his voice was still wrecked, raw with restraint. âYouâre alreadyâfuck, youâre making me feel so good. You donât even know.â
But you wanted to know. You wanted to know exactly how to make him lose his mind. So you tried again. Slower this time. You took him deeper bit by bit, swirling your tongue, hollowing your cheeks, listening for every sound that spilled out of him like music.
And Bokuto was so vocal.
Every shift of your mouth had him panting, every flick of your tongue had him groaning your name. âYesâjust like thatâoh god, youâre perfect,â he choked, his hand tightening in your hair, not pushing but guiding, matching the rhythm you were learning. âMy pretty girlâfuckâyouâre unrealââ
Your confidence grew with each reaction, each stuttered moan and strangled laugh, until you were bobbing your head in a steady rhythm. The slick, obscene sounds filled the darkened room, mixing with his gasps and your own muffled breaths. Saliva slicked your lips and dripped down your chin, and he couldnât stop staring at youâon your knees, hair messy, eyes watery but blazing with determination.
âY/n,â he whinedâactually whinedâas his hips twitched, betraying him with shallow thrusts. He yanked his hand back instantly, horrified at himself. âShit, I didnât meanââ
But you caught his wrist, kissed the vein at the base of his palm, and went back down on him with a deliberate slowness that made his eyes roll back. His restraint cracked, splintering into shuddering groans. âDonâtâdonât do that to me, baby, Iâm gonnaââ
He couldnât help it anymore. His hand threaded back into your hair, this time with firmer intent, guiding the pace but never shoving. Just enough to meet you, to move with you, until you were both lost in the sloppy, wet rhythm. His thighs trembled under your palms as you steadied yourself against him, and his voice broke again and againâpraise, curses, moans spilling freely.
âGod, youâre so goodâso fucking goodâI canâtâfuck, I canât hold itââ His hips stuttered, thrusting shallowly into your mouth now that youâd allowed it, each one sloppy, desperate. His eyes locked on yours through the messy strands of hair, wild and vulnerable, like heâd never wanted anything more than you right here, right now.
Your jaw ached, your throat burned, but the sight of Bokutoâflushed red, chest heaving, golden eyes glazed and franticâmade every second worth it. You sucked harder, swirling your tongue, and that was all it took.
His entire body jerked, a strangled cry ripping out of his throat as his hips pressed forward, spilling hot and heavy onto your tongue. He moaned your name like a prayer, like a plea, his hand gripping your hair tight as his climax tore through him.
You swallowed as best you could, though some of it spilled messily down your chin, dripping onto your shirt. You pulled back slowly, lips sliding off him with a wet pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you looked up at him.
Bokutoâs chest was heaving, his hair plastered to his forehead, sweat shining on his collarbones. He stared at you like youâd just upended his entire universe. And then he laughedâa breathless, incredulous sound, his hand cupping your cheek again.
âYou,â he rasped, voice still shaking, âare actually going to kill me.â
You had barely pulled your mouth off him, lips shiny and cheeks flushed, when Bokuto leaned forward and grabbed youânot rough, but urgent, like he couldnât let you stay on the floor another second. He pulled you onto his lap in one smooth motion, chest still rising hard and fast under yours.
âBaby,â he whispered, and his voice cracked on the word, his forehead pressing against yours. His golden eyes were wide, soft and disbelieving, like he couldnât process that youâd just done that for him. âYouâre insane. Youâre perfect. Youâfuckââ
His praise dissolved into a groan as you shifted on his lap. You felt it instantlyâthe twitch under you, the unmistakable hardness pressing against your thigh even though heâd just finished.
You pulled back slightly, wide-eyed. âAlready?â
Bokuto laughed, breathless and sheepish, running a shaky hand through his sweat-mussed hair. âIâuhâyeah. I canât help it. Look at you.â His eyes roved over your face, down to your swollen lips, your damp chin, and thenâslowlyâlower. His hand trembled as it traced the hem of your oversized shirt. âCan IâŚ?â
You nodded, your chest already tight with nerves
He pulled it up and over your headâthen froze.
The shirt slipped from Bokutoâs fingers, but his breath slipped from his lungs. You sat there in his lap, lace framing your body like some fever dream, and the only thing separating you was the steady, heavy press of his cock against youâeven harder now, flushed and thick where it rested against the heat of your panties.
âFuckâŚâ His voice cracked. His handsâbig, tremblingâskated up your thighs, pausing just shy of your hips like he was afraid youâd disappear if he touched too hard. âYouâre sitting hereâlooking like thisâon me? Youâre insane. I donât deserve you.â
You leaned down and kissed him, slow and deep, until his disbelief melted into need. His mouth parted under yours, his tongue sweeping against yours as though he couldnât get enough, and you gasped when he ground up into you, the wet lace between your thighs barely softening the drag of his length.
He broke the kiss with a shaky laugh, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. âIâm already so close just from thatâwhat the hell are you doing to me?â
You smiled against his hair, sliding your fingers into the messy strands. âDriving you crazy.â
âMission accomplished.â His voice was low, hoarse, almost reverent.
One hand cupped your breast, thumb flicking over the lace-covered peak until your back arched. He groaned at the sight, slipping beneath the cup with no patience for barriers. The heat of his palm against your bare skin made you whimper.
âGod, youâre perfect,â he whispered before ducking his head. His mouth wrapped around your nipple, sucking gently, then harder when your hips jerked against him. His teeth grazed, tongue swirling, pulling broken sounds from your throat while his other hand gripped your waist, keeping you steady as you writhed.
Every time you shifted, his cock slid against your soaked panties, smearing your slick down his length. You couldnât stop rocking into him, couldnât stop the tiny gasps each time the head nudged against your clit through the fabric.
âBokutoââ Your voice cracked, pleading.
He lifted his head, lips glistening, eyes wild. âIâve got you,â he promised, kissing you again, tasting the whimper still trembling on your tongue. His fingers drifted lower, skimming the waistband of your panties. âCan I?â
You nodded fast, too breathless for words.
He hooked his fingers under the lace and slid down, groaning when his hand met nothing but wet heat. âFuck, youâre soaked.â His thumb found your clit like instinct, circling softly until your nails dug into his shoulders. âAnd all thisâjust from me?â
âAlways you,â you gasped, bucking into his touch.
That pulled a curse from his throat, his cock twitching hard against you. He teased you with shallow strokes at first, fingers brushing your entrance but not pressing in, like he was testing how much you could take.
You whined, rolling your hips desperately. âKoutaro, please.â
He chuckled, kissing you again to swallow the sound, before finally sliding a finger inside you. The stretch had you clinging to him instantly, moaning into his mouth as he worked you open slowly, gently, like you were the most fragile thing heâd ever held.
âThatâs it,â he praised, voice rough with awe. âGood girl, taking me so well.â
Your whole body jolted at the praise, your walls tightening around him.
He froze, then smirked against your neck. âOhh. You like that, huh?â
Your face burned, but you couldnât deny itânot when your body gave you away with every pulse.
He added a second finger, curling them just right until sparks shot up your spine. âThen Iâll say it again. Youâre perfect. Youâre gorgeous. Youâre mine.â
His fingers curled inside you just right, brushing over that spot that made you see stars, and you clutched at his shoulders like they were the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth. His name kept spilling from your lips, broken, desperateââKou, please, pleaseââ
He groaned, the sound deep in his chest. His thumb never stopped circling your clit, slow but relentless, and each tiny motion made your thighs tremble where they caged his hips. You were unraveling fast, every muscle straining tight, sweat making the lace cling to your skin.
âThatâs it,â he coaxed, kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your ear. âLet it happen, baby. Youâre so close. Youâre so fucking pretty like this.â
Your walls clenched around his fingers hard enough to make him curse, but just as your vision started to blurâright on the edgeâhe stopped.
âWhaâ?â Your protest cracked on a whimper.
Bokutoâs forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. His fingers slipped free, wet with your arousal, and he hooked them into the waistband of your panties. He tugged them to the side, baring you completely against the thick, leaking press of his cock.
âCan I?â His voice was wrecked, almost shaking with restraint. âTell me you want this too. Tell me now, or I stop.â
You cupped his face, forcing him to meet your eyes even through your blush. âI want you, Kou. Iâve always wanted you.â
Something in him snapped.
He let out a choked laugh, half-disbelieving, before lining himself up. The blunt head nudged at your entrance, sliding easily against how wet you were, and both of you moaned at the contact.
The blunt head nudged at your entrance, sliding easily against how wet you were, and both of you moaned at the contact.
He pressed in slowly, almost too slow, his jaw clenched and his hand gripping your hip hard enough to tremble. Your nails dug into his shoulders as the stretch hitâhot, tight, so much more than his fingersâand you buried your face in his neck with a gasp.
âKouââ
âI know, baby. I know.â His voice cracked like he was barely holding himself together. He kissed your temple, your hair, anywhere his lips could reach while his other hand rubbed soothing circles on your back. âGod, you feel⌠youâre perfect. So warm, so tight. Just⌠just breathe, yeah? Iâve got you.â
You exhaled shakily, forcing yourself to relax, and he pushed deeper. Inch by inch until he was fully seated inside you, panting hard against your ear. His cock twitched deep in your heat, and his whole body shuddered.
âHoly shit.â His laugh was wrecked, breathless. âIâm notâI donât think Iâve ever felt anything like this. Youâre⌠fuck, youâre mine.â
The words made you clench around him, and he groaned so loud it rattled through his chest into yours.
He didnât move at first. He just held you there, one hand splayed over your spine to keep you flush against him, the other gripping your thigh as though anchoring himself. His lips brushed your cheek, your jaw, whispering between shaky breaths: âYouâre so beautiful. My pretty girl. Iâm gonna take such good care of you.â
When you finally shifted your hips experimentally, the both of you gasped. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin as he muttered a broken, âDonâtâfuckâdonât do that unless you want me to lose it.â
But you wanted him to.
You rolled again, this time slower, and he hissed, dragging his hips up to meet yours. The friction sparked through you like lightning, and suddenly you couldnât stop. Your thighs tightened around his hips, pulling him closer, deeper, and he found his rhythmâsmooth thrusts that grew steadier, stronger, until every push had you choking on a cry.
The sound of skin against skin filled the room, tangled with his shameless moans. Bokuto didnât hold back, didnât bite them downâhe gave them all to you, each noise proof of how undone you made him.
âFeels so good,â he groaned, kissing your shoulder before tilting his head back, golden eyes blown wide. âYouâreâfuck, youâre squeezing me so tight, baby. Like you were made for me. You were, werenât you? Just mine.â
âYes,â you gasped, nails scraping down his chest. âAll yours.â
That cracked something in him. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, angled just right until sparks exploded behind your eyes. You clawed at him, desperate, your moans rising into shameless cries as heat coiled tighter and tighter low in your stomach.
âKouââ Your voice broke on his name, pleading.
âIâve got you,â he panted, thumb finding your clit again, circling fast and messy as his hips snapped up into yours. âCome on, baby. Cum for me. Wanna feel you, need to feel youâplease.â
His begging undid you. You shattered around him, crying out as waves of pleasure tore through you, walls pulsing hard around his cock. Bokuto cursed loud, almost desperate, thrusting through your release until his own hit.
He buried himself deep, moaning your name like it was the only word left in his vocabulary, and spilled hot inside you. His body locked tight, muscles trembling, before he finally collapsed forward, catching himself with shaking arms so he wouldnât crush you.
For a moment, the world was nothing but harsh breaths, pounding hearts, and the dizzy aftershocks still rolling through you both. He pressed his sweaty forehead to yours, eyes half-lidded, a dazed grin spreading across his flushed face.
âYou just⌠ruined me,â he said, voice hoarse but filled with awe. âLikeâI donât think Iâll ever recover. Holy shit.â
You laughed weakly, brushing damp hair from his forehead. âThatâs kind of the point.â
He kissed you then, slow and messy, full of everything words couldnât hold. When he finally pulled back, his smile softened, eyes glowing even through exhaustion.
âI love you,â he whispered, like a secret meant only for you.
And the way he held you after, still inside you, made you believe him in every trembling breath, every lingering kiss, every heartbeat.
[ Bonus four , moving in. ]
The smell of fresh paint still lingered faintly in the air, clinging to the cream-colored walls of your new living room. The floors were littered with cardboard boxes, some neatly labeled and stacked, others half-open with clothes or books spilling out. A mattress lay bare on the floor upstairs, waiting for the bed frame that would arrive in a week, and the fridge hummed almost too loudly in the kitchen because it was still mostly empty except for bottled water and leftover takeout.
It was yours.
The house wasnât fancyâtwo bedrooms, a cozy kitchen, just enough of a yard out back for Bokuto to set up a makeshift net when he wanted to practiceâbut it was more than youâd ever dreamed. Youâd signed the papers together a few weeks ago, both of you too giddy to stop smiling, and now here you were: unpacking your lives into this new space, building a home.
Bokuto was sprawled on the couch youâd just wrestled through the front door, his hair messier than usual, a streak of dust smudged across his cheek. He had one of your throw pillows tucked under his arm like he already owned it, grinning like a kid at Christmas as he turned his head to look at you.
âBaaaabe,â he drawled, his voice warm with exhaustion but still buzzing with excitement. âWe live here. Together. Like⌠this is our place now.â
You laughed, dropping onto the couch beside him and stretching your legs out, toes brushing against one of the unopened boxes. âYeah, we do. Feels surreal, doesnât it?â
âTotally surreal,â he agreed, sliding closer until his arm was looped around your shoulders. âLike, Iâm gonna wake up and think Iâm back in my room or something. But then youâll be there. And then Iâll rememberânope. This is real life. Our home.â
Your heart squeezed. Youâd both come so far since those chaotic high school days. He had MSBY nowâflights, games, grueling practices that sometimes kept him away longer than either of you liked. You had a job you actually loved, one that paid well enough to make this house possible. It wasnât always easy, but youâd made it work. Together.
Bokuto pressed a kiss to your temple before leaning back against the couch with a sigh. âYou know whatâs missing, though?â
You turned to look at him. âWhat?â
âChristening the house,â he said immediately, eyes glinting with mischief.
You blinked, laughing nervously. âChristening? Like⌠breaking a bottle of champagne on the front door?â
He shook his head furiously, hair flopping. âNooo, not like that. I meanâyou know.â He lowered his voice conspiratorially, though it was only the two of you. âLike us. Making it official.â
Your cheeks warmed instantly. âKou.â
âWhat?â His grin widened, playful and unashamed. âItâs tradition!â He tugged you into his lap like it was the easiest thing in the world, your knees bracketing his thighs. âCâmon, baby. First night in our own place⌠feels like fate, doesnât it?â
You wanted to roll your eyes, but the way his hands slid instinctively over your waist, fingers splaying against your back like he couldnât believe you were real, made your pulse skip. Youâd been together long enough to know that when Bokuto got like thisâreckless, giddy, overflowing with loveâit was impossible to say no.
You smirked a little, pretending to think. âSo this is your way of saying you donât want to unpack anymore boxes, huh?â
He gasped dramatically. âUnpacking can wait. This is way more important.â His tone dropped suddenly, sincerity softening the edges of his grin. âI wanna make a memory here with you. Just us. First of many.â
Your throat tightened at that, because damn it, he always knew how to get to you.
You leaned in and kissed himâsoft at first, then lingering. Bokuto hummed, hands tightening on your waist, his lips parting beneath yours until the kiss deepened, heat sparking between you as easily as it always did. He tasted faintly of the cola heâd downed earlier, sweet and sharp against your tongue.
âKouâŚâ you murmured when his mouth trailed to your jaw, then your neck, warm breath fanning against your skin.
âMm?â He didnât stop, pressing open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone.
âMaybe youâre right. Maybe⌠we should christen it.â
The groan he let out was half relief, half pure hunger. âFuck, donât tease me like that.â
Before you could respond, he was already shifting, standing up with you in his arms like you weighed nothing, carrying you through the half-unpacked house to where the mattress lay upstairs. The sight almost made you laughâthe room was still bare, walls echoing slightly, your mattress sitting on the floor without sheets. But Bokuto set you down gently like it was a throne, and suddenly it didnât feel empty at all.
It felt like the start of something.
He kissed you again, harder this time, one hand cupping your jaw while the other slid down your side, squeezing your hip. You tugged at his shirt until he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside, revealing the broad chest and abs youâd once only admired from afar. You never got used to how warm his skin was, how solid he felt beneath your hands.
âKou,â you whispered when he pressed you back onto the mattress, his body hovering over yours.
âYeah, baby?â His golden eyes burned down at you, already dilated with want.
âDonât hold back tonight.â
The sound he made in response was almost feral, low in his throat. His mouth crashed onto yours again, his kiss hot and needy, as his hands roamed everywhereâpalming your breast through your shirt, dragging down your shorts with impatient fingers, stroking the curve of your thigh like he couldnât decide what he wanted to touch first.
When he finally slipped his hand between your legs, pressing against the damp heat through your panties, you gasped into his mouth.
âAlready wet for me,â he murmured, pride thick in his voice. âGod, youâre perfect.â
You arched into his touch, already trembling, as he kissed his way down your chest. His mouth found your nipple through the thin fabric, sucking lightly until you whimpered, tugging his hair in desperate encouragement. He grinned against you, always so damn smug when he got you like this.
Your hands fumbled for his sweatpants, shoving them down until he kicked them off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers and the bulge straining hard against them. The sight made your breath hitch.
âKouâŚâ
âDonât worry, baby,â he said, voice rough with need as he reached for the drawer of the nightstand youâd at least managed to set up. He pulled out a condom, ripped the wrapper with his teeth, and rolled it on smoothly despite how much his hands were shaking. âI got you.â
Then he was back over you, pressing his forehead to yours as he lined himself up, the thick head of his cock sliding against your soaked entrance.
âReady?â he asked, voice breaking slightly.
âYes.â
He pushed in slowly, stretching you inch by inch until you were gasping, clutching at his shoulders. The burn was intense, but so was the pleasure, and Bokuto was kissing you through it, whispering praise against your lips.
âYou feel so good. So tight. Taking me so well, babyâŚâ
When he was fully seated inside you, both of you breathless, he groaned deep in his chest. âFuck. Every time feels like the first.â
Then he pulled back and thrust forward, hard enough to make the mattress squeak against the floor. Your moan filled the empty room, echoing off the bare walls.
Bokuto smirked against your neck, thrusting again, harder this time. âGuess the neighbors are gonna know we moved in, huh?â
You could only moan in response, already clinging to him as the rhythm built, your new home christened in the most Bokuto way possibleâloud, messy, and unforgettable.
[ Bonus five , early morning. ]
You woke up to the press of him inside you.
Not the slow slide of foreplay, not the deliberate buildup of teasing kisses and whispered pleasâjust the thick, familiar stretch of Bokuto already buried in you, his big hand clutching the curve of your thigh to keep you open for him.
Your breath stuttered awake with a soft gasp, eyes flying open only to be met with sunlight spilling across the pale walls of your bedroom. The sheets were tangled around your waists, your leg hooked over his hip as he held it higher, opening you wider so he could thrust lazily into you from behind.
âKouââ Your voice cracked, sleep-rough and breathless all at once.
âMm, morning,â he mumbled against your shoulder, lips brushing your skin with every slurred word. His hair was wild, sticking up worse than usual, his chest pressed flush against your back as he rutted into you with the kind of half-conscious rhythm that said heâd woken up hard and refused to waste time.
The pace wasnât franticâit was messy, needy, the kind of lazy grind that had you melting into the sheets instead of bracing against them. He wasnât chasing finesse; he was chasing warmth, chasing the way your cunt squeezed around him every time his cock dragged against that sweet spot.
âKou,â you tried again, whining as his thumb traced lazy circles over your clit. âYou didnât evenâahâwake me up first.â
He groaned, forehead dropping against your neck. âCouldnât. You were so warm⌠felt too good not to.â
The words shouldâve sounded shameless, but coming from himâhalf-asleep, desperateâit just made your whole body shiver. He gave another slow thrust, his cock dragging deep, and you clenched down around him, earning a broken curse muffled against your skin.
âShit, baby⌠already squeezing me that tight? Youâre gonna kill me first thing in the morning.â
You reached back blindly, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer until he grunted. His mouth found yours in a sloppy kiss, teeth clashing, tongues messy with the way neither of you had the energy to make it neat. It was all heat and need, the taste of morning breath and pure want.
The room smelled like sex and sweat, faintly tinged with the lavender detergent youâd used on the sheets just last week. The bed frame creaked softly every time his hips rolled into you, a slow, steady rhythm that made the sound obscene.
âMore,â you whispered, and he groaned like the word itself was a prayer.
His arm looped tighter around your thigh, pulling it up until your knee brushed the mattress, leaving you open and exposed for every deep grind of his cock. You cried out, clutching at the sheets, head tilting back against his shoulder.
âThatâs it,â he panted, voice husky with sleep and lust. âTaking me so good, baby. My perfect girl. Fuck, you feel incredible like this.â
His praise was constant, broken between messy kisses against your shoulder and jaw, spilling out of him like he couldnât hold it in. You knew by now that Bokuto didnât just fuck with his bodyâhe fucked with his whole heart, every word tumbling out unfiltered.
And you loved it.
Your orgasm built slow, drawn out by the lazy drag of his cock and the steady circles of his thumb. Every time you thought you were close, his pace would stutter, messy and uneven, making you chase it even harder. It was torture and bliss all wrapped in one.
âKou, please,â you begged, hips rocking back into him. âI needâahâneed to come.â
âThen come,â he rasped, kissing the corner of your mouth as his thrusts deepened, sloppy and hungry now. âDonât hold back, baby. Wanna feel you all over me.â
That was all it took.
Your body arched, the orgasm ripping through you with a broken cry, thighs trembling as your walls clamped down around him. Bokuto groaned so loud it rattled through your bones, his hips snapping harder, chasing his own release with reckless need.
He buried his face in your neck, muffling a string of curses and praise as he spilled into the condom, his cock jerking inside you while his whole body shook. His grip on your thigh loosened slowly, letting you collapse back against the sheets, both of you gasping and trembling in the aftermath.
For a long moment, the room was filled only with the sound of your breathing, heavy and uneven. Sunlight warmed your skin, making the sheen of sweat glisten across your bodies.
Then Bokuto laughed breathlessly, pressing a sloppy kiss to your temple. âGood morning.â
You rolled your eyes, though you couldnât fight the smile tugging at your lips. âYouâre impossible.â
âImpossible and yours.â He grinned, tugging the blanket back over you both before pulling you closer into his chest. His cock slipped free with a wet sound, and he winced faintly before disposing of the condom in the trash by the bed. When he flopped back down, he dragged you with him, tucking you firmly under his chin.
âHungry?â he asked after a few minutes, still breathless but already grinning.
âStarving,â you admitted, your stomach giving a small growl to prove your point.
He perked up instantly, eyes lighting with the same excitement he had before every game. âBreakfast in bed. Donât moveâIâll do it.â
You groaned. âKou, youâre gonna burn something.â
âI wonât! âŚProbably.â He kissed your forehead, already leaping out of bed with his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. âStay right there, pretty girl. Youâll see.â
And somehow, you did. You stayed curled under the sheets, listening to the chaotic clatter of pans and the hum of the coffee machine. Twenty-five minutes later, Bokuto returned, proudly balancing a tray stacked with pancakes, scrambled eggs, and way too much syrup.
âTa-da!â he announced, nearly tripping on the way to the bed but recovering at the last second. He set the tray between you, beaming as he flopped back down beside you. âOur first breakfast in bed in our new house.â
Your chest swelled at thatâthe simplicity of it, the sweetness. You leaned over and kissed him softly, tasting syrup on his lips already.
âPerfect,â you whispered.
And it was.
[ Bonus six , first doubt. ]
The house was too quiet.
You hadnât noticed it beforeâhow much Bokuto filled every inch of the space just by existing. His laugh echoing through the kitchen while he burned toast, his heavy footsteps on the stairs, even the way heâd hum tunelessly when he showered. All those little things you used to roll your eyes at had become the background music of your days. Now, without him, the silence pressed in on you like a weight.
It had only been two weeks since he left for his away games. Two weeks wasnât forever. But it felt like it.
You tried to keep busy. Work, friends, reorganizing the living room shelves for the third time even though they were fine. But no matter what you did, your gaze kept drifting to your phone, waiting for the screen to light up with his name.
When it finally buzzed that evening, you scrambled for it like a lifeline.
âHey, baby,â Bokutoâs voice crackled through the speaker, warm but tired. In the background, you could hear faint chatter, laughterâhis teammates, probably, in whatever hotel lounge they were holed up in.
Your heart squeezed. âKou. Finally. Iâve missed you.â
âI missed you too,â he said immediately, but his voice was muffled, like he was covering the mic. âHold on, let me justââ You heard a door click shut, then silence except for his breathing. âOkay. Sorry. Whatâs up?â
You curled into the couch cushions, clutching the phone tighter. âNothingâs up. I just⌠wanted to hear your voice. Itâs so quiet here without you.â
He chuckled softly, but it was thin around the edges. âYeah? I bet itâs weird not having me leaving socks everywhere.â
âItâs more than that,â you whispered.
There was a pause. You could almost picture him frowning, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always did when he didnât know what to say.
âI know itâs hard,â he said finally. âBut itâs only temporary. Just a couple more weeks and Iâll be back.â
You bit your lip. The words should have been comforting, but instead they stung. âYou say that like itâs nothing. Kou, I hate this. I hate going to bed without you. I hate waking up to an empty house. I feel like⌠like Iâm living in this space that we built together, but half of it is missing.â
âBaby, donâtââ His sigh was heavy, frustration bleeding through. âIâm trying, okay? I call when I can. Practices are brutal, games are nonstop, and by the time I get back to the hotel, Iâm dead on my feet. Iâm giving it everything out here.â
Something sharp twisted in your chest. âIâm not asking you to give everything to me, Kou. Iâm just asking for something. A real conversation, not just five minutes before you crash. Do you even want to be on this call right now, or is it just another thing on your list?â
âOf course I want to be on this call!â His voice rose, and for a second, it was like he was right there in the room, loud and overwhelming. But then it cracked, softer. âYou think I donât miss you? You think Iâm not lying awake at night wishing I was next to you instead of in some shitty hotel room?â
Tears pricked your eyes before you could stop them. âThen why does it feel like volleyball comes first? Always?â
The silence on the other end was deafening.
When Bokuto finally spoke, his voice was low, raw. âBecause volleyball is what I have to do. For me, yeahâbut for us too. Every paycheck, every match, every bit of this grindâitâs so I can build something better for us. So we can stay in that house we love. So you donât ever have to worry.â
Your throat closed up. âKouâŚâ
âI hate this too,â he cut in, voice breaking. âI hate being away from you. I hate hearing you cry and knowing I canât touch you, canât hold you. You think I donât feel that same ache? Baby, itâs killing me.â
You pressed the heel of your hand to your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. âThen what are we supposed to do? Just⌠wait it out?â
Another pause. Then softer, gentler, his tone shifting like the fight had drained out of him. âWe do what weâve always done. We push through. We trust each other. And we remember this isnât forever.â
You swallowed hard, the knot in your chest loosening just enough to let his words in.
âIâm coming home soon,â he promised, so quiet it almost sounded like a vow. âSooner than you think. Just hold on for me a little longer, okay?â
Your voice shook, but you forced the words out. âOkay.â
There was a beat of silence, and then he whispered, almost pleading, âDonât give up on me.â
âI could never.â
The line stayed open for a while after that, neither of you speaking. Just breathing together, clinging to the fragile thread that still connected you across miles of distance.
The doubt wasnât gone, not really. The ache was still there. But so was the love. And for now, that was enough.
[ Bonus seven , reunion. ]
The sound of the lock clicking made your head snap up from the kitchen. Youâd been halfway through stacking clean mugs into the cabinet, your playlist humming softly in the background, when you heard it: the sound of the front door opening. For a second, you thought you imagined itâyour brain had been playing tricks on you for weeks, craving the familiar sound of his heavy footsteps, the jangle of his keys, the way his voice filled every corner of the house.
But thenâ
âHoneeeey, Iâm hoooome!â
His voice boomed from the entryway, playful and dramatic, dripping with the kind of over-the-top silliness only Bokuto could pull off.
Your heart stopped. Then it sprinted.
Dropping the mug onto the counter with a clink, you spun toward the doorway. He was really thereâframed in the golden afternoon light, duffle bag slung over one shoulder, hair wild from travel, grinning like heâd just scored match point. His sweatshirt looked rumpled, his shoes scuffed from airport chaos, but to you? He looked like the most beautiful sight youâd ever seen.
âKou!â
The laugh that bubbled out of you was half relief, half disbelief, as your whole body moved before your brain caught up. You bolted across the kitchen, rounded the corner, and threw yourself at him. Bokuto barely had time to drop his bag before you leapt, arms wrapping around his neck and legs locking around his waist.
âOofâbaby!â His laughter rumbled in his chest, but his arms caught you instantly, strong and steady. He crushed you against him like heâd been waiting forever, burying his face in your shoulder as he spun you slightly. âYou came flying at me like a volleyball!â
âShut up,â you laughed through the tears prickling at your eyes, peppering kisses across his cheek, his jaw, the bridge of his nose. âYouâre actually hereâyouâre home.â
ââHoney, Iâm home,ââ he repeated with mock pride, deepening his voice like some old-timey sitcom dad. âAlways wanted to say that. Nailed it, right?â
You laughed harder, the sound muffled as you kissed him again, everywhere your lips could reach. He smelled faintly like airplane air and the travel-sized cologne youâd tucked into his bag, but underneath it all was himâwarm, familiar, grounding.
âKou,â you whispered against his skin, voice breaking. âI missed you so much.â
âI missed you more,â he said instantly, pulling back just far enough to look at you. His golden eyes were shining, a little glossy despite the grin still tugging at his mouth. âFuck, baby, you have no idea.â
You did. Because youâd felt it tooâthe ache of the empty house, the way the bed felt wrong without his weight beside you, the silence that seemed heavier than noise ever could be. But right now? None of that mattered. Because he was here, holding you like heâd never let go again.
âWait, waitââ He suddenly shifted, adjusting his grip on you with that casual strength of his. âAs much as I wanna keep you wrapped around me forever, I should probably, yâknow⌠actually get inside before we knock the door off its hinges.â
Reluctantly, you let him set you down, your feet touching the hardwood again. But the warmth of his hands lingered as he trailed them down your sides, big palms curving over your hips before landingâpredictablyâon your ass.
âGod, I missed this,â he groaned dramatically, giving a squeeze that made you squeak. âPerfect. Still mine.â
Your face heated instantly. âKou!â
âWhat?â His grin turned shameless, eyes glinting. âYou think I wasnât dreaming about your ass every night on the road?â He gave another squeeze for emphasis, leaning down to murmur in your ear, âBooty guy for life, baby. You know that.â
You shoved his shoulder lightly, though your giggle betrayed you. âYouâre impossible.â
âAnd you love it.â He winked, finally releasing you long enough to stoop and grab his duffle. Slinging it onto one arm like it weighed nothing, he hefted his rolling suitcase in the other hand. The casual flex of his biceps made your stomach flipâseriously, had they gotten bigger while he was away? He looked unfairly good, even travel-tired and jet-lagged.
He toed off his sneakers by the door and stepped fully inside, gaze sweeping over the living room. The throw pillows were arranged just how he liked them, the shelves dusted, his goofy framed photo of you two on the beach still perched proudly on the mantle.
âDamn, baby,â he said softly, awe in his tone. âYou kept it in good shape. Better than when I left, honestly.â
âOf course I did.â You leaned against the wall, arms crossed but smiling. âItâs our home. I wanted it to feel good when you came back.â
He set his bags down with a thud and turned back to you, expression softening. Then, with zero warning, he scooped you up againâthis time spinning you full circle, your laughter echoing through the room.
âKO!â you squealed, clinging to his shoulders.
âI canât help it!â he said, voice giddy, as he slowed the spin but didnât set you down right away. âOne month and a couple days without you felt like five years. I gotta make up for lost time.â
When he finally stopped, he didnât let go. Instead, he kissed youâslow at first, like he wanted to savor the moment, then deeper, hungrier, like heâd been starving.
You melted into it, fingers threading into his messy hair, heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst. Every bit of distance, every lonely night, every aching moment without him seemed to dissolve with that kiss.
When you finally pulled back for air, your foreheads pressed together, you whispered, âYouâre really home.â
He smiled against your lips, voice rough with emotion. âYeah, baby. Iâm really home.â
His grip on your ass tightened, and he groaned into your mouth like heâd been holding that sound back for weeks. Your back hit the nearest wall with a dull thump, but neither of you caredâhis lips were all over yours, hot and frantic, teeth catching your lower lip until you gasped, giving him the chance to lick into your mouth. He tasted different, faintly of airplane coffee and mint gum, but under it was himâyour Bokuto, all heat and need.
âKou,â you whimpered, tugging at his shirt, nails dragging down his back hard enough to make him hiss.
He laughed, breathless against your lips. âGod, I missed the way you say my name.â Another squeeze of your ass, rougher this time, making you gasp. âI missed you. You have no idea how bad I wanted to kiss you every single day I was away.â
Your legs cinched tighter around his waist, grinding down against the hard length straining through his sweats. He groaned, forehead pressed to yours, golden eyes blown wide. âFuck, baby⌠donât do that unless you want me to lose it right here.â
âThen lose it,â you whispered, tugging at his hair.
That broke him.
He carried you down the hall without ever breaking the kiss, bumping into the wall once, both of you laughing breathlessly between sloppy kisses. By the time he dropped you onto the bed, his sweats were hanging dangerously low on his hips, his abs flexing as he leaned over you.
âTake it off,â you begged, tugging at his shirt.
âYou first,â he teased, voice low and hungry. His big hands slid under your top, calluses rough against your soft skin as he peeled it upward. You arched your back to help him, and the sound that left him when your bra came into view was practically a growl. âFuck⌠prettier than I remembered.â
He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses down your chest, nosing at the swell of your breasts before sucking one nipple into his mouth, his hand kneading the other. You gasped, head falling back, legs shifting restlessly as arousal pooled hot between your thighs.
âMissed these,â he mumbled against your skin, nipping gently before kissing lower, toward your stomach. âMissed all of you.â
Your shorts and panties didnât stand a chanceâhe hooked his thumbs in and tugged them down in one swift move, leaving you bare and trembling beneath him. His eyes darkened, the grin on his face feral.
âBaby⌠youâre dripping. Did you really miss me this much?â He dragged two fingers through your slick folds, groaning low in his throat. âGod, youâre soaking.â
âKou, please,â you gasped, hips jerking against his touch.
He smirked, but his restraint was shot. He yanked his sweats and boxers down in one go, his cock springing free, thick and flushed, already leaking for you. He tore open the condom wrapper with shaking hands, rolling it on quick and messy before bracing himself over you.
Instead of pushing you down, his broad chest pressed flush to your back, his thighs bracketing yours as he pulled you onto his lap.
âKouââ you gasped, already trembling when his hands skimmed over your waist, down to your thighs, guiding you to straddle him.
âLike this,â he murmured against your ear, voice thick, raw. He kissed your temple, your cheek, then sank his teeth into your shoulder gently. âWanna see you arch for me. Wanna feel you take it all right here.â
Your breath hitched as he nudged the thick head of his cock against your soaked entrance. His hands gripped your hips tight, guiding you down slowlyâinch by inch, the stretch burned hot, your walls clenching helplessly around him.
âFuck,â Bokuto groaned, throwing his head back, eyes squeezing shut as you sank all the way down until your ass pressed against his thighs. âYouâre so fucking tight. Sitting so pretty on my cock, babyâgod, I missed this.â
You whimpered, your hands grabbing at his knees behind you for balance, arching your back instinctively. His groan rumbled low in his chest, vibrating against you as he slid his arms around your waist, locking you to him.
âMove for me,â he whispered, almost desperate.
You lifted slowly, the drag of him pulling out of you making your whole body tremble, then dropped back down with a wet slap that echoed in the bare bedroom. Bokutoâs teeth sank into your shoulder harder, his groan muffled against your skin.
âThatâs itâfuck, just like that.â His hands gripped your hips, helping you find a rhythm, guiding you to bounce on his cock. âYouâre amazing. So fucking amazing, baby.â
Your moans filled the room, each bounce sharper, wetter, louder. The sound of your bodies slamming together mixed with Bokutoâs broken praises, his breath hot against your neck.
âRide meâfuck, yeahâtake all of me.â His voice cracked with each thrust upward, hips slamming into you from below. âYouâre perfect. My perfect girl. Fuck, I love you.â
His chest was slick against your back, sweat dripping down his temple as he pressed sloppy kisses along your neck, biting at the sensitive spot beneath your ear. His thrusts grew harder, meeting each of your movements until the rhythm turned frantic, messy.
âKouââ you sobbed, back arching as he filled you so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.
He groaned, hips stuttering when your walls clenched tight around him. One of his hands slid lower, between your thighs, fingers finding your clit and circling fast, sloppy, desperate.
âCum for me,â he begged, his forehead pressing to your damp shoulder. âPlease, babyâwanna feel you cum on me. Wanna feel you lose it.â
Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. The orgasm ripped through you, a violent, blinding wave that had you crying out, clenching around him so tight he cursed loudly. Your thighs shook as you collapsed back against his chest, panting, trembling.
He slammed into you one last time, burying himself deep as his groan tore out of his chest. You felt the condom fill with his release, his entire body shuddering against yours, arms wrapping you up like he was afraid youâd slip away.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of your shared panting, the creak of the mattress beneath you, his lips brushing lazy kisses along your damp shoulder.
Then he laughed weakly, voice hoarse. âFuck. I really missed you.â
You managed a breathless laugh, too, leaning your head back on his shoulder. âYeah⌠I noticed.â
His hand squeezed your ass again, possessive and soft at the same time, while his other hand cradled your thigh. He pressed a sloppy kiss to your temple, still buried inside you, like he never wanted to let go.
[ Bonus eight , always & forever. ]
The evening was quiet in that way that only came after years of learning how to live together. The dishes were drying on the rack, the faint scent of stir-fry still clinging to the air. The TV hummed low in the background, muted because neither of you were really paying attention. Bokuto was sprawled out on the couch with his head in your lap, hair tickling your stomach as he scrolled lazily through his phone. You absentmindedly combed your fingers through his messy locks, humming a tune you didnât realize you knew.
It was simple. It was ordinary. And it was perfect.
But your heart was racing, because you had something to say. Something youâd been holding onto for days now, the weight of it delicious and terrifying.
And you didnât realizeâhe was feeling the exact same way.
Bokuto shifted suddenly, tossing his phone aside like it had never mattered. He sat up in one motion, so quick you almost yelped. His golden eyes darted toward you, uncharacteristically nervous, and his hands fidgeted against his knees.
You blinked. âKou? Whatâs wrong?â
âNothing!â His voice cracked, and he coughed, trying to recover. âI meanâuh. Everythingâs⌠good. Really good. Like, so good.â
You tilted your head, suspicious. He only got like this when he was holding something in. âKoutarou.â
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, then shot up off the couch and started pacing. âOkay, so, I wasnât gonna do this nowâI had this whole thing planned in my head with candles or, like, maybe Iâd take you out to dinner and do it all fancy. But, baby, I canât. I canât hold it in anymore.â
Your breath caught, your stomach flipping, because you knew.
He turned back to you, hair even messier from running his hand through it, eyes wide and nervous and glowing with something that made your throat tight. He dropped down on one knee right there, between the coffee table and the couch, your old rug creasing under his weight.
Your hand flew to your mouth.
âY/n,â he said, voice unsteady but overflowing with love, âyouâre my best friend. My biggest fan. My home. Youâve been with me through every win and every lossâon the court and in lifeâand you never stopped believing in me, even when I didnât believe in myself. I donât wanna do forever without you.â
He pulled a small box from his pocket, fumbling with it, and when he opened it the ring sparkled in the soft lamplight. His hands were shaking. His smile was wide and terrified.
âWill you marry me?â
You barely heard him, because your heart was thundering and your eyes were already filling with tears. And you were laughingâhalf-sobbing, half-hystericalâbecause this was insane, because you had been about to say your thing too.
âKou,â you choked out, pressing your hands over his, the ring box trembling between you. âWaitâwait, I have to tell you something too.â
He blinked, panicked. âWhat? No, no, you canâtâdonât say no, babe, please, I canât take itââ
You shook your head furiously, tears spilling over as you laughed. âNo! God, no, Kou. Yes. A million times yes.â
His face split into the brightest grin youâd ever seen, relief and joy flooding him at once. He let out a loud, unsteady laugh, squeezing your hands so tightly you thought he might never let go.
âButââ you added quickly, voice wobbling, âI wanted to tell you something first. Because⌠Kou, Iâm pregnant.â
For a moment, it was like the world stopped. Bokuto froze, eyes wide, his mouth dropping open. The box slipped from his fingers onto the couch, the ring tumbling harmlessly onto the cushions.
âPâpregnant?â he echoed, voice cracking like heâd just hit puberty all over again.
You bit your lip, nodding, heart hammering. âYeah. IâI just found out. I was waiting for the right time to tell you.â
He stared at you. One second. Two. Three.
And thenâ
âHOâLY SHIT!â His voice boomed through the room, so loud you startled before dissolving into laughter. He leapt to his feet, scooping you up into his arms and spinning you in wild, dizzy circles until you squealed. âIâM GONNA BE A DAD?! Youâreâbaby, oh my god, youâre having my kid?â
âYes!â you laughed, clutching his shoulders as tears streamed down your face. âYes, Kou!â
He set you down only to fall to his knees again, pressing frantic kisses over your stomach, his big hands cupping your sides as if to shield you. He was crying now too, his laugh breaking apart into shaky, choked sobs. âI canât believe it. I canâtâfuck, I donât deserve you. Youâre giving me a family.â
Your fingers tangled in his hair as he looked up at you, eyes shining, cheeks wet. âSo thatâs a yes?â you teased, voice trembling.
âBaby,â he said, clutching your hand again, still kneeling at your feet, âitâs the biggest fucking yes of my life. Yes to you. Yes to us. Yes to our baby. Always and forever.â
You pulled him up into a kiss, both of you laughing and crying at once. He tasted like salt and hope and a future you hadnât even dared to dream.
When he slid the ring onto your finger, your hands were shaking too much for it to be graceful, but it didnât matter. Nothing mattered except the way he looked at youâlike youâd hung the stars, like youâd given him everything heâd ever wanted and more.
And when he whispered against your lips, voice raw and reverentââMy soon-to-be wife. My love. My family.ââyou knew this was it.
Always. Forever.
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all images are not mine, this isnât how the characters act/or are intended to act. This is just my personal idea on how they would act.
