#i started working on the most random suna x reader x terushima thing yesterday as well 😩

[fukurokoma]

I said I was going to start working on the tendo x reader x semi shit I’ve got kicking around in my head.. but I’m a fucking liar lol so have a 2.8k preview of bokuto x reader x akaashi smut that I ended up working on instead. warnings: contains mxm oral sex, references to drinking, use of a blindfold, and I think that’s all for now

It’s sticky and warm, sweet liquor lacing your tongue and two light eyed boys peering at you in mirrored cunning. The haze of warmth that dusts across your cheeks stains moonlight and sun in kind, fingers caressing glass rims and condensation coating fingertips. Outside you are sure you departed glumly oncoming rain and grey skies but you feel the warmth of mid-June saturate your skin with a light sheen of sweat at the nape of your neck despite the late December day.

Beneath your fingertips, slick with water that has too quickly grown warm, your skin feels heated, warm blood burning beneath the surface. You lick your lips absently, throat parched no matter how many sips you seem to take of the whiskey lemonade mix that Bokuto continues to pour.

He appraises you with a jovial smile, a gesture so natural on him though it would seem obscene, amplified on anyone else. To his side Akaashi is considerably more restrained, the expression he wears tempered docile yet deceitfully sweet. Affection burns in his eyes, but unsurprisingly there is something more behind it, a low simmering foreshadowing.

Akaashi wears a great many of his intentions on his face like a warning.

You regard them with caution shadowing your expression, a wry and curious smile twisting your lips.

“What are you two planning?” you ask and though you aim for lofty and offhand you miss the mark by some ways, landing within anticipatory and eager. Shame threatens to burn your cheeks hotter still and teeth bite into the plush measure of your mouth to restrain a broad smile.

Akaashi’s lips twitch into an almost shade of his own and he lifts one deft brow, glancing to Bokuto. Fans and flutters of tousled silver sway with the playful tilt of Bokuto’s head and the deep neckline of his shirt slips along his shoulder, exposing more of his sunshine skin. The loose cotton rests temptingly along the slope of his collar, the shadowed line quietly begging for lips and teeth and tongues to adore it.

Your eyes are not the only ones to appraise the artistic sweep of skin pulled taut all the way up his elegant neck. But Akaashi is closer, the orchestrater in most proceedings. As Bokuto sweetly murmurs, “It’s a surprise,” his skin is touched by Akaashi’s mouth of galaxies, his tease of teeth that leave constellations in their wake. When minutes have passed and Bokuto’s fingers are twisted in silken strands of midnight sky the rosy bloom of Akaashi’s mouth will reveal a milky way in lilac and gold, brilliant and branded.

But before such artistry is applied to Bokuto’s throat Akaashi spares a moment to infer low and roguish, “Don’t look away, don’t touch.”

You swallow the last of your drink thickly, a loud gulp that’s distinct and clear in the tense silence of the room.

The hiss of a sharp breath being drawn through gritted teeth cushions the clatter of your glass meeting the cluttered bedside drawer and Bokuto’s eyelashes flutter, resting in soft feathers upon his cheeks, closed. You can see the pearly white point of Akaashi’s teeth dragging across Bokuto’s skin, the wet pink of his tongue soothing red streaks and points. His talented fingers slip beneath striped cotton and map designs of undiscovered universes in the spaces between Bokuto’s ribs, low between his hips.

Bokuto croons hums of content in quiet, dulcet tones.

He is subdued under Akaashi’s careful ministrations, an orchestration that slowly builds, lost in whatever plays behind the shadows of his eyes. He’s all sensation and music, his pulse thrumming in a steady tempo his body already knows the steps to. But Bokuto is pliant, almost entirely still and unequivocally patient but for the hand he slips into Akaashi’s hair. The thread of midnight locks between his golden fingers is tentative, fingertips pressing tight when stardust fingers slip past his button and zipper to delve inside.

You cannot discern Akaashi’s precise actions through the stretch of denim that conceals his hand but Bokuto’s whimpers and groans do little to leave you wondering. His initial gasp, filtering from previously bitten lips at first touch sounds sharp in the silence, piercing through the thickening haze of mounting tension in the atmosphere only to lend itself as accelerando, the first of many small notes and vocal nuances, not all his own.

The softest whimper slips past your teeth and where you had initially not considered the gravity of Akaashi’s instruction earlier the itch you feel in your fingers now to touch has you slipping your hands beneath your thighs to prevent yourself from unintentionally doing so, hoping, hoping, hoping, that the telling sound managed to slip past unnoticed. From where he was once tucked into the crook of Bokuto’s neck Akaashi’s eyes are dark mischief when he smiles saccharine sweet at your reposition.

He does not say a word on the matter, though the angle of his mouth speaks loudly enough in lieu. It is Bokuto who remarks upon your delicate sensibilities, pleasantly singing in a way almost mocking, “You’re in for a long night, baby.” And he does as much with a lopsided smile dripping across his lips, his eyes already heavy. “We’ve barely even started.”

The soft pant of his breaths is a delightful distraction from the increasing thrum of your pulse and you drown in it, focusing on all the little noises that Bokuto makes and suppressing the groan his warning had thus prompted. Each sound Bokuto makes is familiar and evocative, reminding you of times before, enticing you until you realize you are already perching so far forward that it comes as no surprise when Akaashi’s smug chuckle bleeds into the room.

Though with him the small gesture alone says enough the distinct twist of his wrist that has Bokuto whimpering into Akaashi’s hair is a warning. You do not misunderstand the implications of his timing in the slightest though you do not straighten your spine either. Akaashi meets your defiance with an angled frame to his mouth and catches his teeth against the lobe of Bokuto’s ear.

After his tongue has soothed the initial sting Akaashi plays idle with the hair at the nape of his neck, continues to stroke him languidly as he comments, “You like listening to our ace, don’t you?” He keeps his eyes on Bokuto as he speaks, a low simmering affection searing across his features while he grazes his nose along the side of Bokuto’s neck

But then as if to prove his point Akaashi lures a weak moan from Bokuto’s throat, has his hips twitching in their seat with a sly smile. The lazy arch of his brow when he finally does cast his gaze back to you is damning, charmingly so. The blush you had so narrowly avoided earlier takes cue, illustrating your cheeks with a sting of heat, and the warmth adorns Bokuto, too, crawling up his neck in a pretty, pretty pink.

Words momentarily escape you and Akaashi does not wait long for a response before he deems it too late, chuckling darkly to himself. Bokuto joins him with a vaguely looming smile, inadvertently admitting that he is in on the plan and you are not all that surprised when he gathers the presence of mind to untangle his fingers from Akaashi’s hair and retrieve the silk tie in his pocket.

He hands it over with a small smile, the curve of his lips implicit amusement, mirrored in kind in the lazy half stretch of Akaashi’s own. Satisfaction in double doses is tucked away in the solitary quirked corner of his mouth, Akaashi’s hands abandoning Bokuto who pouts in brief dismay, and you nervously pressing teeth into already bruised flesh, waiting for the silk to be drawn over your eyes.

Presumption proven true, once Akaashi approaches he gathers the blind over your eyes, tying a neat and efficient knot in the back. There is a kiss lain atop the crown of your head and then his presence is gone once again, the room little more than peeks of setting sun streaking beneath the smallest gaps of silk and skin.

But then Bokuto’s broken voice fills the room once more and you can see as clearly as if your eyes were open.

You cannot ascertain whether the illustrious plays that come to mind as you tune specifically into each and every nuance of sound are true, but the potential of them does wonders. Every airy little noise Bokuto makes spurs fanciful possibilities behind your eyes and you imagine just how Akaashi might be touching him in order to lure such sounds from his mouth.

It becomes only somewhat easier to discern their actions by the rustle of clothing and the hushing that Akaashi infers after what feels like much, much later. Bokuto does not fall silent, and you acknowledge somewhere in the back of your mind that silence is not what Akaashi would have wanted anyway, but he restrains any pleas or sugar coated requests where he might otherwise not have.

What breaks him is a noise distinctly wet and you realize it to be Akaashi’s mouth as Bokuto’s voice breaks on the most satisfied moan you’ve likely ever heard. It’s not hard to imagine the relief etched into his features, eyes shut and his face blissful while Akaashi works pink lips down his cock in that slow, fluid, manner that he likes to start off with.

This you know for certain, particularly when you hear the pleased rumble that sounds in Akaashi’s chest. You are sure then that Bokuto’s fingers have taken solace in his night sky once more, the sun adoring the stars and the stars doing the same in kind, the push and pull of gravity at its finest in play.

Although your world is limited to darkness as you listen to the ascension of Bokuto’s breathing, from shallow barely audible breaths to short, fast pants and low whines as you hear Akaashi’s execution grow sloppier, wetter, slick, and surely so well paced his jaw must be absolutely aching; the darkness that enshrouds you burns red.

You feel along with it your skin beginning to burn, so gradually at first it’s barely noticeable but fastly becoming a heat you long to cool that scorches along your cheeks, chest, the back of your neck. Beneath your thighs your fingers twitch, teeth worrying your bottom lip as you feel the restlessness crawl into your limbs and unfurl.

Your teeth bite down unashamedly, hard, blunt enamel that is sure to bruise and leave you a reminder of your devil may care boys, but you don’t care for the pain that’s bound to come; you could listen to Bokuto for days.

There’s a stutter in Bokuto’s breath, a low whistle as he exhales and you hear the distinct pop of Akaashi’s lips, the ragged inhale he greedily takes. Even if you can’t see it all unfolding, the sweet torture of it all is damning enough that you can’t quite stop the curse that befalls you, the way it lends itself to further speech, a sweet lilting inquiry of, “Is he taking good care of you, Bo?” escaping before you think better of it.

Bokuto releases an affirming groan and you can just imagine the way Akaashi’s mouth is sliding back down his length as he does so, as he shakily replies, “the best,” in a voice that’s entirely wrecked and breathless. You picture the haze of arousal that Bokuto must have in his eyes, the liquid honey that would be visible only in glimpses between his thick lashes, his eyelids oh so heavy the more Akaashi set to work, coaxing each luxuriant sound from his swollen, needing lips. Bokuto just loves to be kissed, loves making out like he’s still a horny teenager, with his hands grasping everywhere and his god forsaken hips rolling in sinful, tempting teases.

And Akaashi, Akaashi, your sweet, selfless lover, lavishing affection on your shared boyfriend, his lips just must be the richest shade of red, stark contrast to his pretty, golden moonlight skin. Just the thought of his swollen, pouty mouth makes you want to kiss him, lick into his mouth and taste Bokuto on his tongue. But you are under no false illusions here, aren’t about to push your own luck.

Instead you venture a push for Bokuto’s, softly inferring, “I bet you wish you could kiss him right now, hm?” You swallow thickly, envisioning it for yourself, narrating it for the both of them to picture what you’re picturing. “You’d just love to taste yourself on his lips, in his mouth.”

“I can imagine it so clearly, Bo: the way you’d trace our moody boy’s lips with your tongue, the way your fingers would curl into his hair… the way you’d tug it ever so softly so you could get your mouth on his neck. And he’s so sensitive there, isn’t he? He would just melt underneath you, you and your eager hands, stroking, pulling at clothes, drawing him against you, drawing him against your hips. Those hips of yours Bo...”

The quietest of moans escapes you at the thought, you know what sins his hips are capable of and you can hear them, him, getting restless now. You can hear his breathing scatter, the tempo uneven, staccato. Everything sounds frantic now, low whines and rustling fabric, and the wet, wet, sound of Akaashi’s mouth slipping, the muffled sound of him groaning. You realize Bokuto must have tugged on his hair.

A little gleefully your back arches forward even more, longing to be closer to the both of them as you entreat, “You’re close aren’t you, Bo?” You wonder if he’s watching you when you lick your lips, teeth pulling the lower momentarily into your mouth. It doesn’t matter if he is or not ultimately. Even from your place on the sidelines you don’t mind being an inactive player. You just want, want, want. You want so much that you don’t hesitate to ask for it. “Go on Bo, please, I wanna hear you cum. I want to listen to you fall apart.”

Perhaps they’re feeling merciful, or perhaps Bokuto couldn’t hold off any longer. It takes only a handful of moments more for you to hear Bokuto’s downright offensive vocal assault crescendo, the guttural pitch of his voice teetering your flimsy acquiescence. It would be only too easy to work yourself to orgasm after listening to Bokuto moan and groan, and swear, swear so filthily your only regret is not being able to have seen just how Akaashi got him so good that he expels an emphatic ‘fuck.’

He sounds so good, sounds so absolutely ruined that for just a moment going against your orders crosses your mind. But Akaashi catches you just in time, a shift on the mattress alerting you to the approach of one of them, though it's not apparent which of them until there are coarse fingertips along your jaw, Akaashi’s velvet tone instructing, “Open your mouth, kitten.”

Before a smile can fully shape your lips they part acquiescently, your deference subdued effectively, and rewarded with the feeling of Akaashi’s mouth shaping to yours succinctly. His tongue touches your own, the taste salty, inherently Bokuto, and his fingers glide along your jaw, the nape of your neck, to sweep into your hair.

He kisses you breathless, absolutely stupid, tearing his mouth from your greedy own far too soon. He’s gracious enough to expend, “What a good girl you’re being, still sitting pretty on those naughty little hands of yours.”

Bokuto is quick to point out, “Her mouth is worse.” His voice has a playful edge to it, but lacks no audacity.

You smile saccharine sweet, counter, ‘Mine?’ with all the trappings of innocence, spare the contrary arch of your brow, only just visible above the silk blindfold.

Bokuto scoffs, as if he takes offense to your claims. Yet not a moment later do you feel Akaashi’s fingers depart your hair to traverse down your body.

Though he attempts to take his time there is no preamble in the way he traverses the length of your torso, skipping pointed detours he would normally favor to slip his fingers past your waistband.There is no hesitation in the way that Akaashi spreads you open, running his fingers against your dripping cunt while he infers lowly, “Our wee kitten may have a point Bokuto-san.”