there are so many things that could lead to koutarou being in this position.
he's ashamed to admit he used to dream about things like this in high school, when he was just learning what it meant to notice other people and have other people notice him, too. and then in college, when he'd gotten used to noticing you — the way you hold yourself, the way you treat him — and when he'd gotten used to him — ever gentle, ever doting, koutarou's own name a whisper on his tongue.
that's when the dreams stopped being novel and became forbidden.
those are your friends, he'd think, gaze tracing the way you and keiji would look at each other.
you can't look at them like that, he'd say, trying not to notice the manicured hand on his bicep and those big, cyan eyes staring at him with wonder.
you can't do this. it's not okay.
it's not okay to imagine bending one best friend over while the other leaves marks on his throat.
it's not okay to imagine shoving his tongue down one best friend's throat while the other shoves his cock down theirs.
it's not okay to fuck his own fist and imagine your face, keiji's face. it's not okay to wonder what you might sound like in his bed, what keiji might sound like as he comes.
as it turns out, it's a million times worse than anything he'd ever imagined.
as it turns out, you and keiji had both been thinking things that aren't allowed, too.
and now he's here, with you laid out on the mattress. with keiji on his knees, face buried between your thighs.
with koutarou buried to the hilt inside of keiji, watching your tits bounce with every harsh smack of his hips against keiji's ass.
"fu-nggh-kou-"
you laugh breathily, fingers tangled in keiji's hair. "he can't hear you, keiji. he's too busy looking at my tits."
"shut up," keiji mumbles, panting as he drags his tongue through your folds. he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks gently. koutarou has the distinct pleasure of watching your back arch and your mouth fall open.
keiji laughs against your skin, voice muffled. "you're not the one he's nailing to the bed right now."
you growl, tugging hard at keiji's roots and smiling blissfully when the man moans against you. koutarou wonders if you two even realize he's still here, or if you're arguing over the idea of him.
he wouldn't be mad about that, if he's honest. but still, he grips keiji's waist harder and snaps his hips forward, his gut swirling wonderfully, because keiji's crying out and gripping your thighs tighter and drooling all over your cunt. your head is thrown back, fingers loosening in keiji's hair as you stare up at the ceiling.
"fuck," you whisper. "good boy, keiji. you're so good for him."
and then your eyes find koutarou's, over keiji's head and over the sound of the man thanking you pathetically.
"isn't he, kou?"
koutarou breaks out into shivers, his skin alight and his nerve endings fraying fast when you look at him like that.
"yeah," he breathes, hips stuttering and then regaining pace when you glance down his body in warning. "he's a good boy. for both of us."
keiji gasps, shudders. koutarou can feel him getting close.
keiji reaches down, tries to grip his own cock to get himself there. you squeeze your thighs hard around his head, hard enough that he groans.
"dont you dare."
keiji reaches up and grips your thighs, digs his nails in and buries his face deeper against your cunt. "youre fucking evil," he grunts, barely heard over his own sounds as he sucks and moans and spits on you. "kou would let me touch myself," he complains quietly, moaning every time koutarou's thrusts push him forward. "right, kou?" he asks, his voice sweet and loving.
your back is locked tight from keiji's efforts, and your breath keeps leaving you in pained huffs. "no he wouldn't," you bite, a whine passing through when keiji starts to suck earnestly on your clit. "he wouldn't let you if i tell him no."
koutarou groans, stars bursting in his vision. he's really close.
you keep talking, panting and biting out the syllables like they're causing you actual pain. "just like he won't come unless i tell him to. right, kou?"
he can't answer. his head is swimming and is ears are ringing and he can feel keiji reaching his peak.
your words are slurring. "won't let him come 'til i do, keij-nggh-better hurry up-"
keiji comes first, his body twitching and jerking and pushing him up against you harder. kou has to dig his nails into keiji's waist just to keep him steady, because you haven't told said he's allowed to come yet and he's so fucking close.
keiji's words have lost their bite with you. he melts, now, pulling you close lovingly. "please come, miss, please. want him to come inside me. need you to go first, please-"
it must be those pretty cyan eyes and the tears welling up in them, because the moment you lock eyes with akaashi keiji — red in the face, crying, sweating, pleading — you lose yourself to him. your head flies back and your hand reaches out for koutarou. he takes it, holds tight, and feels when you tug him closer just a little. when you whisper, through your own orgasm, that he should let go, too.
he almost crushes keiji to death when he falls down on top of him, crying out with the force of years of wanting the two of you in his bed exactly like this.
he's nervous when the three of you come to your senses. he's nervous because he's wanted this for so damn long, and now he's facing the consequences.
but you and keiji just look each other in the eye and start to giggle. keiji presses kisses to your thighs and you run your fingers lovingly through his hair. and then you both reach out for koutarou, hands grabbing at the air and quietly begging him to join you.
» Akaashi Keiji is the image of deference. Of worship.«
------------------------------------
TAGS: friends to lovers, fluff, down-bad akaashi, experienced akaashi x inexperienced yn, "teach me" trope, cunnilingus, penetrative sex, akaashi not knowing how to communicate because hes so smart yet so so dumb
a/n: thank you so very much to the person who commissioned this fic!!! i had a crazy amount of fun with this, you literally have no idea <3333
[commission honee here!]
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akeiji95 followed you!
You stare down at your phone, spoon halfway to your mouth and suspended in midair. Your classmate hums curiously, so you turn the screen to show her the notification.
She gives an interested quirk of her eyebrow. "Akaashi Keiji? The hottest guy in the second-year class?"
You click your teeth, shaking your head. "I don't know if I'd call him that. He's just Koutarou's younger friend." You tap the follow back button quickly, showing her your ambivalence. "See? No big deal."
She just leans into your screen again, clicking on his profile. He's only following two people. "Wanna bet who the other one is?"
You don't need to guess. "Maybe it's a new account."
"His entire class is following him."
"Alright," you say decisively, putting your phone down. "Shut up and eat your lunch."
She just snickers and pushes food around her bento. "When'd you meet him, anyway?"
"Haven't."
Her pursed lips and the little shake of her head say more than she does.
—
"Hey, Y/n!"
You glance over your shoulder, squinting through the sunlight to find the source of your name. It's not hard, Bokuto so big that he actually blocks the sun out for you the closer he gets.
"Hi, Kou."
"You're leaving without me?!"
You roll your eyes. "I never know when you have practice after school — even when you don't, you like to make practice."
"Akaashi and I wanted to get food!"
It's only now that you realize Bokuto isn't alone.
Akaashi Keiji isn't as big as Bokuto, but even when Bokuto shifts out of the sun's path, it doesn't come back to blind you. You crane your neck up as he approaches, staring up at him dumbly. He stares back, just as dumb.
"Oh," you say. "Hi."
He blinks, tugging on his sleeve a little nervously. "Hi. I'm Akaashi Keiji. It's nice to meet you."
You get the sense he's only being so forthcoming because you're older.
Bokuto claps him hard on the shoulder. You take a moment to appreciate that he doesn't flinch under the man's heavy hand. "Y/n is my next-door neighbor!"
Akaashi just nods, his left shoulder weighed down by your friend. "I know, Bokuto. You told me four times."
You smile up at him. "You'll hear it again, don't worry."
The grin he cracks is shy and quickly smothered, but you see it. You see how he meets your eyes and glances away, acknowledging the joke quietly while Bokuto complains about bullying.
"Whatever," the bigger man says eventually, tugging on your sleeve. "Come eat with us." When you glance at Akaashi, curious if he's been informed of this plan, the boy just nods, giving you a polite smile when he senses your attention.
"Okay," you say eventually, falling into place with them, Akaashi in the middle. You notice when he decides to fall back, allowing you and Bokuto to lead.
You don't know what to do with this. All you know about Akaashi Keiji is his Instagram name and his — almost excessive — attention to deference. You're used to shameless pride and an infectious energy. You couldn't compare him to Bokuto if you tried, and it's a mystery they're friends at all.
But it becomes clear soon enough, at the little tented food stall that sits just down the road. Bokuto barges through, beelining for a little table in the corner because it's the last one left. Akaashi chooses to wait, holding open the tent flap for you and bowing his head when you thank him. When you get to the table, Bokuto's already ordering at the counter, his coat and bag the only evidence he'd ever been there at all.
Akaashi sits across from you quietly, eyes trailing the little menu card as though there's not only four items offered.
You clear your throat. "So, did Bokuto make you follow me in hopes of us becoming friends?"
He meets your eyes and looks away. Brushes his hair out of his face. Glances to see if Bokuto's almost done. "Uh, no," he says, and then stumbles to clarify. "I mean, yes. He thinks I need more friends. But he doesn't know."
You smirk, toying with the edge of your own menu card and trying to joke, because the tension is killing you. "So, what makes me the lucky winner?"
He meets your eyes and, to your surprise, gives you a downward grin of his own. "Bokuto never shuts up about you. I figured I'd meet the girl on the pedestal and see for myself."
A flush spreads across your cheeks, and he watches it happen, clearly pleased. So you roll your eyes and return to your menu.
"Hope you have a pedestal empty."
A laugh leaves his body in a breathy exhale, and you catch the hand he rubs down his face to cover his mouth.
Bokuto returns, bringing with him a few girls from another table. "I ordered us a bunch of stuff! I'm starved."
Akaashi groans, muttering to himself but perfectly within your earshot. "He ate half of my lunch — how could he be starved?"
You smother your smile and return your attention to Bokuto, who's gesturing to the girls.
"Some girls from your class wanted to say hi, Akaashi!"
They seem shy, but their interest is obvious, and you can see why. Akaashi is tall, good-looking, respectful, and — shockingly — a bit of a smart-ass. He's as perfect as high-school boys get.
But he just sits there, either ignoring their obvious signals or completely oblivious that there are signals at all.
"Hello," he says plainly.
One of the girls pipes up, gripping her friend's sleeve. "We're in the same class."
The other girl now. "We're not in the same class, but my best friend sits behind you."
The last girl. "We have no connection." She doesn't look embarrassed about it.
Akaashi just stares, as though he's wondering if there's a quiz after this. "Okay. Nice to meet you…?"
The first girl pipes up. "We already know each other. You gave me a napkin once."
You're shocked to realize he's turning to you for help. You don't give it, just staring back.
Bokuto pouts, looking between you and then at the girls. "Aw, c'mon, Akaashi." The boy in question just eyes him, confused. "You need more friends!"
You try not to blush when cerulean eyes flick to you before glancing away.
After they leave, a mixture of disappointed and amazed that Akaashi had spoken to them at all, Bokuto nudges him and starts waxing poetic about interpersonal connections and the joys of friendship. You just eat your food and let them talk, deciding that Akaashi Keiji's interpersonal connections are none of your business.
Until he makes it your business.
__
akeiji95 sent you a message!
It comes later that night, long after you'd said bye to him at the train station and long after you and Bokuto had parted ways at your connected gates.
You click the notification, trying to decide if you're surprised or not.
[9:42 PM]
akeiji95: yn. hi.
you: hi akaashi. what brings you here?
akeiji95: bokuto
you: ah yes. have you selected a potential new friend?
akeiji95: depends.
akeiji95: im still getting my pedestal ready if thats alright
akeiji95: it's a little dusty atm
You'd be hard-pressed to admit that you're lying on your bed with your feet swinging in the air, a grin plastered on your face.
you: im patient, dw
akeiji95: oh good
akeiji95: do i need to wait until it's ready or can i start now?
you: hmmmm
you: i supposed im bored enough to allow some interaction with the masses
akeiji95: is that me.
akeiji95: am i the masses.
you: do you see anyone else here???
akeiji95: wow, yn
akeiji95: youre truly so generous with your time
you: and youre a smartass
akeiji95: only when i deem someone worthy
Okay, maybe you're swinging your feet in the air.
you: oh, im just so glad to be worthy
you: akaashi keiji, giving me attitude?
you: ive been yearning for this day
akeiji95: youre kind of a smartass too
you: how dare you speak ill of me.
akeiji95: pedestal's not ready yet.
you: WOWWWW
you: im telling bokuto
akeiji95: pls dont even joke ab that
akeiji95: he will literally never let it go
you: whats wrong, akaashi? afraid to admit hes got good judgment?
akeiji95: have you met his ego?
You have to muffle your laugh in a pillow.
you: it's pressing down on the walls of my house as we speak
akeiji95: is it mean to admit that i laughed
you: yes!!
akeiji95: then i wont admit it
you: oh well then problem solved
akeiji95: funny AND smart? dusting faster now
you: youre an asshole
akeiji95: only a little bit
akeiji95: only when i like someone
You freeze, your heartbeat racing in your throat. He takes the silence as a bad thing.
akeiji95: i didnt mean
akeiji95: it was a general statement
akeiji95: im mean to bokuto too if that helps??
It takes a while for your heart to come down to baseline, but you throw him a lifeline.
you: i never wouldve guessed this was your personality
akeiji95: ??? what does that mean???
you: in person, youre like
you: how do i say this nicely
akeiji95: a doormat?
you: NO
you: not a doormat!!
you: just
you: polite? kind of,,,
akeiji95: boring?
you: youre choosing evil adjectives on purpose
akeiji95: doormat is a noun, yn.
akeiji95: spreading dust on the pedestal now.
you: im hanging up on you.
akeiji95: WE'RE TEXTING.
You roll over, your face warm and your tummy swirling with excitment.
you: why are you so selective, anyway?
you: you could have plenty of friends
you: youre funny and polite
akeiji95: you forgot smart
you: i didnt forget shit.
akeiji95: youre evil.
akeiji95: i dont have a lot of friends bc im bad at making friends
akeiji95: i have the volleyball team, i guess
akeiji95: but classmates are hard for me
you: youre not bad at making friends
you: is this hard for you?
akeiji95: incredibly
akeiji95: didnt you see me fumble earlier?
akeiji95: im trying very hard rn
you: you dont have to try hard with me
akeiji95: see? i knew i made the right choice
you: dont feed my ego
you: itll compete with bokutos
akeiji95: well we cant have that
akeiji95: you know how he gets
you: that i do
you: you know you should probably tell him eventually
akeiji95: tell him what, yn?
akeiji95: are we friends?
you: idk, akaashi, is my pedestal ready?
akeiji95: stick around and find out
you: youre avoiding the point
akeiji95: very astute observation
You wait, watching as he types, stops, starts, stops again, and then — finally — sends.
akeiji95: i'll tell him eventually
akeiji95: i kind of want this for myself for now
akeiji95: if thats okay
You bury your face in your pillow, barely looking at your phone when you respond.
you: yeah
you: thats okay
akeiji95: okay
akeiji95: i'll see you tomorrow, yn
you: bye akaashi
You put your phone down and roll over, dragging the blanket over your head and trying to calm down. You nearly manage to fall asleep, but your phone buzzes again, over an hour later.
akeiji95: i think the pedestal's ready
akeiji95: goodnight
—
As the months pass and near your graduation, Keiji becomes antsy.
He still hasn't told Bokuto that he has another friend. He can't figure out how — he's sure that "I'm friends with Y/n" would be more than enough, but the longer it takes, the harder it is to say. Bokuto would never overreact. He might whine a little about not being informed, but he'd be happier to learn that his two closest friends have formed a connection, too.
But Keiji doesn't want him to know. He doesn't want to let anyone into this little part of his life. He wants to keep this a secret, because every flick of your eyes to his at lunch and every smile that you hide when he uses a deadpan voice with Bokuto is enough for him to crave more. Crave more time with you, time that only the two of you know is there.
You never see each other outside of school, not without prompting from Bokuto, and even then, you barely interact. But every night — every night, he's a little embarrassed to realize — he finds himself texting you. First on Instagram, and then, through a very humiliating request for your number, over text.
He's not an idiot. He knows he likes you, the same way that he knows the attention from the girls in his class isn't innocent. He told you that he has a hard time making friends, and he does, but the truth is that he knows his classmates don't want to be friends. The girls want more, and the guys are upset that the girls only see him. Even the girls in third year are like that, and it's brought him more trouble than not.
But you don't treat him like that. He feels with certainty, based on how you text, that you enjoy his company and presence, but he can't quite discern if it's more than that. In person, you treat him the way you treat Bokuto, which is to say that you give him attitude and not much else.
He can't say he hates that part, actually. If anything, it makes his mouth dry and his hands itch, watching you roll your eyes and send him the occasional sharp quip.
But that thing he quietly craves doesn't feel attainable. You don't feel attainable. And, given the way you seem to not realize when boys' attention is more than friendly, he doesn't want to try. He doesn't want to fuck this up, because he wasn't lying when he said he was trying hard to be your friend.
So he doesn't do more than this. He just avoids his classmates and takes any opportunity to follow Bokuto when the older man mentions bugging you. He sits quietly while the two of you bicker, and he opens doors for you, and he bows his head when you give him attention, and then at night, he seeks you out, because he wants his alone time with you, even if it's virtual.
And on the one day he's so busy studying for exams that he forgets to text you, you text him first, and he feels such an immense wave of excitement and relief that you might consider him a friend, too, that he pulls up his messages with Bokuto.
Keiji: bokuto.
Bokuto: AKAAAASHI WHATS UP
Keiji: im friends with yn now
Keiji: so you can stop worrying
Bokuto: OMG REALLY?? THATS GREAT
Bokuto: SHES GREAT
He knows that. He definitely knows that. And he's relieved Bokuto knows, but he won't be giving more detail than that, because he still wants to keep some things to himself.
When you graduate, he misses you. He misses Bokuto, too, but he thinks of you more.
You text him often, but college is hard for you, and he's busy with senior exams, so things change. He can only really keep up with you on Instagram, and the only reason he knows you still value his friendship is that you comment on his posts and send him videos when you have enough time to relax. He stays in Tokyo for college, but you're in Osaka, where Bokuto is for the Black Jackals, and he has no time to visit, so he loses track of you after a while.
He gets better at making friends. Still not great, but girls in college don't pay as much attention to his looks, so he's able to make and keep a decent number of friends. He dates and has a few short-term girlfriends, but his studies take priority, so he — ever efficient in his ways — decides that commitment isn't right for him at this point in his life. He does what any twenty-something year old man would do.
He sleeps around.
Respectfully, he might add, but it's all he can afford to give, and he doesn't want to lead anyone on. As long as he's straightforward, citing his workload upfront and how he doesn't have the time for more, he successfully avoids hurting the partners he takes to bed. It works for him.
He graduates college, and Bokuto is still in Osaka, but he doesn't know where you are. It's been a while since you've updated your social media, and at this point it's been so long he feels uncomfortable texting you without a reason.
Until he enrolls at the University of Hyogo for graduate school. It's not far from Osaka, so he meets Bokuto for lunch and they spend the whole day catching up. He remembers the moment he asks Bokuto if you're well, not wanting to ask more, and his friend says something that gives him a reason to reach out.
"Oh, she's working at a company in Kobe!"
You're in the same city as him.
—
akeiji95 sent you a message!
Deja vu is a bitch.
You're sitting in the company cafeteria, spoon halfway to your mouth. Your co-worker gives you a curious look.
"Oh, nothing," you say, shaking it off. "Just got a text from an old friend."
She shrugs, because Akaashi is no longer the 'hottest guy in school'. He's just your old friend.
You open Instagram, finding his message.
akeiji95: yn. hi.
Deja vu is such a bitch.
you: akaashi! hi!
akeiji95: how have you been?
you: im doing alright, what about you?
akeiji95: im okay.
akeiji95: bokuto told me youre in kobe.
you: yes, i am! im working at a tech company.
akeiji95: still smart, i see.
you: i suppose so lol
you: are you in osaka? thats not far!
akeiji95: im in kobe.
You choke on your lunch, only recovering with a rough pat on the back and a cup of water shoved into your hand.
you: really?? for what?
akeiji95: grad school. im at hyogo.
you: bright as ever
you: typical akaashi keiji
akeiji95: you said it, not me
you: smartass
akeiji95: typical akaashi keiji?
you: as long as you know
You sigh, your heart aching a little. Talking to him feels the same. You thought you'd gotten over him.
akeiji95: can we meet?
you: of course
you: id love to
akeiji95: me too.
You're completely, positively, certainly not over him.
—
He's gotten more beautiful. Taller with a confidence that matches his height. More self-assured in his body, his chest and shoulders broader than before. He's got that lifelong student energy about him, his hair and glasses disheveled but his coat and cardigan and slim-fit black jeans completely perfect.
He finds you easily in the crowded cafe, glancing over everyone's heads until he spots you in the corner, staring open-mouthed at him. His smile is shy but comfortable, laced with something familiar. Like being with you feels familiar.
"Fancy seeing you here."
His voice is deeper. His Adam's apple bobs when he swallows.
"Uh-" You can't find your words, feeling like an idiot. "Akaashi."
His eyebrows lift, but he doesn't mention your limited vocabulary, just removing his backpack and taking the seat across from you. "Have you been here long?"
"No, no," you fumble, breaking eye contact. His eyes are prettier, somehow. It's hard to look at him. "I got here, like, twenty minutes ago."
He smiles, tilting his head. You watch how his hair flops gently to the side, entranced. "I wouldn't consider that not long, Y/n."
His comfort relaxes you in the same way it used to. You smile, gesturing to the window. "I work across the street. My lunch hour started at noon." You watch his eyes flick to clock on the wall behind you and then over his shoulder at your building across the street.
"So you've got time for lunch?" he asks, gesturing to the coffee in your hand. "Or was that the plan?"
You purse your lips, your heels sliding across the linoleum as you kick your feet, a little petulant. "I was gonna scarf something down in the elevator after this."
He scoffs and then stands, holding a hand out for you. You take it, warming, and let him help you up.
"Let's go get real food, please."
He takes you just a street over, to a little place he'd passed on the way. You don't mention how much it looks like the place outside Fukurodani, the place where you'd met.
The conversation comes easy, despite never really having any in-person interactions before. He pays for lunch, just letting you rattle off protests with nothing more than a grin. You update him on your life, talking about college and the pains of being a salaryperson. He tells you about his English program, how he wants to work for a publishing company.
He mentions being overworked, but you'd be able to see it even if he hadn't said anything. There are bags under his eyes, visible only in certain lighting but there nonetheless. And he holds himself well but rolls his shoulders unconsciously while talking, betraying the ways his body has suffered in his academic pursuits.
"Have you explored the city at all?" you finally ask, as you're both standing and heading for the tent flap. He still holds it open, the same way he did before, and he still bows his head when you thank him.
"Haven't had the time," he admits, trailing after you. "But-" He makes a concerned noise and interrupts his own train of thought. "Your feet…"
You turn, finding that he'd been looking down. Following his gaze, you realize that he can see the bandages you've put on the backs of your ankles, blood seeping through anyway. "Oh," you say. "It's okay. It's from running around in heels all day, but I can't really feel it anymore."
The scrunch of his eyebrows tells you he doesn't think it's okay. "They make you run around in those for eight hours a day?"
"More like ten, sometimes twelve," you say, a laugh in your voice. He doesn't reciprocate the sentiment. "It's okay, really. It's just part of the job."
"You work twelve hours a day?"
You glance up at him while he walks you to the main door of your company. "Don't you work just as much?"
"Not in heels."
You choke on a laugh, shaking your head. "I'm okay, Akaashi-"
"Call in sick tomorrow."
You stare up at him, eyes wide. "What? I can't just do that."
"Yes, you can. Call in sick. Let's go do something fun."
You shake your head. "This isn't high school, Akaashi. I can't play hooky."
He tilts his head, a teasing grin on his lips. "I never played hooky in high school, Y/n. That's very irresponsible."
"Okay, bye, Akaashi," you laugh, waving him off and turning away. He catches you by the wrist, turning you back to him.
"Call off tomorrow. Seriously. I'll skip my classes."
"What happened to irresponsible?" you laugh. "What are we even gonna do, anyway?"
"I told you," he starts. "I haven't had any time to relax. Let's try some random hobby."
"Whatever for?"
"To find a way to burn off stress. We're both exhausted, Y/n." His argument is dreadfully convincing. "I don't know anyone else in Kobe. Let's hang out."
You examine him, watching how he watches you. His eyes flick between yours, serious and a little urgent, and his hand is still wrapped around your wrist, his palm almost overbearingly warm.
"And… what hobby did you have in mind?" you ask, your voice weak and betraying how close you are to giving in.
His downward grin is pretty as ever. "I don't know. I didn't think I'd get this far."
You laugh, tugging your wrist from his grip. His fingers brush on your skin, almost like he's reluctant to let go. "If you can find a hobby, a place, and a time, I will consider calling in sick tomorrow. And-" you point at him menacingly. "You better not be risking anything by skipping class."
He places a hand on his chest. "I would never. Unlike you, I'm responsible."
"Good-bye, Akaashi." You turn away, heading back to work.
"I'll text you," he says, like a promise.
You lean on the revolving door, calling back to him as you go.
"You better."
—
[8:19 PM]
Akaashi: painting
Akaashi: 11:30
Akaashi: [location attached]
—
You meet him at the little art studio at exactly 11:30, smiling at how he paces anxiously in front.
He looks relieved to see you. "I wasn't sure you'd show."
"You submitted all the requested materials," you say simply. "I had to respect your efforts."
He bites back a laugh and opens the door for you. Bows his head when you thank him. "Let's see what painting's all about, then."
It turns out you're terrible at it. He's not an artistic genius himself, but his final product actually kind of looks like the instructor's. Yours looks like you attended a different class.
He doesn't tease too much, though he does ask if he can keep yours. You vehemently refuse and part ways with him after lunch at a nearby park and a walk to the train station, where he makes you promise to relax at home the rest of the day.
You fall into a pattern with him, one that neither of you addresses head-on, the same way that looking directly into the sun is bad for you.
On weekends (you have to remind him that you do have a job and he does have classes), you meet at the agreed upon hobby location of the week, half chosen by him and half by you.
He's atrocious at yoga, claiming that it only made him more stressed.
You spend several hours ignoring him after he makes you go for a run, of all things, your winded anger overshadowed by his bright laughter as he jogs ahead of you.
He allows you to put him in a corner at a cooking class, because he'd added cumin instead of cinnamon and then almost singed your eyebrows off.
You're not ashamed to admit that you call him a "four-eyed fuckass" when he tries and fails miserably to contain his laughter at pottery class. In your defense, he'd managed a decent-looking vase, where all you'd managed was an out-of-control pottery wheel and splashed clay all over your face and hair.
All in all, the search for stress relief is a resounding failure, so, on the Saturday after the pottery fiasco, you suggest going to a bar and just hanging out.
He gets whiskey. You sip on a moscow mule, grinning mischievously up at him when he asks how you don't find it too sweet.
"Have some whimsy, Akaashi."
"I have the perfect amount of whimsy," he argues, whiskey on his breath and a glaze in his eyes that wasn't there before. "I let you make me do yoga."
"Yoga's not whimsical. It's about core strength and discipline."
"It's about trying not to crack your head open," he laughs. "That's enough whimsy for me."
You stir your drink, sighing quietly. "What're we gonna do now? We haven't found anything that works for both of us."
Part of you hadn't wanted to bring it up. You'd been worried all week that this meant your weekly outings would stop.
He tosses the rest of his drink back. "Well, I've only ever found one thing works for me in short doses, to be honest, so it was kind of a lost cause to begin with." His voice is hinting at something, like he's expecting you to pick up on his unsaid meaning, but you have no clue what he's saying.
"What's that?" you ask, leaning in.
He just stares down at you, eyes widening like he hadn't expected a direct question. "Uh… Y'know…" When you tilt your head, clearly confused, he clears his throat and lowers his voice. "Sleeping… with people…?"
You straighten, your face warming. "Oh!" You stir your drink more aggressively. "Yeah, that makes sense."
He doesn't look much better than you, fingers combed through his hair and gaze cast in any direction but yours. "I mean, you get it, right?" He looks like he's hoping you'll make him feel better about saying something potentially stupid.
Unfortunately, you can't give that to him. "Uhm… not really."
He freezes. You freeze, too.
"Wait…" he breathes, shaking his head. "You're-I mean-" He clears his throat again, Adam's apple bobbing. You follow it and then look away. "I mean, it's not for everyone. That's okay, too."
You just shrug. You know you should shut up, but the mule and your general inability to filter yourself around him has you speaking up. "I wouldn't know, to be honest."
He just stares. "There's no way."
You blink. "No way that what?"
"You know what."
"I really don't."
"Y/n," he starts, shaking his head. "There's no way."
You roll your eyes. "Are you dragging this on just to make fun of me?"
"No!" He looks genuinely shocked, his face flushed a dark red and his eyes wide with alarm. "Of course not. I just really can't believe it."
"I never had the time," you mutter. "I was always busy, and it just never really occurred to me."
"You didn't date?" When you meet his eyes, he lowers his. "Sorry, that's personal, I guess."
"I think we're past that," you laugh, sipping your drink. "No, I never dated. I just… never really thought about it. I guess I kind of think about it sometimes now that I'm an adult with a job, but…" You gesture down at your bandaged feet, and he seems to understand. "You know. Busy."
You don't tell him that the one or two times you thought about it, you thought about him. Against your will, of course, and only really late at night. But it's humiliating enough as it is.
"Well, I-" he starts, swallowing and then looking away. "If you're interested-" And then he stops, because your gaze is flying up to his, shock written across your face. "Oh, my god," he says sharply. "Holy shit." He stands, laughing under his breath. "I'm so sorry, that was so out of line. I should go."
You watch him put his coat on, but you catch him by the sleeve before he can bolt.
"Wait."
It's all you say.
He just stares down at you, coat disheveled, hair messy, glasses half-fogged from the heat in this crowded bar.
"Just wait," you whisper. He stays frozen in front of you, unblinking and blatantly afraid of how you'll react. You struggle to breathe. "I've never even kissed anyone, Akaashi. Would you even want this?"
He seems to stare right through you, only blinking when your grip on his sleeve tightens.
"Yes."
It's all he says. You get the sense that, if he were anyone else, you would need more. More reassurance. More indication that this isn't a mistake. More of anything, really.
But it's Akaashi. And maybe it's your stupid crush or the rush of emotion that's crashing into you or even just the fact that he's still here, despite your humiliating admission. But you believe him.
You believe that this could work.
"Okay."
—
"I like your place," he says quietly, following you into the dark apartment. You don't comment on how he can barely see anything.
"Thanks," you mumble, kicking your shoes off. You start to turn on the overhead lights but decide against it, heading for the few low-light lamps in the living room.
When you look at him, that picture of deference is back. He's standing in the doorway, coat draped neatly over his elbow and gaze cast politely around your space.
It contrasts so painfully with what you now know he does in his free time.
"Uhm," you break the silence, watching his attention snap to you. "Should we… go to the bedroom?"
He blinks rapidly, expression oscillating between blatant embarrassment and fond amusement. "We're not having sex tonight, Y/n."
You still, wondering how you might have misunderstood. "But… I thought-"
"You just told me you've never kissed anyone," he says, leaving his coat on the sofa arm as he crosses the room to you. He hovers over you, his height exaggerated when he's this close. "I think we can take it a little slow."
You try not to let your eyelashes flutter when he slips his thumb across your cheek and then cups the back of your neck. "But… How is this helping you?"
"What do you mean?"
"You said-" It's so damn hard to keep your focus when he's this close. He smells like something spiced, like cinnamon and warmth. "You said this was for stress relief. Isn't this kind of… not that?"
When he laughs, it's low and breathy and laced with whiskey. "You're thinking too hard about it."
"I'm good at that."
"Try to think of it this way," he continues. You're led forward by the elbow, his backwards steps ending in your sofa. He helps you sink into the cushion, his body pressed to yours when he joins you. "Helping you with this…" He leans in, nose brushing across your face and lips brushing against your neck. You shiver and suck in a hard breath. "…helps me, too. More than you know."
You start to ask what that means, but he's lifting his head, his glasses cold on your heated skin when his nose bumps against yours. Whiskey-tinged breath fills your lungs when he asks-
"Can I kiss you?"
You hope you don't look too desperate when you breathe out a flustered-
"Yes. Please."
It's surreal, the feeling of Akaashi Keiji's lips on yours. The realization that it's him.
The kiss is gentle, but the heat of his mouth and his breath and the way he huffs out a shaky sigh when he angles his head and slots his lips against yours better — you never thought kissing would feel like this.
You fall into his rhythm, letting him lead and trying not let your head go fuzzy when he whispers compliments between kisses.
"Good." His mouth is warm, his lips plush and soft and guiding you through the motions gently.
"Tilt your head for me? Perfect." His tongue slides against the seam of your lips, careful but wanting.
"'s okay. Just follow what I do." His teeth nip and catch on your bottom lip, and he spends time running his tongue soothingly over that spot, ever deferent.
By the time he pulls back, your head is swimming and your breathing's heavy and you can barely get your eyes to focus. And, despite his experience, he doesn't look much better.
Face flushed, glasses fogged, lips red and swollen. Breath heavy, forehead pressed to yours, hands shaky on your skin.
"Good," he croaks, swallowing hard. "That was good."
"Yeah?" you laugh, delirious. "'Cause you seem totally fine and unaffected."
He shakes his head, laugh sharp. "Fuck, Y/n."
"What?"
"Just-" He shakes his head again. "Fuck."
When he kisses you again, it's with you on your back and him barely keeping himself propped up over you. His chest is warm and solid against yours, and his knees are prying yours open, your thighs falling limply over his.
"Can I," he tries, swallowing his next breath harshly. "Can I touch you?"
The noise that leaves your mouth is akin to a whine, but you know he can hear the moan under it. You just purse your lips and nod, watching his eyes trail down your body.
"Are you sure?" he asks, one hand hovering over the spot on your waist where your shirt's ridden up.
"You don't have to ask. I'm okay with anything," you admit. You'll be embarrassed about it in the morning, but right now, he looks so amazed by your answer that you can't help but enjoy this. "I trust you, Keiji."
He groans when you say his name, head dropping to your shoulder. "Fuck," he whispers, muffled by your throat. "I'm so fucked."
You don't know what that means, but it feels so familiar to something from before, from so long ago.
You comb your fingers through his hair, heart pounding. "Is my pedestal still empty?"
His body reacts before he does, twitching and slumping over you in defeat. When he finally opens his mouth, his voice is laced with a whine.
Hopeless.
Deferent.
"Never filled it." His hands are shaking on your waist. "Never could."
Your heart leaves your body, and your self-control follows.
You drag him up by the hair, planting your lips on his and trying not to whimper when he shudders and kisses you with renewed force.
Whatever sense you'd had before, it's completely gone. Your head is empty, nothing left but cerulean and whiskey.
When Akaashi slides his hand up your shirt and cups your breast through your bra, your back arches and a low, keening cry leaves you. And in shifting against him, writhing with want and every new sensation, your hips roll against his.
He hisses, moaning into your mouth. You feel him trying to angle his hips away, probably for your sake, but you're not having it. You tense your thighs, still thrown uselessly over his, and cross your ankles at his waist.
His hands fly down to your legs, where he plants them on the backs of your thighs and all but bends you in half just to get some space between you.
"You have to be careful," he breathes. "Please. For me."
You shake your head, tugging him back to you. "Don't wanna."
He only lets you melt his resolve for a few more minutes. A few more minutes of his lips on your skin, of his tongue in your mouth. A few more minutes of his groans, brought out with every roll of your hips and every unintentional roll of his. A few more minutes of your name, pressed urgently past your lips and against your throat and in tandem with his thumbs rolling over your nipples.
You're a mess by the time he relocates his resolve.
"Okay, okay-" he finally says, pulling away from you sharply. "We have to stop." His voice is shaky and breathy and it's clear that he's struggling.
"Why?" you argue, your face flushed from everything but especially now that he's looking down at you, because your shirt and bra are shoved up against your chin and your skirt is bunched up around your waist and you know, even without looking, that he can see the wet spot on your panties.
You know, because he keeps glancing down and then tearing his gaze away like it hurts him.
"We have to," he just repeats, shaking his head. "We can't keep going tonight. It's too much at once."
"Says who?" you bite. You know you sound desperate, but he has a wet patch on his slacks, and you know for a fact it's not from you.
"Says me," he bites back. You don't argue again, just pouting up at him. He shakes his head harder. "We were supposed to take it slow. I don't want to push you."
"Your self-control is annoying."
He laughs, but it doesn't sound like he finds it funny. It sounds like he's trying not to go crazy. "My self-control is a single thread between me and doing terrible things to you."
That doesn't so bad to you.
You start to say as much, but he's already getting off the couch.
"I should go," he says, adjusting his clothes and looking particularly embarrassed when his pants remain tented. "I should definitely go."
You swallow, feeling a little self-conscious. "Akaashi? Was I too much?"
His eyes snap to yours, and that laugh of disbelief follows. "No. Never. But if I stay, then I'm going to be too much."
He helps you sit up, fixing your clothes and your hair for you, and — when your expression is undoubtedly still full of anxiety — he presses a kiss to your mouth, soft and gentle and the complete picture of Akaashi Keiji, deference embodied.
"Uhm," you follow him to the door, unused to this clingy, terrible knot in your gut. "Will I see yo-"
"Next week," he says plainly, stepping close to you once his shoes are on. Another kiss, first against your lips and then against your temple. "Saturday. I promise." He tilts his head, smiling playfully. "Stress relief, remember?"
"More stressed now than before," you grumble, and he grabs you by the shoulders, keeping you close and forcing you to uncross your arms, because your body language is radiating anxiety.
"Hey," he coaxes, a gentle hand tipping your chin up so you can look at him. So he can kiss you again. You wonder if he does this with every girl he takes to bed, or if it's just you. If he kisses every girl three times at the door, or if you're special. "You said you trust me. Right?"
When you nod, he makes it four.
"Then trust me," he whispers against your lips. "'m not going anywhere."
You only manage to breathe normally after he's gone, when he sends you a text not even five minutes after your door closes.
[10:59 PM]
Akaashi: pedestal's still yours
Akaashi: if you still want it.
—
He doesn't text on Sunday. His text from Saturday night is the only thing that keeps you from spiraling.
That's a lie. You're definitely spiraling.
You don't understand what it means, what any of it means. Is this just how Akaashi is, polite and respectful for every girl? Reassuring and kind, warm and self-aware? Had you locked yourself into an impossible situation, asking him for help with this? Would this be as far as you can go with him, nothing beyond?
You want him to know how you feel, but you don't want to tell him. Don't want to ruin this.
But fuck, if this ends up meaning nothing, you don't know that you'll recover.
—
"Oh, you like her."
Keiji groans, running his fingers through his hair and weaving through the swarm of undergrads after class, the sun low in the sky and the lingering winter cold nipping at his fingers.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Why?" Bokuto laughs on the other end of the call. "Because even I can tell?"
Keiji doesn't let him know that that's exactly why.
"So, what happened this weekend, then? Haven't you been meeting her for a few weeks now? What's different?"
Keiji warms. "Uh. Nothing, I guess."
Bokuto's silent on the other end. "Okay."
He knows. He definitely knows. Keiji's ears are practically ringing with heat and humiliation. Bokuto definitely knows.
"Okay, I'm gonna say something even though it's not my place."
"If it weren't your place, I wouldn't have called for advice," he mumbles, finally locating his bike in the crowded bike rack.
"Y/n's a little dumb."
Keiji just laughs, shaking his head.
"I know, it's ironic. But she's going to be the last person to notice you like her. So if something happened-" Bokuto cuts himself short, sighing. "If something happened, don't leave her hanging. Please. She's probably freaking out."
Keiji stands there in the cold. He'd noticed your anxiety last night, but he wouldn't have guessed you'd still be uneasy.
"But she's always been-" What word is he looking for? Calm? Collected? Nonchalant? "And I'm nothing special. I'm just-" Bokuto's younger friend. He'd always known that you'd seen him that way, at least at the beginning.
"Akaashi, if you think this means nothing to her — whatever it is — I'm going to kill you."
Keiji's fingers are going numb. It's not just the cold anymore. "No, you won't. You're a pacifist," he mumbles, weak.
"You're right, I hate violence," Bokuto caves easily. "But I'm definitely going to give you a stern talking to." When Keiji doesn't respond, he clears his throat. "I know you were a player in college-" Keiji's not sure he'd classify himself as a player. "-but I get the feeling that that part of your life was just you denying something else."
Denying something-
"Ah, fuck," he groans, crouching and leaning his elbow on his bike wheel. "Fuck."
"Yeah. Fuck." Bokuto sounds sympathetic, but his voice is firm. "Don't wait until Saturday to see her again. If she calls me freaking out, you're getting the shit talked outta you."
Keiji can only sigh, muttering 'yes, sir' into the receiver before Bokuto hangs up on him.
—
Akaashi doesn't wait until Saturday to see you. He's waiting outside your company on Monday night, which you only realize because your co-worker texts you after she leaves and says there's a 'strangely hot weirdo outside asking for you'.
"What're you doing here?" Your breath is a puff of air in the space between you, your coat wrapped tight around you.
He has a shopping bag in one hand. "Any chance you haven't eaten dinner yet?"
Your stomach growls loudly. "Oh. I forgot."
His laugh is defeated. "Please clock out?"
You smile, unsure what's going on but willing to play along. "Sure. Come inside while I wrap up, you'll freeze out here."
He follows you through the lobby and into the elevator, the ride up the high-rise completely silent. You don't really understand — he'd said Saturday, hadn't he? Not that you're not happy to see him. That knot in your stomach had come back full force yesterday, and it's only now that it's easing up.
He trails after you as you lead him through the office. It's completely dark up here, the only light on the whole floor coming from your cubicle.
"Why is no one else here?"
"I'm usually the last to leave."
He groans. "What do I have to do to get you to quit?"
"Pay my rent?" you joke, but there's a look in his eye like he might be considering it. "I promise I'm alright, Akaashi. The pay is good, and I like my co-workers. It's just the late nights that kinda suck."
He just hovers over you while you file papers away and start closing out tabs on your computer. His fingers toy with the corner of a picture frame, the only one you have — you and Bokuto sitting in your front yard, no more than toddlers.
"He loves you, y'know," he comments quietly, staring down at the photo. "It matters a lot to him that you're okay."
You get the feeling he's not saying something, but you brush it off. "I know. I love him, too. I think you do, too."
Akaashi's smile is muted when he sets the photo down. "How could anyone not love him? He cares so much. About everything."
"That's Kou for you." You sigh, finally logging off. "Okay," you say, spinning in your chair to face him. "I'm ready."
You're expecting him to lead you away, but he just crouches carefully, setting the shopping bag on the floor. From inside he extracts a shoe box and a new pair of socks.
"What-"
"It's 8 o'clock, Y/n." He pulls your foot onto his knee gently, prying your heel off and rubbing at the sole of your foot with his thumb. "I don't want you walking around like this."
You squirm under his touch. "Akaashi, you don't have to do that. It's not clean-"
He bows his head — deference, worship — and presses his lips to your knee. He trails them up your leg while massaging your foot, tongue searing hot on your inner thigh.
"Akaashi!" you squeak, pushing his head away. "I work here-"
He smiles against your thigh and lift his head away. His glasses are fogged up, and his cheeks are flushed red, but his smile is taunting.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you think we were going to be doing something here?" His head tilts are starting to piss you off. "That's not very beginner-friendly, Y/n."
You try to kick him, but he holds tight to your ankle, the strength of his grip unfairly attractive. "Can we just go, please?" you whine. "Give my shoe back."
"No," he bites, planting another kiss on your knee before returning to his task. With extreme care, he removes your other shoe and then slips the socks on you. When he opens the shoe box, revealing an expensive pair of sneakers, you gasp.
"Keiji!" His eyes flick to your mouth, clearly enjoying the way you say his name, but you ignore it. "How much were those? And how do you even know my size?"
"I told you," he smiles. "Bokuto really loves you."
You give him a suspicious glare. "You didn't."
"He's coming to visit on his next holiday, by the way." His grin is evil. "He was really upset to learn about your working hours, and I was sent on a very serious mission to get you only the best in modern walking shoes." When you open your mouth, he cuts you short. "Don't worry, I didn't let him pay for them."
You smack him on the shoulder. It only makes his smile wider. "That means you paid for them! You're a broke grad student!"
"I said I was overworked, not underpaid." He uses your flustered anger to his advantage, slipping the shoes on you before you can reject them.
You refuse to say aloud that they're the most comfortable shoes you've ever worn, but he can see it just fine in your face.
"Good," he whispers. "Only the best."
You huff, warming. "Let me at least pay for dinner."
"Not a chance." He stands, helping you up. "Shall we?"
—
By the time you make it home, full and flush with warmth, Akaashi's hands are on your waist, and his mouth can't seem to stay away from your neck and shoulders.
"Did you drink?" you laugh, stumbling into the apartment with him.
"Not even a little bit. See?" He plants his lips on yours, letting you taste him. You gasp, surprised by his attitude.
"You're not usually so-" You struggle to find the words, thoroughly distracted by the way he clings to you, his mouth everywhere all at once. "-forward, I guess?"
"Too much?" he mumbles, face buried in the crook of your neck. His hands are tugging at your blouse, working to untuck it from your skirt.
"No," you breathe. "Not too much. Just-" You whine quietly when he starts to grope you through your clothes. "Just wondering if you're like this with every girl."
He freezes, pulling back. Your eyes widen, and your heart drops to your ass.
Had you said too much?
"No," he starts, face shadowed in the dark of your apartment. "No, not at all. I thought that I-" He leans away a little more, and you find yourself holding onto his wrists so he can't pull away completely. "I thought that I was clear last time, but Bokuto said-"
"Bokuto?" You're the one to step away now, confused. "Does-Did you tell him?"
"Not… exactly?" When you only lift your eyebrows, he pushes his hair out of his face nervously. "He doesn't know. He just knows something happened. And he was worried that I wasn't… clear enough."
You have no idea what that means.
"I have no idea what that means."
He laughs nervously, rubbing the heel of his hand against his eye. "I thought that the whole… pedestal thing… was clear enough. I mean — about my feelings."
It's your turn to freeze. "Your what?" you whisper, all the air gone from your lungs.
He takes that as a bad sign.
"Oh. Fuck." He laughs humorlessly, starting to back away. "Oh, fuck. I fucked this up."
"No, no, no-" You reach for him, latching on and forcing him to stay where he is. "You can't just say that and then leave!"
"I thought that I was being obvious-" He shakes his head, starting to close off.
"That wasn't obvious at all!" you argue, grabbing him tighter. "That's not how confessions work!"
"Is it not?" he says, genuinely lost. "I just… y'know…"
You stare up at him. "Oh, my god. Are you actually bad at this, Keiji?"
He swallows. "Apparently?"
You can't help it. You laugh.
"That's not how you confess to someone, Keiji. You can't just make some vague reference to the girl being special and hope that she just gets it."
"But you're not the girl," he mumbles. "You're you." When you just stare, he lowers his eyes. For all that he's gotten more experienced than you in the last ten years, he's still that younger, deferent boy from high school. "And I told you. I couldn't fill the pedestal with anyone else. I tried everything."
Your lungs still haven't returned to full capacity. "Tell me you like me, Keiji. I want to hear it."
His face is burning the most beautiful shade of red when he whispers-
"I hate to break it to you, Y/n, but it's definitely more than that."
—
"Just like that. You're doing so good."
You're covered in sweat and your gut is swirling with nerves, and Akaashi's hands on you feel perfect — perfect in the way that you know no one else's ever could. He's got his knees on the floor and your legs hiked up over his shoulders, and his glasses are lodged carelessly on top of your head, tangled in your hair just like your fingers are tangled in his.
He hums against your clit, groaning when your thighs tighten around his head. "Good girl. You can take it."
"Keiji, please-" You choke on your breath, feeling when he slips a second finger past your entrance and starts to gentle work you open. "Please, I'm ready."
His breath of laughter is hot on your skin, and his tongue follows, languid and torturous. "You have to be patient-"
"Don't wanna-"
"And I dont want-" He turns his head, nipping gently at your thigh with his teeth. You yelp, soothed only by the pass of his tongue over that spot. "-to hurt you. So, I win."
"I have problems with that argument-"
He laughs, nipping you again. You're covered in marks, evidence that you've been told more than once to keep your attitude in check.
"I don't care," he says, tone final. "I'm not letting you rush this."
"Can we rush next time?"
You expect teeth on your skin, but he only groans and laps his tongue between your folds again. You squirm, sweat dripping down your spine.
"Next time?" he mumbles. You laugh.
"Did you think this was a one-time thing? After I said I loved you back?"
He groans again. It reverberates through your bones. "I think I'd take anything from you at this point."
It's at some point in the last hour that you'd realized just how serious Akaashi Keiji had been about putting you on a pedestal. Deference and worship, on his knees at your feet first and then again at the foot of your bed. His mouth expressing the feeling he'd taken so long to put into words.
"You okay up there?" he whispers into your skin. You realize you've gone silent.
Tilting your head, you meet his eyes, flushing when you notice that it's all you can see of him.
"Keiji?"
He lifts his head away from you, eyes wide. "Yeah?"
"Come here? Please?" He looks conflicted, but you just tug on his hair. "Please. I promise I'm ready."
A moment passes where he just stares, and then he's lowering your legs to the bed carefully and climbing over you.
When he nudges the tip of his cock past your entrance, it's with his eyes trained diligently on your face and with your breath lodged in your throat.
You can't lie and say it doesn't hurt. It's uncomfortable, but Akaashi's quick to press his lips to yours, fingers swiping comforting circles over your clit. You whine, shocks of pleasure running up and down your spine, and don't even notice that he's still pushing into you until his hips are lined up against yours.
"Good, good—fuck, you're doing so good." He's mumbling nonsense into your mouth, teeth and tongue and admiration all successful in distracting you up until the moment it stops hurting.
"Oh," you breathe, eyelids fluttering when he rolls his hips. You have no clue how long he's been doing this — keeping you comfortable, making you feel safe — but you know it can't be comfortable for him. "Keiji."
He just grunts, his voice tight.
"Keiji. You can move."
His breath is sharp, like he's been holding it until this very moment. "'re you sure?"
You shift your hips and clench slightly, testing the stretch. He moans, collapsing onto his elbows and dropping his head to your shoulder. He's sweaty, like it's taken a great amount of strength for him to keep control, and you feel the distinct urge to pay him back for it.
So you clench again, rolling up until your hips touch his. "Go ahead, Keiji. 'm all yours."
With a sweaty hand pressed under the crook of your knee, he starts to angle himself, thrusting shallowly and biting down hard on his lip when your body opens up for him.
"Fuck."
You're breathless, feeling every inch of him as he pushes into you. It's slow, and you don't know how long he's at it like this, but you're full of adoration that he would care so much.
And then, without you ever realizing it, he's up on his knees again and your legs are hooked over his shoulders, and he's moaning your name while slamming his hips into yours. You've got one hand up, pressed to the headboard to keep you from smacking into it, and the other is gripping tight to the hand he's using to drag you down onto his cock. His other hand is wrapped around your hiked-up leg, and he's biting hard on your thigh, his moans barely muffled.
Something twists hard under your navel, and you're distinctly aware of the way your body starts to shake.
"Keiji-nngh-I'm-"
"'s okay," he breathes, voice tense. "'s okay, baby, let go. I've got you."
When your back arches off the bed, white noise flooding your ears, you can't feel anything but his fingers lacing with yours and holding tight. And then, distantly, you feel empty very suddenly, warmth spilling onto your stomach and pooling into the dips in your hips. And it's at the same time that you hear his voice, choking on a moan and then your name, low and reverent.
It takes you a while to come down, nothing registering in your hearing or vision. Every cell in your body vibrates, shaken up by the pass of a warm washcloth here and a press of Akaashi's lips there. He kisses up your thighs, whispering your name, and then presses his mouth to your clit, kissing that, too. And when you whine, he kisses up your body and throat, all the way up to your face, where he kisses you properly until you come back to him.
"Hi," you whisper finally. "Hope that was good for you."
"Shut up," he says back, shaking his head. Lips on your throat and under your ear and across your cheeks and nose. "That was the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me."
"Careful." You grin sleepily, leaning into him when he slips both of you under the blankets and holds you tight against him. "I might start saying vague shit that implies I have feelings for you."
His laugh is muffled against your skin, uncontrollable and a little delirious.
akaashi is the worst person to hook up with bc sometimes after he cums and he’s still got hearts in his eyes and his neck officially holds no weight, he sighs shakily and paws at his phone to make note of something he wants to write about
like sir you just got your shit rocked you want some gatorade before you start spinning a scene
— keiji doesn’t despise you. i’m sure he has a folder of your printed photos somewhere.
yandere!akaashi keiji x f!telepath!reader
i had a lot of fun with this! i hope you guys like it as much as i do (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ SOMEONE hold me back from writing more keiji fics.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the one where akaashi keiji is your biggest fan, literally.
you know how they say ignorance is bliss?
yeah. well. they were right.
because today, out of all the possible things the universe could have cursed you with, you woke up with the ability to read minds. no instructions. no warning. no off-switch. just… one minute you’re brushing your teeth, and the next you’re hearing your neighbor’s internal panic about whether or not almond milk counts as dairy.
and you were fine. you were okay. it was manageable. you could ignore it.
until you saw akaashi keiji.
akaashi keiji, who—you were sure—hated your guts. akaashi keiji, setter of fukurodani, king of the resting bitch face, mr. "i am only polite to you because bokuto would kill me otherwise." akaashi keiji, whose brain you really didn’t want to wander into—
except, of course, you did. and that’s when your entire worldview shattered.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you’re standing outside the gym, waiting for bokuto to finish his fifth water break, when you accidentally brush against akaashi. his arm. just for a second. and then—
‘oh my god. oh my god she touched me. i’m never washing this arm again. i’ll cut the sleeve off and frame it. i could cry. no. stay cool. don’t look at her. she’ll know. she always smells so good, what is that, vanilla? cinnamon? holy hell, marry me already.’
you freeze.
akaashi doesn’t. he just stands there, calm, cool, collected, expression neutral as ever.
except in his head, he’s a screaming, crying, shaking mess.
you blink. surely you misheard. maybe your brain powers are glitching. maybe—
‘look at her hair today. it’s so shiny. i want to run my hands through it. i want to braid it. i’d do it better than she could. she’d look so cute with little ribbons. oh god, imagine if she called me keiji while i braided her hair. i’d pass out. stop. stop thinking about it. don’t get a nosebleed. you’re a man, akaashi, have some dignity.’
you blink harder.
akaashi, still, does not blink at all.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
“you good?” bokuto asks, appearing at your side with two bottles of water balanced on his head.
“yep,” you squeak, voice about three octaves higher than normal. “totally fine. never been better.”
akaashi glances at you then, just once, with that infuriatingly unreadable face. except now you can read it. or, more specifically, you can read the psychotic mess behind it.
‘say something to her. no. don’t. she’ll know. she already hates you. wait—does she hate you? she must. she never talks to you unless bokuto’s there. god, i’m so pathetic. i wrote three thousand words of her comforting me after practice yesterday. i even added the author’s note that said "just a self-indulgent drabble lol." kill me. no, don’t. then i’d never see her smile again.’
you choke on air.
akaashi side-eyes you. “you okay?”
you nod violently. “fine! so fine!”
inside, you are anything but fine. the only thing fine here is akaashi.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the problem is, you’ve had a crush on akaashi since day one. because he’s pretty. disgustingly pretty. like, unfairly pretty. and also because he’s nice. not to you, of course—he’s always a little short with you, a little dismissive, a little too quiet—but to bokuto.
and you love bokuto, your best friend in the whole wide world, so you love anyone who treats him right. and akaashi treats him like he hung the moon.
so you spent months convincing yourself akaashi just didn’t like you, and that was okay, and you’d get over it.
except now you know he’s apparently been mentally writing fanfiction about you. and braiding your hair. and proposing marriage.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the next day, you test it again. you sit at the back of the classroom, and akaashi’s two rows ahead. you focus, just a little, and—
‘don’t turn around. she’s back there. i can feel it. she probably looks so cute, tapping her pencil like that. oh, she dropped it. should i pick it up? no, she’ll think i’m weird. god, her handwriting’s adorable. i could look at her notes all day. i’d laminate them. i’d put them in a scrapbook. wait, normal people don’t do that. stop. stop stop stop.’
your pencil rolls off your desk. akaashi catches it mid-air without looking, turns, hands it back to you with a polite nod.
“thanks,” you say.
“mo problem,” he says.
‘she spoke to me. she actually spoke to me. do i look sweaty? i’m sweaty. oh my god, her voice. play it at my funeral. engrave it on my tombstone. thanks. no problem. pathetic. you’re pathetic, keiji.’
you almost burst out laughing in the middle of math.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
it only gets worse from there.
because every time you’re near him, you hear it. the mental rambling. the unhinged devotion. the diary entries happening live in his head.
‘look at her tying her shoe. that’s the cutest knot i’ve ever seen.’
‘she said hi to me. that’s basically a marriage proposal.’
‘i memorized her schedule. not in a creepy way. okay, maybe a creepy way.’
‘bokuto, if you don’t move so i can see her, i swear to god—’
it’s insane. it’s overwhelming. it’s also… kind of flattering.
because, well. you like him. a lot. and knowing that the stoic, unbothered akaashi keiji is actually your number-one fan? yeah. it’s doing things to your heart.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the kicker, though—the absolute kicker—is the day you find out about the fanfics.
you’re at bokuto’s house, scrolling on his laptop while he showers, when you accidentally stumble onto a file labeled “akaashi’s stuff.”
and inside?
well.
it’s hundreds. literally hundreds. of word documents. all named things like “comfort fluff ver.7” and “domestic au FINAL FINAL edit.”
you open one. and immediately want to scream.
because it’s you. and akaashi. holding hands after practice. you patching him up. him kissing your forehead.
you slam the laptop shut so hard you almost break it. bokuto runs out of the shower in a towel, panicked.
“what happened? earthquake?”
“nope!” you squeak. “everything’s fine!”
except nothing is fine. because akaashi keiji writes fanfiction about you.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the next day, you corner him after practice.
“hey, akaashi,” you say, trying to act normal.
“hey,” he replies, normal as ever.
‘she’s talking to me. she cornered me. this is it. this is how i die. god, she’s so pretty when she’s sweaty. did i put deodorant on today? i did. okay. don’t panic. do i look weird? i look weird. i always look weird. marry me.’
you take a deep breath. “so. uh. i read something yesterday.”
he blinks. “okay?”
‘oh god. oh god. she found it. she found my fics. she hates me. she’ll never speak to me again. run. fake your death. move to canada. change your name. keiji who? never heard of him.’
“and i just wanted to say…” you pause, grin, lean in close— “…you’re a really good writer.”
akaashi keiji, the picture of composure, the king of neutrality, turns bright red.
‘what. what. WHAT. she LIKES them? she knows? she knows. i’m going to implode. this is the best and worst day of my life. holy shit.’
you laugh. you can’t help it. he looks so lost, so mortified, so utterly whipped. and maybe you’re just as whipped, because all you want to do is grab his stupid pretty face and kiss him.
so you do.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
akaashi’s brain short-circuits.
‘she kissed me. she kissed me. she kissed me. i’m in heaven. i’m dead. bury me in her handwriting. wait no, i want to live. i want to marry her. i want to buy her three cats and a house by the sea. i want to—’
you pull back, grinning. “you think i hate you, don’t you?”
he swallows. “…yes?”
“idiot,” you say fondly. “i’ve liked you since forever.”
he stares. then, very quietly, “oh.”
‘oh? that’s all you can say? she likes you. she LIKES you. do a backflip. no, don’t. you’ll die. smile. no, not like that, you’ll look creepy. stop staring. oh my god. she LIKES you.’
you laugh again, because he’s so painfully, stupidly gone for you. and maybe you’re just as gone for him. no, sweetie, he’s much worse than you think.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
and that’s how your mind reading curse turns into a blessing.
because you never stop hearing it. the devotion. the obsession. the constant stream of thoughts that range from “her handwriting could cure diseases” to “i’d kill for her, no hesitation.”
it should be concerning. honestly, it is concerning.
but it’s also the sweetest, most ridiculous thing in the world.
akaashi keiji, your boyfriend now, still looks perfectly calm on the outside.
but in his head?
‘she called me her boyfriend. holy shit. i’m framing this moment. i’m never letting her go. she’s mine. mine mine mine. forever. till death do us part. and even then i’ll haunt her.’
and you can’t stop smiling. because yeah, ignorance might be bliss—
but knowing akaashi keiji is hopelessly, terrifyingly, obsessively in love with you?
that’s even better.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
timeskip.
life with akaashi keiji as adults is almost offensively domestic.
you wake up, and there’s coffee already made. you get home late from work, and dinner’s waiting. you curl up on the couch, and he wordlessly drapes a blanket over you before sitting down to read.
and the whole time, he looks perfectly calm. perfectly collected.
except in his head.
‘she looks so cute in my hoodie. i’d let her ruin every single piece of clothing i own if it meant she’d wear it around the house.’
‘she left her mug on the table. don’t touch it. i’ll clean it. she deserves to rest.’
‘god, i want to kiss her until she forgets her own name. why is she looking at me like that? oh, right, because i’m staring. stop staring. no, don’t. she’s beautiful.’
same old akaashi. never outwardly showing it. inwardly? a walking, talking shrine to you.
and you… you’ve gotten used to it.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
sometimes you tease him.
like when he’s chopping vegetables: “i would look good with a knife, thanks for noticing.”
he pauses just a beat too long before replying, “…that’s not what i said.”
but you heard it. loud and clear.
‘look at her leaning against the counter like that. she could stab me with this knife and i’d thank her. why am i chopping onions, oh right, she should never have to cry, so i’ll do it for her.’
you giggle and steal a piece of carrot from the cutting board. he sighs, fond but exasperated.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
another day, you’re curled up on the couch with a book while he edits something on his laptop.
“stop overthinking,” you tell him casually.
he doesn’t look up. “i’m not.”
you grin. “you’re literally wondering if i’d prefer cats or dogs first when we move somewhere bigger.”
akaashi’s typing pauses. then resumes. “that’s a normal thought.”
‘she caught that? i should’ve thought quieter. no—she probably guessed. right? doesn’t matter. i’ll get her both. she deserves both. and a yard. and a garden. i’ll build her the garden myself if i have to.’
you shake your head. he has no idea.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡ goodluck.
it’s comforting, really.
the fact that after all these years, his thoughts haven’t changed. still simpy. still desperate. still so hopelessly wrapped up in you it’s almost ridiculous.
sometimes you wonder how he hides it so well. how he manages to keep that serene face when his brain is basically liveblogging his obsession 24/7.
but that’s just akaashi. unreadable outside, catastrophic inside.
and you love him for it.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
one night, you’re lying in bed together. the apartment is quiet, the city outside humming low through the windows. his arm is draped over you, steady, warm, grounding.
you’re drifting toward sleep, lulled by the rhythm of his breathing, when his voice threads into your mind.
‘oh i would kill for you. i would never ever let you go.’ you hum at his thought, not really minding that he referred to you as ‘you’ and not ‘her’.
‘you can hear me, right, my y/n?’
your eyes snap open.
slowly, you turn your head to look at him.
akaashi keiji is watching you. his face calm, unreadable as ever.
and then—deliberately, slowly—he smirks.
‘now, you’re never getting away from me.’
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a/n: GAWD I LOVE MYSELF, HOW DID I COME UP WITH THIS, I NEED TO GIVE MYSELF A SMOOCH
i just need you to lay your head, in the little thing that beats for you in my chest.
akaashi keiji x f!reader
“fake” dating with keiji, or at least that’s what you think.
it had been seven hundred and thirty days since you had scrubbed that man out of your life like a stubborn grease stain on a favorite white tee. two years. in that time, you had learned how to brew the perfect cup of coffee, mastered the art of parallel parking without crying, and developed a soul-crushing, heart-palpitating crush on akaashi.
and yet, here was the stain, back for a second coat.
your ex was less of a human being at this point and more of a persistent pop-up ad for a product you never wanted to buy again. he was currently cornering you near the gym entrance, his face twisted into that specific brand of ‘reformed’ puppy-dog eyes that made you want to launch yourself into the nearest sun.
“i’ve changed, i really have,” he pleaded, his voice hitting a nasal frequency that could probably shatter glass or, at the very least, your patience. he reached for your hand, and you recoiled so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “just one dinner. for old times’ sake? i’m sure you still have that sweater i liked.”
“i burned that sweater in a ceremonial bonfire two winters ago,” you lied—mostly because it sounded more dramatic than telling him you donated it to a thrift store. “and i’m busy. for the rest of my life. forever.”
“you’re not busy, you’re just scared of how much we still click,” he said, sounding like a budget self-help book.
it was exhausting. it was a marathon of annoyance, and you were running it in lead boots. you needed a shield. you needed a fortress. you needed a god.
or, failing that, you needed the vice-captain of the fukurodani volleyball team who was currently walking toward the equipment shed with a stride so graceful it felt like he was mocking the very concept of gravity.
akaashi was, in your humble and very biased opinion, the pinnacle of human evolution. he was a calm sea in a world of hurricanes. he was the quiet ‘click’ of a light switch in a dark room. he was also the man who had been the protagonist of every single one of your daydreams for the last six months.
he looked up, his sharp, intelligent eyes catching yours. there was a flicker of something there—a subtle tightening of his jaw, a momentary lapse in his perfect composure—whenever he saw you. you usually chalked it up to him being tired of your presence, but today, you were desperate.
your ex stepped closer, his shadow looming over you like a particularly unwelcome rain cloud. “come on, just give me five minutes to explain—”
“i have a boyfriend!” you blurted out, the lie tasted like copper and panic.
your ex paused, one eyebrow arching in a way that screamed ‘prove it.’ “oh yeah? since when? i haven’t seen anyone.”
your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird. you scanned the horizon, and there he was. akaashi. beautiful, stoic, potentially-willing-to-help akaashi.
you needed to ask him. you needed him to play along just long enough to send this human equivalent of a damp sock packing. you just had to phrase it perfectly. a simple request for a fake relationship to act as a deterrent. easy.
except, as you started walking toward him, your brain decided to melt into a puddle of prehistoric sludge.
𝒶.𝓴.
the air in the gym hallway felt approximately ten times thicker than usual, like you were trying to sprint through a swimming pool filled with honey. your heart was performing a drum solo that could be heard from space. behind you, the ‘human equivalent of a mosquito’ was still hovering, his skepticism practically radiating off him in waves of unearned confidence.
akaashi was standing by the equipment shed, adjusting the strap of his sports bag with the kind of meticulous precision that usually made you want to write poetry about his fingers. he looked up as you approached, and for a split second, his entire posture shifted. his shoulders dropped, his gaze softened, and the typical stoic mask he wore for the world crumbled into something dangerously close to adoration.
it was now or never. you had to sell this.
“akaashi!” you chirped, your voice hitting a pitch you didn’t know you possessed.
he blinked, his dark eyes widening just a fraction. “y/n? is everything alright? you look a bit… distressed.”
you reached him, your lungs suddenly deciding that breathing was an optional hobby. you leaned in close—close enough to smell the faint scent of laundry detergent and cool mint that always clung to him like a second skin. it was a scent that usually made your knees feel like they were made of overcooked noodles.
“akaashi, could you be my fake boyfriend? my ex keeps bothering me,” you whispered, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a frantic, tangled rush.
except, in the chaotic theater of your mind, a very specific thing happened. as you said ‘fake,’ a heavy metal cart full of volleyballs rattled loudly across the gym floor behind you—bang—swallowing the most important syllable of your entire life.
to akaashi, the sentence he had spent the last six months dreaming about, praying for, and losing sleep over finally manifested in reality. he didn’t hear a request for a protective ruse. he heard a confession. he heard:
‘akaashi, could you be my boyfriend? my ex keeps bothering me.’
for a moment, time simply stopped. the universe ceased its expansion. akaashi’s brain, usually a high-functioning supercomputer capable of calculating the trajectory of a volleyball in milliseconds, completely short-circuited. blue screen of death. system reboot required.
his grip on his bag tightened until his knuckles turned a ghostly white. a boyfriend? your boyfriend? the concept hit him like a physical blow to the solar plexus. he had spent countless nights staring at the ceiling, wondering if he’d ever be brave enough to ask you for your phone number, and here you were, offering him the keys to the kingdom because some pathetic ghost from your past was trying to haunt you.
he didn’t care about the ex. he didn’t care about the context. he only cared about the ‘yes’ he was going to say.
“yes,” he said, the word leaving his lips before he could even process the breath required to speak it.
you blinked, a wave of relief washing over you. “really? you don’t mind? i know it’s a lot to ask on such short notice, but he just won’t—”
“i don’t mind,” akaashi interrupted, his voice dropping an octave into a register that was far too intimate for a ‘fake’ arrangement. he stepped toward you, closing the gap until you were forced to look up at him. his gaze was predatory in its devotion, a quiet fire burning behind his pupils.
he reached out, his hand hovering near your waist for a heartbeat before he settled it firmly against the small of your back. the heat of his palm seared through your shirt, sending a bolt of electricity straight to your toes.
“in fact,” he murmured, his eyes flicking over your shoulder to where your ex was standing, “i should have stepped in sooner. i apologize for being so unobservant of my own partner’s discomfort.”
‘partner?’ you thought, your brain lagging. ‘wow, he’s really committing to the bit. he’s like the meryl streep of fukurodani.’
your ex approached, looking confused and slightly intimidated by the sheer aura of competence radiating off the boy next to you. “wait, what? you’re… with him?”
akaashi observed him with the detached clinical interest a scientist might show a particularly dull specimen of mold. then, with a smoothness that felt like silk over a blade, he drew you closer until your side was pressed flush against his chest. you could feel the steady, thudding rhythm of his heart. it was fast. incredibly fast.
“we’ve been together for a while now,” akaashi lied with the straightest face you had ever seen in your life. he sounded so convincing that for a split second, you actually searched your memory for a first date you might have forgotten. “i’m surprised y/n hasn’t mentioned it, but then again, she tends to not tell anyone things to people that aren’t important.”
the jab at your ex was so subtle, so sharp, that you almost wanted to cheer.
“look, man,” your ex started, stepping forward. “i just wanted to talk to her—”
akaashi’s hand on your back shifted, his fingers splaying out possessively. he took a single step forward, shielding most of your body with his own. he wasn’t a loud person, but the sheer, concentrated intensity of his stare was enough to make the air turn cold.
“she’s expressed that she isn’t interested in talking,” akaashi said, his voice a low, dangerous hum. “as her boyfriend, it’s my responsibility to ensure her wishes are respected. if you continue to disregard them, i’ll have to consider this harassment. and i’m very protective of what belongs to me.”
the word belongs made your brain do a backflip. he was really going for the ‘obsessive protector’ trope, wasn’t he? you looked up at him, intending to give him a ‘thanks, you’re doing great’ look, but when your eyes met his, you froze.
akaashi wasn’t looking at your ex anymore. he was looking down at you, and the expression on his face was so tender, so desperately devoted, that it felt like you were intruding on something private. his thumb began to stroke the fabric of your shirt in a slow, rhythmic circle. it wasn’t the gesture of a fake boyfriend. it was the gesture of a man who had finally found the missing piece of his soul and intended to weld it to him forever.
“are you okay, darling?” he asked, the pet name rolling off his tongue like it had been living there for years.
your ex, realizing he was currently fighting a losing battle against a man who looked like he would gladly go to war over a misplaced hair on your head, took a stumble-step back. “whatever. i get it. fine.”
he turned and scurried away, finally disappearing through the gym doors.
you let out a huge breath of relief, your shoulders sagging. “oh my god, akaashi, thank you. you’re a lifesaver. i thought he’d never leave. you really nailed the ‘boyfriend’ thing. the ‘darling’ was a bit much, but hey, it worked!”
you started to pull away, expecting him to let go and return to his usual stoic self.
except, his hand didn’t move. if anything, his grip tightened.
akaashi looked down at you, a tiny, confused crease forming between his brows. “nailed it? y/n, why would i be acting?”
you paused, your heart stopping for the second time in five minutes. “wait, what?”
“i know the circumstances of the confession were a bit hurried because of him,” akaashi said, his voice regaining that terrifyingly soft, devoted edge as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. his fingers lingered against your skin, warm and steady. “but i promise to be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. i’ve actually had a three-year plan for our eventual cohabitation drafted in my notebooks, though i suppose we can go through the dating phase first if you’d prefer.”
your jaw hit the floor. “akaashi… three-year plan? cohabitation?”
“well, yes,” he said, looking at you like you were the sun, the moon, and all the stars in the galaxy combined. “i’ve been waiting for you to ask me for six months, two weeks, and four days. i’m just glad we’re finally on the same page.”
he then leaned down and pressed a lingering, soft kiss to your forehead, his eyes closing in what looked like pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
you were still standing there, frozen, realizing that while you were playing checkers, akaashi had just claimed victory in a game of chess you didn’t even know you were playing.
𝒶.𝓴.
the air in the hallway was suddenly very thin, and you were pretty sure your brain had just experienced a total system crash. akaashi was still holding you, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a reverence usually reserved for ancient, priceless artifacts. he wasn’t just “playing” a role; he was looking at you like you were the answer to a question he’d been asking the universe since the dawn of time.
“akaashi,” you squeaked, your voice sounding like a flute being stepped on. “when i asked you to be my boyfriend... back there... i meant fake. like, a pretend boyfriend. to scare him off.”
the silence that followed was heavy, weighted with the sound of your own frantic pulse. akaashi’s hand stilled. his expression didn’t crumble—that would be too simple. instead, his eyes darkened, a swirling vortex of calculations and intense, simmering devotion. he didn’t pull away. if anything, he leaned closer, his shadow swallowing you whole.
“fake?” he repeated. the word sounded foreign on his tongue, like he was trying to pronounce a dead language. “y/n, i don’t think you understand. i don’t do anything ‘fake.’ especially not when it comes to you.”
he took a step forward, forcing you to back up against the cool brick wall of the gym. he didn’t trap you—he didn’t have to—his presence was a cage made of velvet and steel.
“i have spent every practice for the last six months tracking your location in the stands,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, melodic hum that vibrated in your very marrow. “i know which vending machine juice you buy when you’re stressed. i know that you bite your lip when you’re concentrating on your homework. i have memorized the exact frequency of your laugh.”
your heart was trying to escape your chest and hand itself over to him on a silver platter. “that’s... a lot of data, akaashi.”
“it’s not data,” he corrected softly, his face inches from yours. “it’s a map. and today, you finally invited me to follow it. do you really think i’d let a ‘fake’ label stop me now?”
just then, the ghost of your past—your ex—decided to make one final, catastrophic mistake. he appeared at the end of the hallway, having regained some semblance of his ego.
“hey! i thought about it, and there’s no way you two are actually—”
akaashi didn’t even turn his head. he didn’t need to. he simply shifted his weight, shielding you completely from the ex’s view, his hand sliding from your jaw to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair with a possessive heat that made your knees turn to jelly.
“leave,” akaashi said. it wasn’t a shout. it was a command, cold and absolute, the kind of tone that could stop a heart mid-beat.
the ex turned pale, scrambled backward, and finally, mercifully, vanished for good.
the silence returned, but it was different now—charged with a frantic, sweet electricity. you looked up at akaashi, your breath hitching. he looked exhausted, like the sheer effort of containing his affection for you was starting to fray his composure.
“he’s gone,” you whispered, unsure of what else to say. “you can stop now.”
akaashi let out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. “i told you. i’m not stopping. i’ve been waiting for this for so long that my chest actually hurts when you’re not in my line of sight.”
he took your hand and guided it upward, pressing your palm flat against the center of his chest. beneath the thin fabric of his fukurodani jersey, his heart was thundering—wild, erratic, and completely undone. it was a rhythmic franticness that mirrored your own.
“i don’t care if you started this as a game to get rid of him,” he whispered, his eyes searching yours with a raw, terrifying honesty. “i’m making it real. all i need is for you to lay your head on the little thing that beats for you in my chest, and tell me you feel it too.”
you didn’t have a choice. your body moved on its own, guided by the gravitational pull of a man who was clearly, hopelessly, and beautifully devoted to you. you tucked your head under his chin, pressing your ear against his chest.
thump-thump. thump-thump.
it was the most honest sound you had ever heard. it sounded like a home you hadn’t realized you were looking for. you wrapped your arms around his waist, feeling the way his entire body shuddered in relief, his arms winding around you so tightly it felt like he was trying to merge your two souls into one.
“okay,” you breathed into his chest, the scent of mint and pure keiji filling your senses. “no faking. i think i’ve been down bad for you just as long, akaashi.”
he let out a soft, triumphant sound—half-laugh, half-sob—and buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips pressing a lingering, worshipful kiss there.
“good,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with a desperate, wholesome kind of hunger. “because i’ve already picked out the curtains for our apartment, and it would be very difficult to return them now.”
you couldn’t even find it in yourself to be surprised. you just squeezed him tighter, realizing that being ‘claimed’ by akaashi keiji was the best thing that had ever happened to you.
n: well, there goes my ideas. i’ve been getting a lot of asks asking me to uhh do them from the back..? people who follow me in insta have been watching me break down over those.
— a haikyuu fanfic // where akaashi keiji is your editor.
synopsis: you're stuck with a scene, and akaashi can't help but do his job right as your editor.
wc: 4.4k
cw: perv!reader (SLIGHTLY). p*rn with plot. this honestly reads like the script to a p*rno but WHATEVER ITS THE JOY AND WHIMSY THAT I PUT INTO IT THAT MAKES IT A NOT-P*RNO. NOT PROOFREAD.
nsfw includes: f*ngering. 69. marathon s*x. org*sms [male and female]. overst*mulation. p in v. raw. cre*mpie. multiple p*sitions. akaashi wears glasses like YUMMM. fwb concept sorta??? that's all :p
old m.list | new m.list
"no, seriously. why?" your voice is muffled, face pressed against the hard wood of your dinner table as you groan into it. the wood is cold against your skin, the cold beer bottle stands inches apart from your flat hands, and the fan whirs softly above you. you lift your eyes up at your editor without raising your head. "why did i decide to be a fucking mangaka?! was i out of my mind? i mean the pay is mostly awful, i have to face so much criticism as a woman in this industry and the fans?! oh my god, they would eat me alive if i fuck up the next chapter!"
akaashi keiji just purses his lips, staring at you over the metallic rim of his glasses. he looks like you have drained his lifeforce by half in the last ten minutes you have been talkiny. he sighs, bringing the bottle up to his lips and mumbles against the glass. "hm, done with the theatrics?"
your eyes shift to his full lips, the way they curve as he gulps in the beer you had offered to him as a sign of hospitality. you chase your gaze away from him before unholy thoughts become your unbecoming. it wasn't normal to find your editor hot! in the industry, most of them were old, fat geezers who had outdated ideas for plots. you, however, had been paired with akaashi keiji. on one side, he was the best editor you could have asked for. he was good at his job, efficient and supported your ideas. on the other, you had had too many wet dreams about the dude to ever hold your composure during these meetings. you're always more surprised steam isn't pooling out of your ears just at the eyecontact.
akaashi, however, is unaware of your moral crisis and instead, hums leisurely, "'s okay. maybe you're in a rut. happens."
"probably." you bring a hand to your eyes and rub — both in an effort to stop looking at him and in an effort to relieve yourself of some worry. you sigh, "sorry 'bout the rant. i'll try to get to writing tonight."
sighing again, you sit up straighter and fix your horrendous posture in a moment of self-reflection. "and thanks for giving me an extra week. i'm sure the management is already after your ass."
akaashi keiji simply pushes the rim of his glasses up his nose and swings another gulp of his beer. when he strikes his bottle down on the wooden table, he follows it up with a question. "where are you stuck exactly?"
you blink at him, slow to process his question, "what?"
you furrow your brows at the man in front of you. although a great editor, akaashi keiji rarely did ask you for the details. he was technical — telling you what arc to tighten, which panel to drag out. he usually never bothered redirecting your story. he usually never bothered to know more than that was necessary.
he repeats himself out loud and clear. "where are you stuck in the story? i remember hanako confessed her feelings to toshi in the last volume. what comes next?"
"well..." you chew on your lips, slowing down. "after that, um..." finding words becomes harder and you stretch your arms out to grab your own beer bottle. your lips wobble, eyes falling down to your beer. you were sure akaashi keiji knew what came next. there were more than enough theories floating online about your characters for him to not know. he wasn't dumb, or stupid. he knew they were supposed to fuck, so why the fuck was he making you say it out loud?!
you play with your beer bottle, not really looking at him. "uh... after that they should... obviously like get—"
"intimate?" he asks sharply. you stare at him, taken aback by his straightforward nature of his words before nodding, "i mean, yeah."
you clear your throat, averting your gaze from his face as you confess, "so, as you know, toshi likes her back."
"obviously." akaashi hums as you continue, "and so, he cages hanako against the wall. and then—"
akaashi raises a stiff brow, "kisses her?"
you nod at the rough baritone of his voice. your face is flaming hot, no doubt. you hope he doesn't notice. because god, editing or writing sex scenes isn't as embarrassing as uttering them out loud is. especially to your own little workplace crush.
now, it was an universal truth that akaashi keiji was hot. unbearably so. the roughness of his voice, the sharpness of his narrow eyes, the chiseled muscles that he hid behind his oversized clothes; he was undeniably hot! but you were a professional, so you kept those kinds of thoughts to yourself! you didn't indulge in the fantasies about your editor. well, tried not to. sometimes though, in the middle of the night, as you fucked yourself with one of your many toys, his face came to view. but since you were a professional, you always chose to forget it the next morning.
"hey?" the sound of his voice jerks you back to reality. he waves in your face as you blink back the morally loose fantasies in the back of your head. of course, it's not like akaashi is indulging in debauchery, he's simply doing his job!
akaashi eggs you, still drinking his beer. "then? toshi kisses her and?"
"well, they kiss and toshi's... well, he f-fingers her—" and though you're saying the character's names, what you're really thinking is you and him. you and akaashi. against a wall, with his fingers knuckles deep into your cunt. his lips on your collarbone, your hand in his hair.
"—so, you're having trouble writing intimate scenes?" akaashi asks simply and you're jerked back into reality. "are you a virgin?"
"hUH?!" your eyes widen, lips agape as you stare at him. you stammer, "wh-what?!"
"well, are you?" he swings another gulp casually, not really seeing your reason to fluster. "we're both professionals, i won't judge you. it's just you're so shy about it—"
"ofcourse, i am not! i have had sex before! plenty of it." you explain hastily, "what does that have to do with anything—?!"
he sighs, "no need to get so defensive. it was only ever a question."
you scowl, "it was a weird one."
"well, it's hard to write things you haven't experienced."
"right." you narrow your eyes at him, "well, thanks for your concern but i have had sex. and i'd get working on the draft now. as soon as you leave."
"okay." he shrugs, "in case you need ideas, you can reach out to me."
"oh? yeah?" you laugh, hollow, "because akaashi keiji is a frequent sex-haver?"
the thought of it makes your cheeks grow red and thighs grow closer together. you didn't wanna know the answer. the answer would definitely make your wet dreams worse.
"hm. more or less."
well, you didn't need to know that! now, you're already picturing a naked akaashi atop you. his face is red, breath labored and eyes clenched shut as he sinks his cock into you. you shake your head as the blush grows a shade of berry-red against your cheeks. "yeah, okay. whatever. i'll— i will ask if I need your help. you can go now."
"are you sure?" akaashi leans forward, his fitted tee tightens against his shoulder at the action. "i mean i came all the over here to help. run your ideas by me, i'll filter them out. tell you what works or what doesn't."
by now, your entire face is beet-red, you're sure of it. part of you wonders if akaashi can see that and he's just ruining you for the sake of ruining you. but then... his face is stoic, professional as always. right. akaashi keiji was a professional! he probably wasn't playing mind-games with you. he was a earnest, hardworking editor who just wanted to help! so, you swallow down all inhibitions and nod, "fine. here's a few ideas."
★ idea 01.
"spread your legs wider f'me." akaashi hums, nudging your thighs apart with his knee as you follow what he says. his doughy fingertips circle your clit, massaging the nub slowly as his eyes train against yours, "hm, so what does toshi do next?"
when akaashi offered to help you filter ideas, you didn't think he would opt for a practical session. but now, your pants are off, you're against the wall and he's standing in front of you, meeting your eye head-on as he prepares to finger-fuck you. the rim of his glasses shine under the overhead light, and my, his eyes hold this emotion you can't decipher.
you exhale shakily, confessing the plot, "h-he kisses her neck."
akaashi moves closer, with his other hand he gently tilts your head to the side and brings his lips to the exposed skin. his kiss is chaste, almost too careful.
"bite me." you wince, correcting yourself, "i- i mean, toshi bites her."
akaashi licks your skin gingerly before digging his canines into your skin. you gasp under him, eyes clenching shut at the feeling of his warm fingerpad against you and his teeth sinking into your skin. he stalls, calculating against your skin, "does he leave marks? toshi?"
you swallow, "i- i dunno."
"hm?" akaashi inhales sharply, "i think he should. it'll be hot." and he doesn't wait for your response, instead latching his lips around the indents and sucking hard. you gasp as his fingers speed up against your clit, simulating the nub with gentle strokes. your back arches off of the wall and into his chest. akaashi takes his time, blossoming splatters of purple and blue on your neck. once satisfied, he hums again, "next?"
"h-he sinks a finger in."
akaashi follows your words as if they're holy. one of his digit teases the rim of your hole before he finally sinks it in. you moan at the intrusion, eyes half-lidded and thoughts muddled. akaashi barely pumps his finger in you twice before he's hissing and sinking another. he's barely three pumps in when he stops, "wait, toshi didn't put the second finger in yet, did he? maybe i should—" he threatens to stop but you're already babbling, nodding feverishly, "i-he did. he did. yes."
"ah, good." and akaashi is back at it, curling his fingers upwards to pet your gooey g-spot. your thighs tremble as his fingers rev up their pace. you're losing sanity, blaming it all on his fingers and his eyes. god, his eyes. and they way he's looking at you through his glasses. he keeps fucking you, curling his digits in that rhythmic, fast-paced motion till you feel your lower belly churn itself inwards. you fall forward, gasping, "k-keiji-! 's too much."
a sly grin pulls at akaashi's lips as he regards you, "keiji? is that you speaking or hanako?"
"please." you're babbling over him, moaning out rough syllables and pleads, "j-jus' keep going."
yet again, akaashi is following your direction. he buries his fingers to the hilt, massaging your walls from the inside in a way that has your weak knees wobbling in desperation. your hands come to claw on his shoulders, chest heavy and stomach like an abyss. "fu-fuck! i'm s-so close hnghh-!"
"yeah?" akaashi licks his lips, feeling the clenching throbs of your cunt snug around his two fingers. he hisses, commanding. "just a little more, c'mon. give it t'me."
your eyes roll back to your skull and your body all but falls into his arms as you cum. when akaashi pulls his fingers out of you, they're dribbling with your sex. he raises a brow, "does toshi... do this next?"
and before you can even register it, akaashi is already slipping his fingers into your mouth. he rests it heavy against your tongue and you lap it up, mumbling against his skin, "sh-sure."
when you've licked his fingers clean off, he pulls it out. akaashi eyes the sheen your spit has left on his finger and sighs, "i mean this scene is nice 'n all but i think it's lackluster." you're mind's too hazy to even comprehend what he's talking about, but akaashi is already giving his critique, "after all the tension between hanako and toshi, it makes more sense for something else, something more to happen."
you swallow, meeting his eyes, "i had another idea."
akaashi smiles and his canines catch the light in a predatory manner. "tell me."
★ idea 02.
"i'm not-hnghh... s-sure how exactly this would work but," your mind turns to mush would another swipe of akaashi's tongue against your hot, throbbing clit. you let a lecherous waddle of spit land on the tip of his achy, long dick and watch as it travels down the vein-ridged erection. you pump your hand up and down his shaft, feeling his thighs tense and dick twitch in your soft grip.
you were so wrong. nothing could have prepared you for this. this was so much better than any of those half-lucid, desperate dreams of yours. akaashi was so much better in real life than he was in your dreams.
akaashi brings his thumb to your clit, pinching the nub as he answers back, "the build-up might be difficult if- hah, if you want them jumping straight up a sixty-nine position."
you place kitten licks on his bulbous tip, nodding, "y-yeah, but i can work something out if- god, k-keiji faster..."
he swipes his thumb quicker against your swollen clit, bringing him tongue to your sopping wet cunt with a vibratig hum, "you can work it out if-?"
"if... if..." your thoughts are mushy, eyes watery as you pump his erection faster, "if you like this idea."
"mhm, i like it so far." he prods your velvety walls with his tongue, fucking your hole with the tip of his tongue in a way that has you keening and bucking into his mouth. you take his length in your mouth and god, akaashi is so, so deep inside you. his tip kisses the back of your throat and you gag, with spit drooping past your lips and onto his length. your palm is wet - a mix of your saliva and his pre-cum smeared against his entire length. you suck at the tip, tightening your grip against his cock as you fist the base of his thick cock.
"g-god..." his voice rumbles against your core as he ruts his pelvis upwards into your mouth, fucking his beading tip to the back of your throat. your throat constricts around his length, your eyes widening as the air in your lungs is traded for more inches of his cock.
"s-shit." akaashi is groaning against you, eating your pussy out as he feels each bob of your warm mouth push him towards an impending orgasm. you cum on his mouth, coating his lips and jaw in glittery ropes of your cum. you feel his dick twitch inside, feel his ruts grow in intensity till his warm cum is painting the back of your throat. a little bit of it overflow your lips, dribbling down to his length in a lewd river of sin.
"sh-shit..." you heave gulpfuls of air in as you pull yourself off of his cock. glancing down, you realize you've made a mess of the man. his cockhead is red and still twitching, still beading out pearlscent beads of his cum. his thighs are marked with your spit and his own cum. your hand's too sticky.
when you glance back, you see akaashi's face - reddened and glistening with your essence. his glasses are off, left somewhere in the room to be rediscovered later. he gives you an unholy grin, "i- i like this idea but can i suggest one better?"
and you're nodding along to your editor before you can even register his words, "yes, please."
★ idea 03.
"and then," akaashi's hoarse voice kisses the shell of your lips. his muscled bicep tightens against your warm belly, pulling you back into him. the front of his thighs meets the back of yours, stinging it red and sizzling with each quick, short rut into your cunt. akaashi gyrates his hips, circling his cock to massage your inner walls with such intimacy that you're all but mewling profanities into the hot air, "f—fuuuck! k-keiji?!"
"tsk." akaashi's kissing along the hard map of your jawline, pressing chaste kisses, "then, do you think toshi should fuck hanako like this...?" his words have a carefree lilt to them as he brings on hand to pinch your cute cunt and make you fuck back into him. "or..."
in a second, you're being manhandled. his grubby, broad palms grab you by your waist to turn you around. you're lying flat on your dinner table now, watery eyes blinking up at your editor's face, "keiji—?"
he's impaling you on his length before you can question, already babbling about his next great idea, "how 'bout this? toshi fucks— hah..." his low-lidded eyes close with a hiss as he sinks back deeper into your inviting warmth. "like- like this?"
you're nodding fervently, "yes, yes." looping your arms around his neck, you're forcing your editor closer to you. his lips are mere centimeters away from you, above you so tantalizing that all you can do is pull him closer and closer and closer. your breath falters against his lips, "th-they can kiss. just like this...?"
uncertainty lingers in the air. sure, matters of the flesh, you can understand. sex is a need, a want, something desired by the two of you. but pressing your mouth to your editor's? that's too much, right? that's crossing a boundary—
akaashi leans down until your lips against pressed to his, until you can feel the taste of the same cheap beer on his lips as is on yours. you're kissing him. he's kissing you back. he groans against you, the sound raw and primal and utterly defenseless, "'s sweet. so sweet."
akaashi keiji has forgone his sanity because his burying his length into your walls and calling it home already, he's kissing you back with a fervour that makes you feel like he's no longer giving you options for your next scene but rather, working on primal desire.
you moan into his mouth, "k-keiji... mhmph—shit you're fucking me— nghh so mean."
"haah— mean? oh, you haven't seen mean, doll." you feel a smirk pull against your lips, his hips snapping into yours even faster. so fast that you feel the rickety dinner table creak and sway under you. your nails rake down his back, your eyes rolling back into your skull as he bludgeons your g-spot with his tip. his pre sloshes inside of you, dripping out of you in deposits of creamy rings that linger as sticky residues between your hot, feverish skin and his.
"kei—! fuck, pleasepleaseplease— ri-right there." you're sinking your nails into his skin, arching your back off of the wooden table in an attempt to touch all of his skin against yours. sweat glistens on both of your skins, faces red and kissbitten. akaashi increases his tempo, filling you to the brim and back with his lengthy, achy cock as he strokes to hit that one spot again and again. your legs wrap around him to trap his length inside you, to keep it buried until he's painting it white with his seed.
"aaah—! c-cum inside. please." your eyes water, pout falling into a mean, short scream as akaashi overstimulates you. his body rubs against yours so deliciously, his hardened muscles rubbing your erect, sensitive nipples with each drag of his body forwards. your walls clench in vain, your stomach drops as an orgasm washes over you for the nth time. you feel akaashi not too behind you, already gasping and panting and failing to keep up his rhythm as his sensitive cock twitches inside your molten grip and sinfully allows for spurts of hit hot, thick essence fill you up.
your head is thrown back at the warm feeling at your apex, eyes tugging shut as akaashi lowers his body weight and lays down on you. his muscles stutter against your soft, pliant skin. instantly, you're wrapping your arms around his neck, letting him nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. he exhales against your skin, hot and dewy. you both stay just like that — languid, naked and not yet hit with the post-nut clarity. that doesn't last long, though.
immediately, akaashi is lifting his face off of your body, looking at you with eyes as wide as saucers. you meet his gaze with confusion, "uh?"
he's lifting his body weight off of you, oddly and quickly reminded of the way his length is still nestled inside your warm cunt. his gaze averts from you, "uh, so... in my opinion— uh, option one and then option three are good? option two can be saved for later."
you're blinking, suddenly reminded of what had transpired these set of events in the first place. "r-right. yeah. so, um, toshi f-fingers her."
akaashi is pulling out of you, still not holding your gaze, "yup and then they fuck. sounds good."
you're nodding along, sitting up on your table as it whines pathetically at the shift of your weight. you're chewing on your inner cheek, looking at the mess of fluids nestled between the juncture of your thighs so intimately that it dribbles and pools on the wooden surface. you're vaguely aware of the hickeys blossoming your chest and neck. you're so exposed, so vulnerable. instinctively, you wrap an arm around your chest. "so, for toshi and hanako... missionary is better, right?"
"yeah," akaashi's eyes fervently search for his clothes and he's slipping into his pair of jeans as soon as he finds them, "cause then they can kiss."
"yeah, yeah." you're nodding along for the sake of it. "yeah, this sounds good."
he puts his shirt back on, poking his head out of the hole before nodding along. "sounds phenomenal."
"okayyy." you drag your syllables, pressing your thighs together as you feel the liquids between your body grow cold. "uh, I'll get to writing today— tonight."
"great, yeah." akaashi fixes his hair, searching for his glasses somewhere in your living room. "I'll let the management know about the update."
"uh-huh." you're scratching the back of your neck, "so, you're leaving now, right?"
akaashi meets your eyes and hesitates, "uh, yeah. it's late."
"it is." you bite down your bottom lip, "uh, could you get me a tissue? it'll be in my bathroom. inside the cupboard."
he furrows his brows, "tissues...?" his eyes fall to your thighs and suddenly he's tainted red. "right, right. fuck. sorry." he's sprinting to your bathroom and though you know you and your editor have just made things 100x worse in your professional lives, you can't help but laugh at his hurry.
when he comes back, he offers to wipe it off for you. you shake your head, telling him it is unnecessary. he insists and somehow, now the two of you are blushing like teenagers as he fixes the mess he created.
"t-thanks." you pull your thighs shut as soon as he's done, as if you're too scared to show him exactly where he was buried less than an hour ago. he nods, picking himself up and dusting off the imaginary dust on his clothes. "I'll go now."
he's at the door when you're calling out for him. he turns around, his eyes locking onto yours. "yeah?"
the silence hangs in the air longer than either of you are comfortable with. you rub your arm up and down, up and down, up and down. then, you bite your cheek.
"this doesn't change anything between us, right?" and you know it's a dumb question to ask. everything has changed. two hours ago you didn't know the size of akaashi's dick or how good he is with his tongue. now, you do.
"no." he says easily, like it's second nature to him. "you're the mangaka and i'm your editor."
"and do you... do you regret it?" you're asking before you can stop yourself, "t-this?"
you see his adam's apple jump in his throat. he pauses. "uh, no. not really." pink dusts his cheeks, "i mean, i was doing my job as your editor. you're... uh, you're clear with the scene now, right?"
you nod, not letting your disappointment at his sanitized answer show, "yup. okay, so no regrets."
"none." you're surprised at how quick his answer is. you repeat, "none."
akaashi twists the door knob, "y'know if you ever want advice on the other scenes..." his voice trails off and you're already laughing, "yeah, i know just the man to contact."
"send me the chapter when you're done with it."
you nod and watch as he steps out and closes the door behind him. in the silence that akaashi is left behind, you're groaning and slumping back on your table. this was the worst. sure, he said nothing changes but everything changes! was this a one time thing? did he mean it when he said that you could contact him? was it a joke?!
you pick your naked body off with another loud groan. none of it mattered right now. you had a chapter to draft.
two weeks later.
knock, knock, knock.
you open the door to your apartment, confused to see your editor at the door. you had sent him your latest draft.
"i got your draft." he says, stepping in despite not being invited. you lock the door and follow him into your own house, "okay, and...?"
"i have a few revisions." he turns around to face you, his eyes are intense, burning with something in between desire and spontaneity. you swallow, cheeks already heating up at the idea of his revisions. "you could have just let me know over email, keiji."
he steps forward, his eyes following your face like a predator following a prey, "the revisions are better in practical." he brings a hand to your cheek, pulling you closer. his lips hover yours, "i have a few more ideas. do you wanna know?"
and you know that if you nod, if you close the distance between your lips then you two would be entering something you can't come back from. fucking once is a mistake. fucking twice? that's harder to explain — both to yourself and each other.
but you're closing the distance, whispering against his lips, "yeah, tell me."
a.n: NOT PROOFREAD. staring the new year with a BANGGGG (quite literally).
also, first time writing for akaashi, did i make him ooc? anyways EDITOR AKAASHI WON'T LEAVE ME ALONE SO HERE IT IS. ENJOY THE FILTH MWUAH MWUAH.
old m.list | new m.list
;; boyfriend!akaashi has a very specific way of waking you up. he doesn’t use an alarm; instead, he just shifts closer until his chest is flushed against your back, burying his face in the crook of your neck. he waits until you stir, murmuring low, “five more minutes,” in that gravelly morning voice that makes your toes curl, his hand tracing lazy, possessive circles over your hip under the sheets.
;; boyfriend!akaashi is the king of subtle physical contact in public. he isn’t loud about it, but his hand is always somewhere—resting firmly on the small of your back to guide you through a crowd, or his thumb stroking your knuckles while he’s distracted in conversation with bokuto. he makes you feel like the only person in the room without even looking at you.
;; boyfriend!akaashi keeps a physical editor’s eye on everything, including you. he’ll pull you into his lap while he’s reviewing manuscripts, his chin resting on your shoulder. when he gets tired, he doesn’t stop working; he just starts absentmindedly nipping at your shoulder blade or the sensitive skin behind your ear, his breath hot against your skin as he hums thoughtfully at a sentence he’s reading.
;; boyfriend!akaashi takes care of the things you forget. he knows exactly how you take your coffee and has it sitting on the nightstand before you even open your eyes. if you’re stressed, he doesn’t ask what’s wrong—he just pulls you into his space, fixes your hair, and spends twenty minutes massaging your scalp with those long, nimble fingers until you’re putty in his hands.
;; boyfriend!akaashi has a ‘look.’ you know the one—it’s when you’re dressed up for a date and he just stops mid-sentence, his eyes darkening as they roam slowly from your toes back up to your lips. he’ll step into your personal space, his hand tilting your chin up just a fraction, and say something like, “you look beautiful,” before kissing you just long enough to ruin your lipstick and make you want to stay home instead.
;; boyfriend!akaashi is incredibly observant of your ‘tells.’ if he notices you’re overstimulated at a party, he’ll lean in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “ready to go, pretty girl?” his hand will already be sliding down to grip your waist, his touch firm and grounding, letting you know he’s completely tuned into you and only you.
;; boyfriend!akaashi likes to claim your space. he leaves his silver watch on your nightstand or his glasses on your desk, little reminders that he was there. but his favorite thing is when you wear his oversized button-downs; he’ll catch you in the kitchen and pull you back against him, his hands sliding underneath the hem to find your bare skin, whispering about how much better his clothes look on you than they ever do on him.
;; boyfriend!akaashi has a thing for your hands. he’ll catch them during dinner, bringing your knuckles to his lips, but his eyes never leave yours. he’ll slowly take one of your fingers into his mouth, his gaze heavy and unblinking, swirling his tongue around the tip just to see your pupils blow wide. it’s a silent challenge, a promise of what’s going to happen the moment the check is paid and the front door is locked. yes, front door. bold of you to assume he’d last until you get to the bedroom.
;; boyfriend!akaashi is a man of few words, but he’s incredibly vocal when he’s got his face buried in your neck. he likes to find that one specific spot—right where your shoulder meets your pulse—and stay there, alternating between soft, soothing licks and sharp, punishing nips. he loves the way you gasp his name, his grip on your waist tightening until his knuckles turn white, his voice dropping an octave as he mumbles, “stay just like that for me. okay, pretty girl?”
;; boyfriend!akaashi gets incredibly tactile after a long day at the office. he’ll loosen his tie the moment he walks through the door, but he won’t take it off. instead, he’ll find you wherever you are, spin you around, and use the silk fabric to pull you flush against him. he likes to bury his face in your neck, taking deep, needy breaths of your scent, his hands sliding down to cup you and lift you onto the nearest surface so he can be between your legs and have some dinner.
;; boyfriend!akaashi is deceptively dominant when it comes to shared spaces. if you’re sitting at your desk trying to work, he’ll come up behind you and start undoing the clasp of your bra through your shirt without a word. when you gasp and turn around to protest, he just catches your wrists in one hand, pinning them gently but firmly to the desk, and leans down to bite softly at your pulse point. “work can wait,” he’ll mutter against your skin, “i’ve been thinking about this since lunch.”
;; boyfriend!akaashi has a thing for mirrors. he likes to see the effect he has on you. he’ll stand behind you while you’re getting ready, his large hands splayed across your stomach, pulling you back against the hardness of his chest. he’ll meet your eyes in the glass, his thumb catching your bottom lip and pulling it down just enough to see your teeth, watching your pupils blow wide as he leans down to mark your collarbone where everyone will see it later.
;; boyfriend!akaashi has a specific praise kink that he uses to completely undo you. he loves to whisper “good girl” or “you're doing so well for me, honey” when you're struggling to keep your composure under his touch. he’s patient, incredibly so, waiting until you’re a shaking, incoherent mess before he gives you what you want. he likes to watch the way your eyes blow wide when he finally loses that famous akaashi restraint, his movements becoming more urgent and his voice losing its steady rhythm as he mumbles your name like a prayer against your skin.
;; boyfriend!akaashi loves the contrast of his clean-cut image versus the way he looks when he’s finally undone by you. there’s something devastating about seeing him with his hair mussed, his tie hanging loose around his neck, and his eyes glazed with heat as he watches you move. he’ll catch your wrists, pinning them above your head with just one hand, his chest heaving as he tells you exactly how much trouble you’re in for making him wait all day.
n: for the #1 akaashi d-rider or something like that @akaashiit
sweet things the haikyuu boys do - a quick lil braindump
ft: miya osamu, akaashi keiji, sugawara koushi, kita shinsuke, daichi sawamura
cw: suggestive content in some parts — read at your own risk!
a/n: kita anon <3 this is for you — ily (also if you have others you'd like to see, tell me!)
MIYA OSAMU:
⟡ if you have any softness to your body, osamu cherishes it like you are his personal gift sent from the heavens above. you could be sitting idly on the countertop, watching him cook, and one of his hands will idly come to trace your thighs. there's no motive, at least, not at first. he simply enjoys the feeling of your skin against his palm, plush and warm and all his
⟡ he loves to kiss your exposed skin. any bare skin under his eyes is skin for the kissing. you could be explaining something important, and his lips will trail down your bare shoulder, pressing sweet kisses to the tops and sides. even if you protest, he'll skate his lips down your arm and smirk just the littlest bit. he can't resist
⟡ he loves making out when your thighs are straddling his hips. his lips are on yours, hot and needy as his hands scramble for purchase on your hips. you press against him, feeling him, his need, his tongue sliding gently across the seam of your lips. "someone's needy," you smirk across into his mouth, pulling away just enough to see his lips, pink and kiss-bitten, reach for you once again. he stops just short of your face, cupping your cheeks lovingly before gently rolling up into you. your breath hitches. "yer' just so sweet. we'll see who's needy when i'm done with ya'."
AKAASHI KEIJI:
⟡ keiji loves your hands in any condition and always treats them gently. after a long day at work or whatever else you've been doing he'll come over to massage them a little bit, pressing kisses to your knuckles and fingertips. to him, they're the hands that work so hard to bring you two the life you want, and so he adores them. plus, the better loved your hands are, the better they'll feel gripped on his back when he....shows you how much he loves you
⟡ he loves to lay in your lap while you recap the events of your entire day. you're on your couch, keiji's head draped across your thighs. he smiles gently, tugging your fingers to comb through his hair. as always, he melts into your touch. your day doesn't have to be eventful for him to love these recaps — he simply enjoys the sound of your voice talking through a cute mug you found, or pretty places you want to visit with him. it's his favorite part of the day, being enveleoped in your scent, your voice, and feeling your lips pepper kisses to his forehead every now and then.
⟡ a guilty pleasure of his is sitting between your thighs as you read. in his personal opinion, books are so much more interesting when he's kissing your legs, pressing kisses behind your knees, and watching your thighs shake in anticipation. "what was that?" he mumbles, his lips slowly inching up your thigh. your face flushes, the book trembling in your grasp. "t-the main character is about to fight the prince. she thinks he's evil." you shiver when keiji's tongue traces a heart into your inner thigh. "oh?"
SUGAWARA KOUSHI:
⟡ koushi loves carrying you bridal style. there's something so whimsical about lifting you off your feet, holding your weight in his arms. he's especially happy when you loop your arms around his head and lean in to give him a kiss. he feels like the prince in a manhwa or shoujo manga
⟡ he loves kissing your neck. koushi is a big enthusiast of lazy makeouts. he traces little hearts into your skin when he presses you against the wall, his lips tracing a heated path down your neck, collarbone, and dipping to kiss your sternum. he does it specifically so he can feel your hands wrapped into his shirt, the sweet little hitches of your breath spurring him further
⟡ he loves when you just lay on top of him. there's something so comforting about it, his hands wrapping firmly around your waist and burying his face into the crook of your neck. he could just disappear from the world. usually these cuddle sessions stay wholesome until his hands wander beneath your shirt. he says it's just to feel the warmth of your skin, but before no time he's flipped you over and pulled one of your legs over his hips.
KITA SHINSUKE:
⟡ shinsuke loves holding your hands when you walk together. there's something so divinely perfect about the feel of your hand in his, your fingers lacing together like puzzle pieces that were crafted together. he can hold your hand for what feels like centuries, rubbing his thumb gently across your skin to remind you that he'll forever be by your side. when he gets the chance, he slides his lips over your knuckles, a reverent pledge of love
⟡ if you have any moles on your body, shinsuke kisses every single one of them. your arms. your legs. your chest. your face. his personal opinion is that it's a little personal treasure that he gets to find and cherish. he firmly believes in the idea that your moles are where your soulmates kissed you the most in a previous life. he ensures he kisses every part of your body enough so that if there's ever another birth where he finds you, you'll be covered in all the relics of his love
⟡ when the two of you make love, he's not done until you're done. the first time he told you this, he was so earnest about it, and sure you believed him, but you never thought it could be like this. "shin!" you choke out desperately, hands scrambling to grip something, anything. kita's lips drag down to your neck, nibbling ever so slightly, his one free hand wrapped around your back to keep you close. you whimper into his mouth, overwhelmed by the sensations of his hands doing things nobody's hands should be able to do. "is this alright?" he smiles, leaning to kiss your forehead sweetly while your thighs tremble around his hands. "ya' deserve to feel so good."
DAICHI SAWAMURA:
⟡ sawamura adores back hugs, especially when you're in his clothing. it's morning — early, but not enough to be offensive, and you're in his old jersey from his karasuno days, hung as a relic in his closet. he pauses at the sight of you, dripped in sunlight and angelic, thanking whatever force gave him this sight. he pads over on the kitchen tiles, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. in his arms, you're warm and secure
⟡ he loves having a hand on you at all times. it doesn't matter what it is you're doing, but he'll always be around. when shopping for groceries, he has an arm around your waist (it's just potatoes, but he's invested in them if you're beside him). you're working on a project and his hands massage your shoulders. you're watching a movie and suddenly, he's shifted you onto his lap. it's for warmth and comfort (he claims), but the reality is he's addicted to your presence
⟡ he might not seem it, but he is a hickies kind of man. there's something so.....romantic, he thinks, leaving hickies where nobody else can see them. it's your little secret. however, his style isn't just bite and bruise. no. it's not a good hickey if you can feel it at all. "oh my goodness." you shudder, a vice grip on his arm as his lips suck kisses into your skin. "please don't make me wait." daichi smirks. "you and i both know they feel better when you're blissed out. let me take care of you." with a grin, he goes back to trailing his kisses down your stomach.
⊹ HOW YOU GET THE GIRL ! ⊹ ⠀۪ featuring akaashi keiji, kuroo tetsurou, miya osamu, & miya atsumu!
ABOUT : will your study sessions with upperclassman!akaashi keiji lead to something more, or will you fall for boy next door!kuroo tetsurou due to closed proximity? but then again, you have been enjoying your banters with enemies to lovers!miya atsumu a little more lately... oh well, good thing your best friend!miya osamu is here to listen to you ramble about these three!
PROMPT : a reader-interactive series wherein you choose who to pursue per chapter. each chapter will end with a choice, and your story will revolve depending on your route of choosing.
1 . . . introduction !
2 . . . study with akaashi / bake with osamu !
3 . . . stay with akaashi / stay with osamu / visit kuroo !
4 . . . chapter 4 !
DISCLAIMER : english is not my first language, therefore pieces may contain slight grammatical errors. i am also a student, and this is not my only creative project, so updates may be inconsistent. additionally, i have never written anything in this format before so please stay patient !
THANK YOU for your kind consideration! likes & reblogs are appreciated, though i mostly love going through comments <3
ALL WORKS are tagged as #eden.hygtg, follow for updates!
⊹ HOW AKAASHI GETS THE GIRL ! ⊹ ⠀۪ featuring akaashi keiji!
word count : 1.3k+ but the end is worth it, i promise
plot : akaashi keiji walks you home after a study session and some lunch!
prompt : a reader-interactive series wherein you choose who to pursue per chapter. each chapter will end with a choice, and your story will revolve depending on your route of choosing.
you only unlock this chapter if you previously studied with akaashi!
you had taken up akaashi’s offer on walking you home after grabbing lunch. your dorm wasn’t exactly far, but the two of you had gone off campus and came back through a different gate than you were used to, making your walk a little longer than usual—not that you were complaining, because akaashi just introduced you to a top food spot 5 minutes from campus.
“i hope this doesn’t sound or you don’t take it the wrong way but i’m really curious about you, akaashi,” you say, looking at him.
you’re walking on the inside of the sidewalk as akaashi walks beside you, and neither of you notice the sky clouding up.
“why so?”
“it’s just… you tutor me for free, but you work at the bookstore and go to oka’s because you say it’s cheaper,” you explain, “i was just curious…”
akaashi chuckles, shaking his head lightly, “i’m not actually in trouble financially. my, uh,” he trails, scratching the back of his head, “my parents are just pretty strict on money. they keep saying they don’t want to spoil me just because i’m an only child, so they only give me an adequate amount of allowance.”
you nod in understanding.
“and i think it’s actually a good thing, you know? it kept me grounded. i was in private school my whole life so i met a lot of sheltered, stuck-up people.”
“like kuroo? he seems pretty stuck-up,” you say, half-joking.
akaashi chuckles again, “he’s not that bad once you get to know him.”
“how do you two know each other, anyway?”
he sighs, high school nostalgia coming back to haunt him. “we played volleyball together in high school,” he says, “or, uh, against each other, actually.”
“oh, i didn’t know you played... you don’t— actually, nevermind.”
akaashi lets out a laugh in response, looking down at you. “i don’t look athletic?” he asks with a smirk.
you look away, lips forming a thin line. you decide to quiet down, not wanting to possibly offend him or come across as rude.
meanwhile, akaashi bites down on his bottom lip to stop himself from smirking, then he rolls his sleeves up before flexing. his tan arms filling up every inch of his sleeves. if he were any thicker, the fabric would definitely rip.
“this good enough?”
the two of you were halfway to your dorm when the rain started to pour. not wanting to get any of your papers wet, you and akaashi both decide to stop by at a convenience store for the meantime.
“should we just buy an umbrella? i have extra change,” you say, placing your bag down on the store’s dine-in counters.
akaashi mimics your movements, placing his bag next to yours as he puts his hands on his hips, looking out the glass. “let’s just wait for a few minutes, maybe it’ll calm down,” he replies.
you nod, and you can’t help the way your eyes gravitate to his arms as he looks out.
“i’m gonna get a drink, you want anything?” he looks at you, and if he noticed your staring, he sure doesn’t show it.
“um, no thanks. i have my water bottle,” you smile.
akaashi nods before walking over to the refrigerated drinks aisle and disappearing from your view.
you sigh, looking out the window. with nothing else to do, you open your phone to see a message from kuroo you received two hours ago.
book thief: 👍
book thief: you’re never seeing this book again.
you must’ve missed it when you were eating. nonetheless, you reply, mentally rolling your eyes.
you: you’re so dramatic
he had texted you earlier saying that his only free time for this week was today, and if you wanted to read, you could come over in exchange for snacks.
you didn’t expect a reply from him so quickly, especially after you accidentally left him on delivered.
book thief: deal’s off, i just burnt the book down.
you: oh my gosh you are such a diva
book thief: 😊
you: why don’t YOU offer to come by MY place for the exchange??
book thief: what are you, a princess?
book thief: you’re the one who begged for this, i’m doing YOU a favor 🤨
you: i’ll come over some time next week after my dept exams, you glutton 😒
you switch over to your weather app, checking out the forecast for the rest of the day. you receive a notification from kuroo, a single “🥳” emoji popping up before you swipe it away and ignore him.
akaashi comes back just in time with his drink and two onigiris. he places one in front of you before taking a seat beside you.
“what’s this for?” you ask, confused.
he just shrugs, taking a bite of his. “‘s warm, you should eat it ‘fore it gets cold,” he says, his mouth preoccupied.
“thanks,” you smile before tilting your phone in his direction to show him the forecast. “i think we might be stuck in here a while.”
he looks before sighing and taking another bite, “wanna study some more in the meantime?”
you and akaashi had been had been studying for your respective classes for about an hour and a half now. the rain’s been gradually slowing down, and you decide the weather’s stable enough for you to propose heading back out again.
“akaashi?” you call over.
akaashi had moved a couple feet away from you, his space scattered with tons of different books. “hm?” he hums in response, head turning in your direction but eyes focused fully on his paper.
“the rain’s died down a little. should we go?”
“um…” he stalls, his pencil tapping furiously as he continued writing, “yeah, sure. let me just finish this up.”
you let out a polite, “okay,” before tidying up your things. you closed your laptop first, then gathered up your writing materials and placed them all neatly inside your pencil case. you then rounded up your books before arranging all your belongings inside your bag.
only when you’ve finished up do you hear akaashi speak again. “alright, i’m done,” he looks over at you and sees you ready to go, “oh.”
you giggle, walking over to him, “it’s okay, i’ll help.”
“…thanks,” he smiles politely before you both work together and clean up his things.
“you get really wrapped up when you’re studying, don’t you?” you say.
“huh? oh… really? what makes you say that?” akaashi opens his backpack to let you place a couple of books inside.
“you serious? you had, like, a blackhole of books out.”
akaashi laughs lightheartedly, “oh… i didn’t even realize.”
“you also did that when we first met.”
“really? wow, that’s embarrassing…” he trails off, scratching the back of his head, “i’ll be more mindful next time, i promise.”
“no, it’s okay. it’s kind of cute,” you shrug.
“cute?”
“yeah, i think it shows passion.”
“oh… thanks,” he says, a hint of redness decorating his cheeks, “should we go?”
“yup!”
the sky is dimmed as the two of you walk through the streets. the smell of rain envelopes you, and the air is light and breezy as it practically engulfs you whole.
the conversation died down a little while ago, but there’s no awkward tension between you and akaashi. as you get closer to your dorm building, a shooting star passes by.
“hey, look,” you stop momentarily, eyes above.
akaashi follows your gaze, and when he turns to look back at you again, he sees you with your eyes closed.
you open your eyes to see blue eyes staring softly at you. “oh, sorry,” you giggle nervously.
“nothing to be sorry for,” he reassures you, smiling politely, “you believe in shooting stars?”
“yeah,” you answer truthfully.
akaashi’s eyes flit down to his shoes before turning and looking back up at the sky. then, he closes his eyes, making a wish.
once he’s done, you playfully swat at his chest, “too late, it’s gone now.”
he chuckles, “it’s gone because it’s working on my wish,” he teases back.
“your wish? i wished first!” you sass, continuing down the road.
“exactly, yours got buried,” he chuckles, following you.
The Japanese side of the Haikyuu fandom is going crazy on twitter now because the Haikyuu store is open and they have the training camp squad’s handprints and shoes on display.
Not sure how accurate these are because I’ve seen people measure Bokuto’s hand anywhere from 17cm-18cm, but the general consensus is that Akaashi’s hand is 19cm and his fingers are really long haha.
