“Stupid fucking bar…” He mutters under his breath, scanning his kitchen for the third time, looking for his keys. He finally finds them, hidden underneath a Kumonoue bag, which makes him even angrier.
He hasn’t stopped thinking about their conversation yesterday. Knowing her name drove him madder than he anticipated, and he spent some restless hours in the early morning, tossing under his sheets, her name falling constantly from his lips.
He was more than ready to see her today. He woke up feeling hungry, wanting to know more, earn more, of her life. And he felt like she might’ve given it to him, based on the way she’d stared at him.
But not tonight. Because Suna had to go and be greedy, wasting both of their time at the Siren’s Den, falling for a bartender whose job was to hate him. He’d literally fallen for the stripper, and Issei was the one who was paying for it.
Issei stormed the length from his apartment to the Mosaic harder than he needed to. The fall months were turning to winter, and the bite of the cold air was going to push him over the edge.
About five minutes into the walk, he reached a crossroads. Turning left, the way he normally walks, was Kumonoue. Just around the corner, beckoning to him with a desperate plea. He didn’t even know if she’d be there, unsure when her shift started or ended. But, he could always try.
Against every urge in his body, he continued forward. Immediately into the alley of the Mosaic, where a few people, fresh off work, glared at him from under hoods and scarves.
Muttering a ‘sorry’ as he passed by, he unlocked the door, and started the worst shift of his life.
~~~~
At 9:30, Issei’s phone rings. It’s his normal alarm, telling him to get to work. He’s once again reminded of where he’d rather be right now, as opposed to elbow deep in the toilet, cleaning out someone’s way-too-early-in-the-night vomit.
Groaning, he pulls off his gloves to turn the alarm off. He takes this opportunity to switch his playlists, admittedly growing a little sick of the dad-rock he’s been consuming non-stop for the past week.
As he clicks around, he notices the activity tab.
User 491319874615
Better in the Dark • Jordana, TV Girl
And Issei, having the worst shift of his life, surrounded by puke, smiles.
~~~~~
At 3 AM, Issei’s ready to go home. The night picked up for him, despite less customers than normal. He carried on, completely powered by the fact that she listened to a recommendation of his.
He’s debated whether to tease her or be sincere about it, or even bring it up at all. She had to know that he’d notice her activity, but a private part of him wanted to keep this knowledge to himself.
As he locks the door of the Mosaic behind him and steps into the street, the early morning air takes his breath away. He buries his head further into his collar, and begins his trek home. The roads are pretty empty, except for a few late night stragglers. A few minutes in, the person in front of him turns left, and he’s all alone.
Issei doesn’t often feel alone. He’s got good friends and he likes his own company. But the quiet night, wind whistling past his ears and trying to chill him to the bone, can get to him.
He thinks about her.
He thinks about her voice, her name, her eyes. About that secret little notebook she has, and the drawing she gave him with the receipt. About how that might be her way of flirting, and he’d be more than okay with a million more drawings of his little red triangle.
“Why are you following me?”
It takes him a second to realize that her quiet voice was actually talking to him, and not just in his head. He looks around to see her pressed against a doorway, hands clenched around her keys, eyes terrified.
“Woah! Woah. I’m not, I promise.” He puts his hands up and steps back to give her space. Issei’s never seen her look more vulnerable.
She doesn’t believe him. Her fingers tighten even further, and she brings them up closer to her chest.
“First, you come to my place of work. Every day. Then, you learn my name after admitting to trying to look me up. Then, the very next day, you don’t show up and instead follow me for blocks at three in the morning?”
She’s unable to cover the cracking in her voice, so raises it instead. If Issei thought she was like a scared animal before, he was sorely mistaken.
He’s not quite sure what to do.
He takes more steps back, until he’s a road away from her.
“It’s not like that, I swear. I would never hurt you, you have to know that.”
She doesn’t move from her stance.
Issei feels frantic. Just a second ago, he was picturing their future, feeling like he finally had an in. Now, his world is crumbling around him.
It’s a desperate plea, hoping to ease her fear in any way. Even after promising not to use it.
He calls her by name. His voice breaks, just like hers.
She finally blinks, momentarily stunned.
“I know what it seems like, I promise.” Issei continues, praying to anything holy that he doesn’t mess this up. “But it’s not. I come to your work because I like you. I had to open today, that’s why I didn’t come. And I live just down the road-” He points down the direction they both were walking, “-that’s why I was here. I never meant to scare you, and if I am, I promise I’ll leave you alone. Forever.”
There. All his cards, out on the table. Maybe it’s too far, but right now he’d do anything to make her stop looking at him like that. It’s breaking him.
Several moments of silence pass, and she stares at him. Issei lets her, always willing to give her anything she needs.
She relaxes just slightly once she sees his terror mirroring her own. Issei dares not to move.
A few moments more, and she takes a deep breath.
“Ok.”
He doesn’t know which part she’s agreeing to. When she makes no further moves, Issei resigns.
“I’ll go ahead,” he offers, “so that you don’t have to worry about me following you any more.”
She nods.
He does the same.
As he takes what he fears might be the last look he’ll ever get of her, Issei feels helpless. His heart starts to cave in on itself, and paired with the icy air, he’s got no air in his lungs. His vision starts to blur, and he lets it.
He steps off into the empty road, and begins the aching walk home. Issei feels very alone. He wants more than anything to look back one more time, to go back in time and wait inside the Mosaic for just five more minutes, to do anything to fix this horrible situation he’s found himself in.
But he knows he can’t. So he doesn’t.
Issei walks the rest of the way home in crushing silence, completely aware of the crunching footfall of her boots from far behind him. He finally makes his way to his building, and the thought of not looking back one more time would kill him.
He pauses, and looks. She’s following behind him, an overly safe distance away, arms wrapped around her. At least he doesn’t see her clenching her keys, a fact he’ll have to cling to.
Calling out to her, hoping anything changes, he says, “I’m on the third floor. The one on the corner. I’ll turn on the light once I’m in there.”
She just nods, and stops walking. She ducks into another doorway, and waits for him to leave.
Issei’s heart breaks a million times over again.
“I’m so sorry.” He tells her, hoping that she hears. He doesn’t try to hide his sadness.
When she makes no moves, Issei turns away again. He pushes the building door, climbs the stairs up to his apartment, and flicks on the light.
>>You struggle to pay rent on your limited graduate student salary, and your worst enemy agrees to help you out.
or
You realize you need to find a partner for your faceless porn account, and Akaashi Keiji is the only man who meets all your requirements.<<
previous. || masterlist.
a/n: welcome to the end <3
You don’t talk about it.
The thing that had happened that night – that thing that you don’t want to acknowledge – stays silently between you through all of Thursday and well into Friday morning, when you’re standing outside of the hotel with your luggage and searching for the LEM members.
Well into Friday morning, when you lock eyes with Akaashi Keiji for the first time in two days.
You’d called in sick yesterday, emailing your advisor and asking for some time to recover – “recover”, meaning you’d sat in bed all day with your phone on silent and your head swirling with memories of Akaashi whispering your name, of him begging you to say his because he couldn’t come without it. Of his mouth on yours, of desperation and need and heat that required release.
You were certain that you were coming down with something, because your skin had burned all day and your head had fogged over, unable to see light despite every effort to think of something but those cyan eyes.
Those cyan eyes, wide and nervous, burn through your skin now, too.
“There you are!” your advisor says, waving you down from the front steps of the hotel.
You smile to yourself, snaking through the crowd of other departments, other universities, other cohorts of grad students. You try not to look too nervous, try not to look too distracted–
‘Say my name again. Please-’
You blink it away, tugging your scarf up around your face despite the burn in your skin.
“Alright,” your advisor says, gesturing inside. “Let’s get to the lobby before the check-in lines get too long. We’ll divide up keys at the elevator, ‘kay?”
He leads the group of you inside, and you’re surrounded by the luxury of the largest conference center in Japan. A massive elevator bay to the left of the registration desks, a fully stocked bar and lounge to the right. Signs pointing toward the back hall, signaling an indoor pool and hot tub. A restaurant tucked away down a different hall, guaranteed to run a bill in the triple digits, if not quadruple.
Three days of luxury and networking, fully covered by the university.
Three nights sharing a room with the man who makes your skin burn to all hell.
“Y/n, Keiji – get our keys, will you?”
You swear your advisor knows. He has to. There’s no other explanation.
“Of course,” Akaashi mumbles, that soft-spoken tone digging its home under your ribcage.
The immediate bubble of personal space surrounding the two of you while you wait in line is stagnant, pushing its limits to the point of bursting.
After a moment filled with the crashing energy of everyone else’s excitement – friends from different universities reuniting like schoolchildren, giggling and screaming and hugging in a way that makes you look around for Yachi’s sweet little hairdo – Akaashi speaks.
“How’d the poster end up?”
You take a sip of your takeaway coffee, trying to find the courage to look up at him-
‘Please. I’m really close.’
There’s hot coffee splattered all over your face.
“Jesus-” you cough, wincing at the burn and hoping no one important saw that.
“Are you-” He’s reaching to wipe at your skin.
‘Please, ‘Kaashi – I need it. I need you.’
“I’m good,” you laugh awkwardly, flinching away from him. He hadn’t even touched you – hadn’t even made contact – but you can still feel the heat of his skin. You know the feel of his hands on yours, know the feel of his voice whispering your own name against your throat. “Uh-” You shake your head, wiping your face. “It turned out okay, I think. I managed to get the pilot data analyzed, and I included some of the case stuff you wanted.”
Watching him fail to dampen his own grin of satisfaction makes the embarrassment of admitting that completely worth it. He steps forward as the line moves, and you go with him, lingering close when the lobby starts to get a little too crowded. His cologne floods your senses when his shoulder passes near your face. You find yourself wondering if he can smell your perfume, or if you just smell like coffee.
“How’d the talk prep go?” you ask, distracted and fuzzy-headed.
He breathes out a laugh, angling his body toward yours. You wonder if it’s because of the group of girls glancing over him from the next line. You wonder if you’d even have noticed them if things between you and Akaashi weren’t what they are.
Whatever the hell that might be.
“Slide deck is done,” he starts, glancing back awkwardly and then stepping closer to you. It’s confirmation of your previous suspicions.
You don’t know why he’s signaling so hard to those girls that he’s not available – in particular, the supermodel-esque one with the long, dark hair and the sultry, siren eyes that stick firmly to the side of his face – but you’re almost guilty to be glad. Glad that he’s peeking warily at her out of the corner of his eye, glad that he’s making a point to face you but not so much that she can’t see how he takes your space like it’s his.
Because it is. His.
Your stomach flips traitorously, so you take another sip of coffee and look away.
“I included those counterexamples you had,” he mumbles, shuffling forward with the line again. “It was a bitch to reframe my account with less than two days to do it, but it’s done.”
Your own satisfied grin escapes before you can even think to dampen it.
“You can just admit I made your argument stronger, ‘Kaashi. It’s okay.”
You don’t mean to say it that way, his name, but the flick of his eyes to your mouth makes it hard to regret.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His tongue runs along an incisor while he waits for you to answer.
You know what that tongue feels like in your mouth.
“You know I would.” You try to match his confidence, the ease of his tone, the edge in his words.
What comes out is a breathier version, full of desperation and a second meaning that only he can hear.
And he’d certainly heard it, because his nostrils flare and his jaw snaps shut.
The curl of his fingers into the front of your scarf, rough and tight, makes your heart stop. He drags you toward him subtly, barely glancing down at you when you stumble into his side.
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” he mutters, low and for your ears only. His breath is warm against your skin. “You ignore my texts all day yesterday, and now you’re teasing me? In front of all these people, Y/n?”
All his texts–
“My phone,” you choke out, nervous. “It was on silent all day yesterday. I was working on the poster.”
“Bullshit,” he bites, not an ounce of malice behind it and his eyes seeing right through you. “You worked on it Wednesday night after I left.”
How does he know that? How does he know that you didn’t sleep that night? How could he possibly know that you were physically unable to fall asleep, to the point of sitting at your desk at two in the morning, hyperfocusing on your work for the sheer need to just focus on something that wasn’t him?
Akaashi’s gaze traces your features, lingering on your mouth before peeling away, as if by force.
He hadn’t slept that night, either.
“When’d you finish the reanalysis?” you whisper. “The one with my data?” You’re shameless, tying yourself to that thing he’d stayed up all night working on just to avoid thinking about you.
He doesn’t answer, just detangling his fingers from the front of your scarf and taking the last few steps to the front desk, a polite smile filling his face.
You stare at his back, dazed and blinking rapidly, and accidentally make eye contact with the Siren five feet away. She looks you over, squinting, and then lifts a brow in question when she sees you looking.
You can’t help the sly grin you slip her, your own eyebrows flicking up mockingly as you press close to Akaashi’s side. Your eyes burn into hers over his shoulder when he opens his body up to let you near him.
“You done marking your territory?” Akaashi breathes to you as he watches the concierge disappear into the back for room keys.
You shoot him a slight glare, both offended and embarrassed. “Depends,” you nip. “Is my territory marked?”
It’s a weighted question, one you’d meant as a joke and not at all in the way Akaashi seems to take it. He doesn’t look at you, eyes still on the back room, but his face does split into a shit-eating grin that lingers even when you groan and hide your reddening face in your scarf.
He smothers a breathy laugh, only nodding and thanking the hotel employee when she hands him the stack of keys for your labmates.
When he brushes past you, preoccupied with counting the keys, he drops his voice in that way he knows you like.
“And you call me possessive.”
You want to set yourself on fire.
–
“He must know, right?” Keiji says, staring dreadfully down at the king-sized bed in the hotel room he’s sharing with you. You stare down at it with him, and then glance around – no other bed.
His advisor must know. He has to. There’s nothing else that could explain this.
You don’t bother offering to sleep on the couch by the window or the armchair in the corner. He wouldn’t have let you offer, anyway, but it does something to his chest that all you do is shed your coat and drop it on the bed.
“Right side or left?” you ask, depositing your scarf with it and then moving to drag your suitcase onto the little table by the TV.
Keiji glances between both sides of the bed. He remembers something his father said once, about how he should always let his woman take the safer side of things – the bed, the sidewalk – so that she’s protected.
Are you his woman?
He doesn’t know, but the idea of you sleeping closer to the door makes him uneasy.
“This one,” he gestures blandly at the right side, as though he hadn’t just contemplated your entire relationship.
He unpacks quietly, unsure what to say to you. Unsure how to address Wednesday night, unsure how to tell you he’d dreamt of you whispering his name into his hair and thanking him like a mantra when he’d come inside you.
He shivers, eyes unfocusing slightly before he remembers himself.
“Uhm-” you start, and he freezes, worried that he’d said something aloud. That you’d caught him daydreaming about your teeth digging into his bottom lip.
He turns over his shoulder, eyeing you warily.
You’re standing shyly beside your suitcase, holding your tripod in both hands.
Keiji thinks God might be real.
“Here?” he breathes, voice cracking.
Your eyes widen, and your grip tightens. “I-We don’t have to. I just brought it in case-”
“No,” he says sharply, and then shakes his head. “No, I mean yes. Yes. It’s good–It’s a good idea–” He gestures awkwardly to the room and the bed. “Change of scenery, or–”
‘Change of scenery’ is what he’d used as an excuse to be near you on Wednesday, closer than he should have been but not nearly as close as he’d wanted to be. That close, he’d gotten just a few hours later, with his tongue down your throat and your legs hooked over his elbows.
Your face floods with heat. You remember it, too, then.
That’s humiliating.
“So,” he says, busying himself with his dress clothes for Sunday. He hangs them gingerly in the closet, next to your outfit for the poster session tomorrow. He doesn’t want to think about how your clothes look next to his in a closet. He can’t. That’s not allowed. “Any scheduling ideas?”
You clear your throat. “Well, I think the group is gonna hang out today, so I was thinking tomorrow?”
After your poster session. Before his talk. The perfect excuse to burn off his own stress and also help you celebrate a job well done. Maybe you’ll mark him up a little, just enough that he has to hide it in his collar. Maybe he can tell you again how good you are, in your ear and against your skin and down your throat–
“‘Kaashi?” You sound confused.
He’s hard.
“Yeah-” he says thickly, shaking out his dress shirt one more time. “Tomorrow night’s good.”
–
You and Akaashi attend the opening remarks of Ling Expo, sitting dutifully beside your advisor and meeting each other’s eyes, unimpressed, when he leans in and whispers ‘Room okay, you two?’ with an evil look in his eye.
You finally manage to locate the rest of your friends after dinner, when Bokuto sends a string of loud texts demanding Mermaid Time, which Akaashi very graciously translates for you through the wall while you’re lining your toiletries up on the bathroom sink.
“He wants to go to the pool,” he says, voice muffled. “Did you bring a swimsuit?”
You chew on your bottom lip, sighing to yourself. “No. I can just sit on the edge and put my feet in, I guess?”
“That’s no fun.”
“You got any better ideas?” you joke, shaking your head. You lean into the shower and line your shampoo bottle up next to Akaashi’s, trying not to linger too long on the idea of domesticity.
The bathroom door is wrenched open – you jump, spinning just in time to catch a white t-shirt to the face. The door shuts again.
“There. Problem solved.”
You blink, inhaling the scent of Akaashi Keiji as the shirt falls into your hands.
“What’s this?” you say, albeit it a little stupidly. It’s one of the department shirts, Tokyo Linguistics scrawled across the left chest patch in familiar print. You have the same one at home.
“My sleep shirt. I don’t have extra trunks, though, so you’re outta luck there.”
You breathe out a laugh, mind turning over itself quickly. “What’do you plan to wear to bed, then?”
“I think we’re past that point, don’t you?”
You press the shirt to your face, hiding from no one.
“And what am I s’posed to say when our friends see me in your clothes?”
“Just put the shirt on, Y/n.”
You don’t need to be told twice.
When you exit the bathroom in nothing but a pair of panties and his shirt – long, hanging past your ass, and very clearly not yours – Akaashi says nothing. But his eyes linger long after you’ve turned to sift through your suitcase, heat burning up the backs of your thighs and sticking to the lace of your underwear.
You tug a pair of shorts on for the walk to the pool and throw a towel over your shoulder, glancing expectantly at him when you’re ready to go. He continues to say nothing, just gesturing for you to leave first. He follows you all the way to the elevator, where you press the button and wait for it to come to Floor 9.
He waits until the doors are about to open – it’s noisy on the other side, full of people – and then shifts his weight, pressing his side against yours.
“Looks good on you.”
The entire ride to the lobby is spent trying to hide your burning face from him.
–
“What the absolute fuck are you wearing?”
You choke on a gasp, turning to face Hitoka in the women’s locker room. Her eyes are bugging out of her head, and she rushes to you while glancing back at the door.
“What do you-”
“It’s got his name on the back, Y/n!” Her voice is a low, horrified hiss, but her eyes are bright and wide and full of excitement.
You stare at her emptily, suddenly remembering that – Oh, right – the department shirts were custom-ordered.
Quietly – humbly – you march to the nearest mirror and turn over your shoulder, confirming the boldface ‘AKAASHI K.’ that stretches across your back.
Of course, he’d already taken that into account. Because Akaashi Keiji thinks of everything.
“It certainly appears that way,” you mumble, wondering how you’re going to make it through the weekend.
“You realize,” Hitoka starts, a smile stretching across her face and a thumb jabbed over her shoulder. “That the pool is extremely crowded right now.”
You hear what she doesn’t say.
“Possessive freak,” you breathe to yourself. And then you shoot Yachi a gentle smile, trying to talk your way out of it. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit – he was just helping.”
Her mouth opens, a laugh of disbelief falling out. But before she can scold you for lying to her, the door to the locker room creaks open, noise pouring in, so she just narrows a glare at you.
“We are so not done talking about this.”
“Yes, ma’am,” you grumble, knowing full and well that the days of hiding your relationship with Akaashi – whatever it may be – are over.
When you round the corner back to the lockers, you find yourself face to face with the Siren from the lobby. She stares emptily at you, and you stare emptily back. You watch her drag her gaze over you – over the shirt that’s too big to be yours, over the lack of a proper swimsuit – and the corners of her mouth tighten, like she wants to fire off some snarky remark.
You just slip past her, stuffing the rest of your belongings in the little metal locker and locking it up tight with the hotel-issued lock. When you turn back, she’s staring down at the spot where Akaashi’s name had been, and Hitoka is staring up at her.
“Got somethin’ to say?”
You remember, distantly and hauntingly, that Yachi Hitoka had grown into a rather outspoken woman.
The Siren’s eyes snap to your friend, shorter and less put-together than her, and just laughs.
“Nothing in particular.”
Damn. Even her voice is sexy.
You grab Yachi by the elbow, just muttering ‘let’s go’ and dragging your little guard-dog away.
–
“Did Y/n just forget her own size when she ordered that shirt?” Bokuto says, laughing wholeheartedly as he points you and Yachi out across the room.
Keiji warms, sinking low in the hot tub in embarrassment.
Tsukishima hides a laugh behind his hand when he sees you, completely swimming in Keiji’s clothes. “Yeah, Bokuto,” he says. “And I’m sure she just so happened to get Akaashi’s size.”
You turn back slightly, glancing at the door to the pool anxiously, and your back flashes toward the hot tub.
Kuroo chokes on the beer in his hand. “I guess she forgot how to spell her own name, too!”
Keiji’s chest tightens with anxiety, and he watches Bokuto closely – watches as realization hits his friend like a truck.
The bigger man swings around toward him with wide eyes. “But-” He leans in, far too close to Keiji’s face. “What about that girl in your department? What will she say when she sees Y/n in your clothes?”
Keiji has to hand it to Bokuto – he technically had whispered it. The issue is that he’d whispered it in his own, Bokuto Koutarou way.
Which, of course, is not at all.
He feels both Tsukishima’s and Kuroo’s eyes snap to him, understanding passing between them and completely over Bokuto’s head.
He just sinks lower in the hot tub. “Don’t think that’ll be a problem, Bo,” he murmurs, the sound bubbling through the rolling water.
“Hey, guys!” Yachi calls out to them, waving excitedly as she marches you over to their group.
“Something tells me we’re gonna need a guys’ night later, don’t you, Akaashi?” Kuroo says quietly, a warning that passes easily to Tsukishima, who just smirks to himself.
The way you look when you arrive at the hot tub, face flushed and eyes vulnerably searching his – that’s the only reason Keiji can’t bring himself to regret lending you his shirt.
To his relief, none of the guys mention your clothes, but Kuroo does very pointedly shift away from Keiji, leaving an open space that you fill without thinking.
“You’re an asshole,” you mutter when you’re close. Pleasure warms Keiji’s chest, and the anxiety suddenly feels so far away.
“Funny way to say ‘thanks for the shirt, Keiji’,” he whispers back, taking advantage of Bokuto and Yachi’s immediate chatter.
“Something you didn’t think about, Keiji,” you start. Keiji’s heart lurches at the sound of his name – his name – in your mouth. “Is that this is a white shirt and I’m not wearing anything under,” you finish, breathed close to his ear. “Guess the whole room gets a show, huh?”
Keiji’s nostrils flare at the thought of his shirt sticking to your wet skin and revealing too much of your body for his liking.
He bites a response, shifting close to you and sliding a palm over the small of your back, possessive and heated.
“Good thing my name’s on the show.”
He hears – loud and clear – when your breath catches in your throat. But, despite the uncomfortable tightness in his trunks, he just pulls away and forces his body to relax, arms stretched out across the edge of the hot tub. He forces himself to focus on something that’s not you – you, needy and flustered and entirely too easy to fuck with.
Forces himself to focus on something else, because he doesn’t find that he wants to fuck with you.
He just wants you. And he wants everyone to know it.
This weekend’s going to ruin him.
–
“Oh, you must be joking.”
You shuffle awkwardly around the hotel room, changing out of Akaashi’s wet t-shirt quickly and wrapping your towel around yourself. Yachi’s standing in the foyer of the room, staring down at the bed.
“We didn’t arrange the rooms ourselves,” you explain, glancing sheepishly at her while you scoot past to hang his shirt on the shower railing. “Our advisor did it.”
She laughs, making herself comfortable on his side of the bed and scrubbing a towel through her hair. “So, what you’re saying is that he really wants you two together?”
You sigh, climbing onto your side gingerly. “Yeah, he’s made it pretty clear.”
“And?” She eyes you knowingly. “Did it work?”
You huff at her. “We haven’t even been here one night.”
“You know what I’m asking.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it?”
You pick at a piece of lint on your towel. “It’s hard to explain.”
Yachi sighs, crossing her arms under her head and shutting her eyes. “We all know you guys are sleeping together.”
You frown to yourself. “Everyone?”
“Everyone. Bokuto hasn’t totally figured it out, but he knows something’s different.”
You shake your head. After all this time – after trying so hard to hide it – you can’t bring yourself to be distraught by this information. It was going to happen eventually, and things are changing so quickly between you and Akaashi that you don’t have the energy to worry about everyone else, too.
And you’ve been feeling it recently, this aching need to talk to someone about it. Especially after Wednesday night.
You sniffle to yourself. “I could really use some girl talk.”
Hitoka sits up right away, crawling in close to you. “I’ve been waiting! Tell me everything.”
“It’s really not what you guys are thinking,” you start. “Not exactly.”
“Okay…?” She nudges you gently. “Tell me, I can help.”
You groan, bracing yourself. “Uhm – I’m… a porn star?”
The silence that follows is one you’d expected.
“Like… in bed? I mean,” she laughs. “More power to you, babe, but what’s the issue?” You just stare at her, defeated. She blinks after a minute. “You’re joking.”
You shake your head. She grabs your shoulder, forcing you to look at her.
“Like, an actual porn star?”
“Well, I guess I’m not famous enough to be considered a star, but-”
She laughs. She just laughs and laughs and laughs, and you can only watch.
“Holy shit, are you serious? You really are?” When you nod, she flops back against the bed, looking delirious. “Is it good money?”
You smile, wondering why you had thought she might judge you. She’s your best friend. “It wasn’t at first.”
She hears what you purposely avoid saying, her eyes meeting yours. “So, Akaashi is-”
You just nod.
She squeals, turning over onto her stomach and screaming into the pillow, her feet kicking in glee.
“You’re so messy!” she yells into the bed. “That’s a recipe for fucking disaster!”
You nod to no one. “You can say that again.”
She’s in your face again. “What happened? Tell me. I need to know every detail.”
So you tell her.
By the time you’re done, it’s well past midnight, and you’re both curled up in bed, giggling like schoolgirls, hair tangled and half-dry and towels all twisted up.
You’d missed it. You’d missed confiding in someone about something this personal.
“So, what?” she asks, quiet and sleepy. “He’s, like, your dom now, or something?”
You flush. “I dunno. I guess?”
“I mean, after Wednesday…”
“Yeah, that was… a lot.”
“And you haven’t talked?”
“No… It’s just killing me, because-” you sigh, shaking your head.
Yachi tilts her head in your direction, examining you for a long moment. “You want to kiss him again.”
You don’t answer, just warming when you remember how his lips had felt on yours.
She snorts. “You like him. Real bad.” She taps your arm comfortingly. “And he likes you.”
You groan. “I don’t know, ‘Toka. I just can’t tell.”
“He gave you his shirt to wear in front of everyone. That wasn’t an accident, especially if he’s as possessive as you say he is.” When you don’t respond, she says one more thing before drifting off. “He wants you to be his. And he wants everyone to know it.”
You fall asleep right alongside her, your face warm and your skin tingling with the thought of Akaashi Keiji.
–
Downstairs, Keiji is having trouble holding his liquor.
He’s avoiding the topic that Kuroo and Tsukishima seem so eager to get to, just downing drinks in a curved booth at the hotel bar and then asking the bartender for water so he’s not hungover in the morning.
“And then-” Bokuto says, continuing some story he’s been reciting for fifteen minutes now. “That student gave me a handwritten note thanking me for a great semester!”
Keiji smiles, patting him drunkenly on the shoulder. “That’s great, Bo. Your passion for the sport seems to really show itself in how you teach-”
“Okay, everyone shut the fuck up,” Kuroo interrupts, unable to take it anymore. “That’s great, Bokuto, it really is, but I need to say something.”
Bokuto, unsurprisingly, does not look even a little offended. “What, what?” he just says, excited and curious.
Keiji shrinks in his seat when Kuroo points straight at him.
“When did you and Y/n start dating?”
Bokuto’s golden eyes are on him. “What?” he all but shrieks. “But what about the other girl-”
“There is no other girl, Bokuto,” Kuroo says, exasperated. “It’s her.”
Keiji watches Bokuto process this information, and then he considers crawling into a hole and dying.
“Oh,” the bigger man says finally, a bit dazed. “Well, that’s good, right? I was worried about the other girl.”
Keiji groans, shoving his warm, flushed face into his hands and trying to stop his head from spinning. “We’re not dating.”
“Then when did you start fucking her?” Tsukishima says, shameless.
Keiji can’t help it. He glares right at the blond, his glasses skewed on his cheeks. “Careful.”
Kuroo and Tsukishima both whistle, eyebrows raised with interest. “Oh,” Kuroo laughs. “You’re down bad.”
Keiji just turns to Bokuto. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Bo. We were– Things are complicated.”
His best friend just shakes his head, still a little dazed, and takes a sip of his drink. “No, that’s okay – I’m just processing.” He blinks and then looks right into Keiji’s eyes. “You’ve been different lately. Smiling more. It’s nice.”
Keiji doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know what to say to Kuroo and Tsukishima both nodding in agreement.
“It’s just casual,” he mutters weakly. “Nothing more.”
“Bullshit,” Kuroo says. “You basically wrote ‘Property of Akaashi Keiji’ on her back at the pool.”
“She’s not-” Keiji sighs, shaking his head. He doesn’t know what he feels. It’s scaring him. “She’s not my property. She’s not mine.”
“You know, this actually makes a lot of sense,” Bokuto says thoughtfully. “You’ve been really weird around me recently, too. You get kinda cold when I get too close to her.”
Tsukishima snorts into his drink. Kuroo just stares at Keiji meaningfully.
“‘m sorry,” Keiji says, nudging Bokuto. “That’s not fair to you.”
“It’s okay!” Bokuto says, grinning. “Now that I know why, it’s kinda cute.”
“No, it’s not,” he argues, shaking his head. “We’re not together. It’s not cute or wholesome or any of it. It’s just casual.”
“Be honest, Akaashi,” Tsukishima pushes. “It’s just us here.”
Keiji looks deep into his eyes. “You first.”
Tsukishima has the decency to blush, as does Kuroo. Bokuto just laughs.
“Okay, that one I got,” he says, bumping Kuroo with his knee. “You guys aren’t exactly subtle.” And then he clears his throat, glancing down at Keiji. “So… since we’re all on the same page about them…”
Keiji just stares at his drink stubbornly, swirling the glass in one hand and watching the condensation wet the table.
“So, you’re saying that if someone from the conference tries to hit on her, maybe wants to take her back to his room…” Kuroo starts, and Keiji knows they can all see the way his hand freezes. “That you’d be alright with that?”
Keiji doesn’t answer that. He can’t. He doesn’t want to lie to his friends, but he can’t answer that.
Kuroo just nods, and Tsukishima and Bokuto just share a meaningful look.
“Right,” Kuroo says. “Casual.”
Keiji just downs his drink in one painful, burning gulp.
–
You wake to a dark hotel room, to the sound of shuffling on the other side of the bed.
“Yachi,” a voice whispers, and then the bed shakes slightly when a hand tries to jostle Yachi. “Yachi, you have to wake up. It’s two in the morning.”
You squint up at the shadow hovering over the bed, knowing by the shape of it that it’s Akaashi.
“Hitoka,” he tries again, and you watch him card his fingers through her hair with care. “Hitoka, come on. Bokuto’s outside, he’ll walk you to your room.”
Your heart thumps painfully, a warm feeling spreading through you when you see how gently he treats your best friend. He looks so sweet like this, it kills you.
“You smell like booze,” she grumbles.
“Sorry,” he says, laughing a little. “Bokuto smells worse.”
“Ugh,” she says, letting him help her sit up. He sits beside her, both their backs to you.
“Do you want me to get you some clothes for the walk?” he says, glancing over his shoulder at you to make sure he hasn’t woken you. You just keep your eyes closed until he turns back again. “Or, I can make Bokuto give you his shirt or something.”
“That’s okay,” she giggles. “I’m not the girl you want in those clothes.”
There’s a silence, one that makes your heartrate pick up, and then he’s clearing his throat. “What’d she tell you?”
You cross your fingers, praying Yachi doesn’t accidentally tell him how you feel.
“That’s for me to know and for you to never find out,” she says playfully, nudging him. “You’re not invited to Girl Talk.”
He just laughs. “Okay, I understand. If you figured out what the guys figured out, then we’re all on the same page, anyway.”
“Did the guys figure out everything? Like, everything?”
He pauses again, deciphering her meaning. “No. I guess not everything.”
“Okay,” she whispers. And then she lifts her finger to her mouth, shushing at him softly. “I won’t tell.”
He smiles, his grin visible in the moonlight. Your chest warms again, and you’re overcome with the need to kiss him. “Thanks, Hitoka. We appreciate that.”
She huffs at him. “But if you hurt her, I’ll kill you in your sleep and hang your skin suit on my office door.”
He just stares, blinking stupidly. “Understood.”
She stands, letting him guide her out of the room. You hear Bokuto just outside, whispering loudly that he’s ready to piggyback Yachi to her room.
The door shuts behind Akaashi, leaving you in the silence of your own heartbeat while you try to figure out what he’s up to.
A hand touches to the side of your face. “Y/n.” When you don’t respond, he cups your chin with one hand. “Baby.”
You inhale with warm surprise, scrunching your face up when you hear him laugh under his breath.
“Knew you were awake,” is all he says.
“Whatever,” you grumble. “No fair.”
“You have to shower,” he mumbles, leaning down to wrap your arms around his neck.
You glare up at him in the dark, cyan burning right through you. “You sayin’ I smell?”
“No,” he laughs. He smells like rum. “I’m saying the chlorine is bad for your skin.”
“What about you?”
“I need to shower, too.”
You sigh, falling limp and letting him move your weight around all by himself. “Together, then.”
He pauses, staring down at you. “You wanna shower with me?”
“‘s late, I’m tired, you’re drunk.” It’s the only explanation you give.
He doesn’t respond, just tugging gently on the towel wrapped around you. It falls open, exposing most of your body to him in a way that makes your skin hum. And when he hooks his fingers into your panties and tugs them down, pausing to press a kiss to the skin between your breasts, you feel yourself give in to him.
“C’mon,” he mumbles, holding you against his body and lifting you off the bed. You wrap your legs around his waist and bury your face in his neck.
“What was Guys’ Night about?”
He sets you gently on the counter, moving to the turn the shower on. “You know what it was about.”
“I told you the t-shirt was a bad idea,” you whisper nervously, swinging your feet.
He just glances back at you, testing the temperature with his hand while he examines your face. “Do you think it was a bad idea?”
You just purse your lips and shake your head. He lifts both eyebrows and turns back to the water, waiting until it’s warm enough before he comes back to you.
“Then it wasn’t a bad idea,” he says, stripping out of his shirt and swim trunks.
That’s all he says about it, and that’s all you need.
He scrubs your hair in the shower, which you don’t make easy for him in the slightest.
“Can you please stand up straight?” he laughs. “I’m so tired.”
“Don’t wanna,” you say, face buried in his neck. “Gonna sleep right here.”
“Yeah? Am I that comfortable?”
“Incredibly. I like it here.”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing against your nose. “Yeah. Me, too.”
You lift your head, peering up at him. Watching how he watches you. Watching his eyes flit around your face, dropping to your lips and then away.
You plant a kiss on his mouth before you can overthink it.
There. You did it. You did what you’ve been wanting to do all day. Now you can be at peace.
Akaashi stares down at you. There’s no surprise written on his face, but he does look like there’s something more he wants to say.
“What?” you whisper, neck craned back so you can look at him properly.
He just presses his palm to the back of your head and drops his lips to yours.
You gasp against him, feeling his tongue slide against yours like a shock straight to the nerves.
Your back is against the cold tile before you can take another breath, an arm wrapped tight around your waist and his other hand cupping your face. Your fingers find their way into his hair, tangling tight and clinging when he starts to moan into your mouth. You dig your teeth into his bottom lip, trying to push your body impossibly closer to his.
“Fuck,” he whispers, pinning his hips to yours. You can feel him oh so clearly, hard and twitching against your thigh. “Can we…?”
Your stomach flips. “We shouldn’t,” you breathe, trying not to think too hard about the way his quiet whine of protest slips down your throat. “You know we shouldn’t.”
He doesn’t say anything in response.
He just pushes his lips harder against yours, sucking gently on your lip and putting all his energy into making your brain go staticky and numb.
And then he says it.
“Say my name, Y/n.”
You shiver, heart jumping when you hear how your own name sounds against your mouth.
“‘Kaashi,” you whisper, desperate. “‘Kaashi, we have to sto-”
His voice is hard, jagged and sharp and laced with the kind of begging that makes you want to melt.
“My name, Y/n.”
Your heart stops in your chest. You pull away, looking up at him carefully. His face is flushed, breath ragged and full of alcohol, and his gaze is cloudy, like he knows he’s not thinking straight. His eyes flick between yours once, twice, and then down to your mouth.
“Please.”
You feel yourself break for him.
“Keiji…”
He shudders, his exhale mixed with a moan. You turn him slowly, pressing his back against the wall and leaning up into his face, your fingers carded through the hair at the base of his neck. He drops his head back against the tile, eyelids fluttering shut, and you swoop in, pressing your lips to his pulse.
“Oh, God,” he breathes, hands clamped tight to your waist. You push your hips against his, moving until you get what you want. His cock slides between your thighs, and you shiver against him, sucking on the spot where his pulse jumps. You don’t let him in, because you know you shouldn’t do more than this, but you can’t help that your eyes roll back in your head when he rocks his hips forward.
“Fuck,” he whispers, barely audible over the water. “Your thighs are so soft, Y/n.”
You drag your lips over the column of his throat, his wet skin chilled on your warm tongue. “Keiji,” you whisper against the shell of his ear. “We’re not supposed to be doing this.”
“I know,” he groans, slipping his cock between your thighs again and again and panting at the feeling. “I know, fuck-”
You lift your lips to his, not quite making contact. “We’re not supposed to be doing this, either.”
He nods, lips brushing against yours while he fucks your thighs. “I know.”
“But?”
He breathes out shakily, and you feel his cock twitch. He’s close.
He presses his lips to yours weakly, moaning when you kiss him back. “You fucked me up, Y/n.” Your heart jumps, and you hold tight to him when he slots his lips against yours again. “You fucked me up,” he whispers against you. “I can’t go back.”
Your soul sings for him.
“Come for me, Keiji,” you whisper. “For me. Please.”
His head smacks back against the tile when he moans, loud enough that you need to clamp your hand over his mouth. He spills onto your thighs, warm in a way that makes your head spin.
“Thank you,” he whispers against your palm. You just lean your forehead on his chest and stare down at your thighs, chest heaving unevenly while you watch the evidence of him wash away.
There’s a twinge of guilt in your chest.
You look up at him, examining his face. “‘Kaashi?”
He smiles against your hand, breathing deep. When your hand falls away, he meets your eyes.
They’re completely clear.
Relief hits you like a truck. “You aren’t drunk.”
He just shakes his head.
Nerves hit you just as hard.
You swallow. “So, when you asked if we could…?”
He just purses his lips and breaks eye contact.
You kind of want to kiss him again.
–
It doesn’t last long.
—
You wake to your alarm at 6am, groggy and angry from less than four hours of sleep. You slap around the bedside table, eyes half-closed, searching for your phone without success. It’s only when an arm – warm and close and familiar – stretches past you to the table that you remember you’re not alone.
You turn, your body betraying you and shuffling close to Akaashi without permission. He breathes a laugh into your hair while he turns the alarm off, and then you feel him, strong and solid, pull you to his chest.
“We have to get up,” he murmurs.
“Don’ wanna.”
“What, then, are you just gonna stay here all day?” He says it like it’s absurd, but his arm is curling around your waist like he means to do just that.
You run your fingers down his bare torso, his skin warm on your forehead. “Maybe.”
Nails drag down your spine gently. “Yeah? Am I invited?” His voice is weak, nervous.
Warmth spreads across your face, and you burrow further into him. It’s not close enough. “Guess it wouldn’t be very fun to stay by myself.”
His fingers splay across your skin, possessive and shameless. “Tempting.” He breathes a sigh and, with great effort, peels you off of him. “But we have networking to do.”
You groan but give in, following him out of bed and through the motions of getting ready. You brush your teeth at the same time and get dressed at the same time and fix your hair at the same time. And you avoid meeting each other’s eyes in the bathroom mirror, because you don’t want to think about how he puts his cologne on while you do your makeup, and you don’t want to think about how he watches you bend over to get close to the glass. How he studies your mannerisms, the ones that you’re not even conscious of.
But then you do glance at him in the mirror, because a dark spot under his ear catches your eye.
“Uh oh,” you snicker, examining him. “You can’t go out there like that.”
He visibly warms but cranes his neck, studying the hickey you’d given him last night. “You love to watch me suffer.” It’s not a question.
You just dig through your makeup bag, beaming. “C’mere, you little slut.”
The grip of his hands on your waist is a warning. “What was that?” he says, turning you in place. “Didn’t quite catch it.”
You just smile up at him and pat the sink. “The lady requests assistance.”
He snorts, muttering ‘the lady’s a pain in my ass’ under his breath as he lifts you onto the counter. And then he steps in, pushing your skirt up your thighs so you can part them easier for him. His fingers dig into your skin, and your thighs dig into his hips. You let his hands wander while you apply concealer to his skin, holding your breath and just feeling. Feeling as his nails scratch against your thighs, as his fingertips skate across the small of your back, as his breath warms the skin of your throat, because he still has to bend a little despite the boost he’d given you.
Your skin is covered in goosebumps by the time you cap the tube of concealer, but you don’t mention his affection, only staying right where you are and breathing him in.
“All done,” you whisper, eyes closed.
You feel his breath again, falling over your lips.
“Thanks,” he whispers back.
You’re not strong enough to resist him.
“Can I kiss you?”
A moment passes that’s too long – too heavy – to mean nothing.
You open your eyes, meeting his. He looks surprised, and his ears are pink, and he’s just standing there examining you.
You don’t know what to make of the look on his face, but his lack of response is making your stomach drop in dread.
When your gaze finds his, he clears his throat. “Y/n,” he starts, wavering. “I-”
Both of your phones chirp with texts at the same time.
Whatever he’d just been about to admit is gone. He digs into his pocket for his phone.
You stare at the side of his face, blinking rapidly. What was that?
Akaashi combs his fingers through his hair. “Looks like everyone else is at breakfast.”
“Okay. Uhm-” You swallow. “What were you… saying?”
“Oh-” He pockets his phone and steps back. Steps away. Looks away. “Nothing.”
Nothing good.
You push back the sting, knowing now that you’d gone too far. Wondering how much damage you’d just caused. If there’s time to fix it.
“Okay,” you mumble, sliding off the counter and rushing from the bathroom without looking at him. You hear him follow behind you. “I still have some stuff to get ready, so you can go first.”
He pauses near the bed. “You seem pretty ready… I can wait-”
“Are we still filming tonight?” you ask, short and clipped and without looking at him, because you’re not sure you can. You just dig through your suitcase mindlessly.
When he doesn’t answer, you glance over your shoulder.
He looks hurt.
He looks hurt?
He blinks the look away and turns to put his shoes on. “Yeah. If you want.”
If you still want to, even though I won’t kiss you.
Even though I kissed you last night.
Your head starts to pound, frustration tight in your throat. You don’t know what’s happening. What the difference is between last night and right now. He hadn’t been drunk. You’d seen it yourself.
Then maybe he regretted it.
What could you possibly have done between last night and now to make him regret it?
To make him change his mind?
You feel as he hovers near the door. “So-”
“See you at breakfast,” you cut in, still digging through your clothes. Your eyes burn and your chest hurts and you feel the pain so plainly in your skin that you know even a glance at your face would be enough for him to see it, too.
He doesn’t say anything.
The click of the door closing behind him hurts just as much.
You give yourself one minute to cry. Not hard, because you’ll mess up your makeup, but you let a few tears fall and a few ragged breaths free from that knot in your chest. And then you straighten and push your shoulders back, shaking it off.
There’s no time for this. You can’t afford the time it takes to spiral. You have to be on your best behavior today; you have to be your best self.
“Not now. Just make it to the end of the weekend.”
Just two days.
–
Keiji feels nauseous.
He’d almost told you. He’d almost told you how he feels. About you and the arrangement and his dreams and what he wants so desperately whenever you’re in the room and especially when you’re not.
But then he’d been interrupted and he hadn’t been able to recover the courage that had flashed through him when you’d asked to kiss him.
So he’d chickened out.
And then you had become cold. Cold in a way that had felt like whiplash, because you’d just asked to kiss him – you’d shown him something that wasn’t supposed to be there, and he’d loved it. But it had gone away before he could hold onto it, and then you’d-
You’d asked about filming. About the arrangement. He hadn’t known what to make of that, other than it had felt like a knife under the ribs, deep and meant to shut him out.
He’s confused. And he’s hurt. And he doesn’t know anymore if he should tell you how he feels, because now it doesn’t feel right.
Now it feels like you’d just had a lapse in judgment and then changed your mind.
Why had you changed your mind? What did he do?
He tries to get your attention throughout the day, tries to find your eyes. Tries to find the wall that had formed between you.
But you never give it to him.
He doesn’t like it. Hates it, in fact. He’s gotten used to having your undivided attention, your gaze unwavering on his. He hates not having it.
It’s probably obvious in the way he carries himself, tight and stressed and unapproachable. He does his best to network, smiling at all the right times and shaking all the right hands, but he can’t help that he searches for you in the crowd every four seconds. He can’t help that his eyes flick to you whenever you move across the room or meet a new person. He can’t help the shame that floods him when his advisor catches him staring, when the man just lifts a knowing brow and leaves him to his pining.
Why won’t you talk to him? You’re never like this with him. When you’re upset, you fight and scream and claw at the problem until there’s nothing to do but address it. You wear your heart on your sleeve, and he’s gotten so fucking good at reading you.
He can’t read this. You won’t let him.
The poster session starts halfway through the day, and he lingers close to you, knowing well enough that he looks like a freak. Knowing that it looks like he’s either babysitting you or guarding you, and knowing that neither one makes him look good.
You finally cut him a sharp glance, because the dark cloud over his head is starting to drive people away, and he realizes he’s risking so much more than his own image. He’s risking yours.
He reels back like he’s been hit, like there’s some Phantom-Keiji yanking him away from you – because at some point in the last week or so, his avoidant personality had become an anxious one, and today is not the day to address it.
So he wanders aimlessly around the other posters, nodding along dutifully at the presentations and pretending he’s absorbing any of this. He should be. This is good for him.
But so are you.
He rounds a corner, unintentionally circling back to you.
When he lifts his eyes, his heart stops.
So, you’re saying that if someone from the conference tries to hit on her, maybe wants to take her back to his room…
You’re talking to a guy from Osaka, a bright smile on your face and a pleased flush rising on your cheeks. You’re pointing at your poster, eyes twinkling and your gestures full of pride, but the only thing Keiji can see is your body language. Open and welcoming, so deeply interested in whatever he has to say. Interested in him in a way Keiji’s never seen before.
Why has he never seen this before?
The guy walks away, and you catch Keiji staring.
That you’d be alright with that?
A beat passes between you, one where you’re examining him, confusion and frustration clear on your face.
Keiji turns, not afraid to admit that he’s running away from you.
–
“What’s your problem?” you demand, pushing into the hotel room after Akaashi.
He’s been weird all day, avoidant and then anxious and then all but stalking you during your session. And then avoidant again at dinner, sitting as humanly far from you as possible and refusing to glance in your direction even once. Even after confusing the hell out of you all day.
“What?” he mumbles, distracted. Or pretending to be. You can’t tell today.
“Why are you being so weird today?”
“I’m not-”
“Akaashi!” You stomp your foot. It’s not your best moment, even you can admit that. But this version of him – this version of you – is foreign now. This is the version of your relationship that once was. You thought that version had gone away, shoved aside by sleeping in the same bed and showering at the same time and kissing like it means something.
Frankly, you find the old version annoying.
He does too, apparently.
His tie is thrown on the bed, and he whips around, undoing the top button of his shirt while he glares at you.
“What were you and that guy talking about?”
You blink, thrown off balance. “What guy?”
“The guy!” He throws his arms out, gesturing to the door like that means literally anything at all. “The guy, the guy! The one from your poster! The Osaka guy!” His hands are shaking, and his eyes are sharp when he scowls at you, but you can see that he’s trying not to freak out.
You don’t understand why.
“Do you realize how many guys I talked to today, Akaashi?” When he only glares, you roll your eyes. “Don’t be a child! You know what I’m talking about-”
“What I know is that you were looking at this guy like he fucking lit up the world for you, and then you sat with him at dinner!”
Oh. That guy. The guy from Osaka who works on similar research and had been complimenting your recent publication.
You blink slowly at Akaashi. “You mean the guy who read my publication and was engaging in my research with genuine interest and questions that I was excited to answer?” All he does is stare, and you stare back, irritation flooding your system. “You mean the guy who asked if he could cite my dissertation before it was finished? The guy who only seemed interested in my work, not in me personally? That guy, Akaashi?”
He looks away, blinking rapidly. Opens his mouth, closes it. Looks around the room like it’ll tell him what to say to fix this.
“I-” he starts, shaking his head. “Sorry. I’m… not handling this well-”
“No, you’re really not,” you bark. “And I have no idea why. I’ve never given you any fucking reason to be jealous-”
“I’m not fucking jealous,” he snaps, eyes alight. A wall’s just come up, and you don’t know why. “I’m not jealous, Y/n. You can do whatever the fuck you want.”
“Anything I want?” you laugh. “Those aren’t the rules at all-”
“I meant talking to him.” Akaashi’s anger peaks, his breath catching hard in his chest. “You can talk to whoever you want-”
“Of course I can, you have no say in who I talk to!”
“I didn’t say that!”
“Well, you sure as hell implied it-”
“And you implied that I was giving you permission to fuck him!”
He’s in your face now. Or maybe you’re in his. It doesn’t matter. The hurt in your eyes is the same as his, things unsaid that will continue to be unsaid.
A moment of silence, and then his voice, wavering and angry and whispered – and hurt?
“Tell me you won’t talk to him again.”
You scowl. You hate not being able to read him. It feels like before. Before everything. “I’m not ruining a professional connection just because you’re insecure, Akaashi.”
His nostrils flare. “Is that your answer, then?”
“I’ll answer you when you’re reasonable enough to talk to.”
He just pushes past you, disappearing from the room.
You stand in the middle of the room, tearing up.
–
“You can’t just avoid her.”
Keiji frowns, knocking back the shot. He starts to wave the bartender down for another, but Bokuto’s hand catches his wrist and shoves it back down.
“You’ve had enough,” he mumbles, unusually quiet tonight.
Maybe it’s because Keiji had called him when he was already four shots in, hiccuping and choked up. Stumbling over his words, heavy on his tongue and trapped in his throat.
“-fucked it up, Bo-”
“-come get me, please?”
“-think I love her-”
“-so fucking scared, Bo-”
Think I love her.
Keiji snatches his hand from his friend’s grasp, successfully managing to wave and signal for two more.
They taste like gasoline.
So fucking scared.
Think I love her.
“God,” he rasps, shaking his head when the sixth goes down. “That shit burns.”
“What’re you trying to do, burn a hole in your throat?” Bokuto’s hand is firmer now, Keiji’s bones aching when he strains against the larger man. “Your talk is at nine in the morning, ‘Kaashi. You need to stop.”
Fucked it up.
Think I love her.
“Just one more,” he all but begs. Bokuto just shakes his head, shoving a glass of water under his nose. “Just one more, Bo.”
“No. Cut it out, Akaashi. I mean it.” Bo’s pout betrays how soft his resolve is, but Keiji doesn’t push it.
“Fine,” he mumbles.
“Talk to me.”
“I said what I had to say.”
Bokuto just hums. “You’re not usually this hardheaded.” Keiji doesn’t respond, only feeling shame as Bokuto examines him. “Did you mean what you said on the phone?”
Think I love her.
Keiji shuts his eyes, sighing. His head is spinning, and the idea of going back to the hotel room is haunting him.
“Can I stay with you tonight?”
Bokuto just watches him, not speaking for a long while. Long enough for the spiral in Keiji’s brain to end and start again.
“I don’t know that Y/n will feel good about you not going back to the room,” is all he says.
Keiji feels the fight leave his body.
“I know.”
“You know she won’t.”
“I know.”
“You know she’s probably up there, upset and confused and angry because you won’t explain.”
He knows. Keiji knows perfectly well the state he’d left you in. He’d just been too caught up in himself to care.
He’s such an asshole.
“Probably shouldn’t stay with you tonight, huh…”
Bokuto just huffs out a laugh, standing. “C’mon. Let’s get you back.” He lifts Keiji out of his seat easily, slinging an arm around him and all but carrying him to the elevator. “Make sure you take painkillers before you fall asleep. You’re gonna be a nightmare tomorrow.”
–
Akaashi doesn’t come back until one in the morning. You’re pretending to be asleep, heart racing and emotion spiking when the lock beeps under his key card. He stumbles in, mumbling, “Yeah, thanks, Bo. I will.” And then he trips over his feet, swearing under his breath when he runs into the dresser.
You listen as he strips from his clothes and lets it fall to the floor. And you try not to jump when he suddenly flops down into bed, jostling you.
“Fuck,” he breathes. You’re hit with a cloud of alcohol, and your anger spikes again. You’d been up here crying your eyes out after a fight, all while he was downstairs getting trashed? The night before one of the most important presentations of his grad school career?
You sit up and turn, glaring down at him. He jumps, eyes wide and glossy when he stares up at you.
“Jesus,” he whispers. “I didn’ know you were awake.”
“You woke me up.” He didn’t, but you’re feeling mean. “You’re fumbling around in the dark like a fucking idiot, and you’re trashed out of your mind. Of course you woke me up.”
“‘m not trashed,” he argues weakly. And then he reaches for you. “Y/n, I’m sorry-”
“Don’t-” you say, blocking his hand with a gentle smack. “I don’t wanna hear it. You were completely out of line earlier.”
“I know,” he whines, scooting close. “I know, baby, I’m sorry.” You fight a flush, trying to remember your anger, but it’s hard when he’s looking at you like you’re his world. “I’m sorry, baby. I got jealous.”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, no shit. I didn’t even do anything.”
“You didn’. Y’r right. I got scared.”
“I don’t care. Get your emotions in order.”
He frowns. “You were the one ignorin’ me all day. And you were weird this morning. You get your emotions in order.”
Your face scrunches, heart panging painfully. Weird?
Is that how he feels?
Your voice wavers. “I’m trying. Are you?”
“‘m doing my best,” he says. It’s sharp, like he’s trying to fight, but his words are slurring together too much. You don’t have it in you to argue with him when he’s like this.
“Just go to bed, Akaashi. Take medicine and go to bed. You’re gonna fuck up your presentation at this rate.”
“No, I’m not-”
You don’t answer him, just rolling over and facing away from him.
He settles after a long moment and a deflated sigh.
You don’t sleep well.
–
When you wake on Sunday morning, dread and anxiety are already seeping into your bones. You peek at your phone – just after seven – and then close your eyes, wondering what time Akaashi left the room-
The door to the bathroom opens, steam pouring out.
Fuck.
He stands in the room for a second. You can feel his eyes burning into you. You swallow your pride and let yourself look at him.
He looks like shit. There are bags under his eyes, and he’s standing like he’s unsure if you’re about to kick him out.
“Are you hungover?” is all you ask. He just nods, moving to his suitcase so he can get dressed. “Good. That’s what you get.” You wince. You’d wanted it to be a joke, but even you can hear how it sounds.
He sighs but says nothing. You watch him, watch the way he holds himself. Watch the water drip off of his hair and onto his skin. Watch as he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, eyelashes long and watery and caught in the golden light coming in from the window.
He looks away without saying anything. You just roll over and bury your face in the pillow, dread and anxiety and now guilt. But there’s something else. Discomfort with how things had gone last night.
He gets ready in silence, and you let him. You can’t feel your toes or your fingers, and that discomfort is gnawing at you.
Is it pathetic to admit you miss him?
His belt clinks as he does it up, and his cologne – subtle, wonderful as ever – wafts over you.
Something about him being about to leave spurs you into action.
“Akaashi, I-” You sit up. He’s not looking at you. You purse your lips. “I don’t like that you left after our fight. That you left and got drunk and didn’t talk to me properly.”
He’s facing away from you, so you can’t see his expression, but his shoulders do tense up.
You swallow, watching as he starts packing his backpack. “I don’t like that you left me here when we were having a problem. I don’t like not addressing things. I should have done things differently, too, but I don’t like being left alone like that.” That desperation – the one that was once good and then so fucking bad, the one that his presence alone can fix – is back full-force.
He’s leaving without talking to you. He’s putting on his shoes, even though he can hear you.
It feels like something’s broken. Something that can’t be fixed.
When he slings his bag over his shoulder, you break, too.
“Akaashi Keiji!” You throw your fists down on the comforter, throwing a tantrum like a child.
He turns, shocked, and you see it. How torn he looks, the frustration and hurt in his eyes, echoed in your voice.
Your lip wobbles. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
He swallows. “Me, neither.”
“I don’t like being ignored by you. Don’t ignore me when I’m talking to you.”
He just blinks, and then his lips drag down in a deep frown. “I don’t like being ignored by you, either. Don’t ignore me.” His voice is low, like he’s trying to keep his emotion in check.
The air between you is taut, the braided cord tying you to him more than a little frayed.
“We can be in a fight,” you start, eyes stinging and voice wobbling dangerously. “You can be mad at me, because I’m still mad, too. But acknowledge my boundary, Keiji. You have to.” You won’t be able to take it if he can’t.
He just blinks down at you, jaw working as he examines you. He looks as fragile as you feel. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry I left you here.” He looks away and then catches your eyes again, shifting his weight awkwardly. “I’m sorry I acted like that yesterday. It wasn’t fair.”
You steel your nerves. “I’m not going to apologize for doing what was best for my career.”
“I don’t expect you to. I was being a dick.”
“You were.”
“I know.”
You can’t tell if the cord is mending itself or ripping more.
“I’m sorry I was so reactive. I should have been calmer,” you try.
“Don’t apologize for that. I was being unreasonable.”
You don’t say anything, just looking away. You want to ask why. Why he acted like that. Why he was so unreasonable.
But you can’t bring yourself to do it. So you just whisper ‘okay’ and watch him finish tying his shoes.
“Good luck,” you mumble.
His head shoots up, and he stands, alarmed. “You’re not gonna be there?”
“N-no, I am-” you start, eyes wide. “Of course I am.”
“You won’t miss it?”
You shake your head dumbly. “No, of course not.”
“Even though we’re in a fight?”
“Akaashi,” you breathe, half-laugh and half-exasperation. “No. I will not miss the biggest talk of your career just because we’re in a fight.”
“But I was a piece of shit during your poster session.”
You shrug. “Maybe, but that guy from Osaka?” You watch him fail to push down a grimace, your own expression a little smug. “Turns out his advisor is looking for a psycholinguist post-doc. And I got to meet her.”
Akaashi stares down at you, processing. “You have an in for a job?”
You just give another shrug. “Nothing’s concrete, but-”
“Y/n.” He’s staring like he’s seeing you for the first time. “Holy shit. This is huge. Are you serious?”
You grin, pulling your knees up to your chest. “She’s sticking around Tokyo for a couple weeks. She wants to get lunch.”
“Y/n, you-” He laughs in disbelief, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this. This is insane.”
“We’re in a fight!” you argue, unable to hide your flush of excitement. “You’re not supposed to be happy for me.”
“Too fucking bad,” he says, unable to smother his smile. He turns to the door, calling back as he heads out. “Looks like I need to impress Osaka today.”
He’s gone before you can piece together what he’s implying.
–
Impress Osaka is exactly what Akaashi Keiji does.
His talk goes perfectly. His presentation timing is perfect, down to the second, and his Q&A session is impeccable, confidence and prestige rolling off of him like it’s natural.
The you of a few months ago hated this Akaashi Keiji, genius incarnate.
The you of today can only stare, impressed beyond belief and chest swelling with some emotion you can’t place.
Maybe it has something to do with the acknowledgements he’d given, your name stated right after your advisor’s, the words ‘for her invaluable contributions of feedback, data, and a healthy humbling of my ego’ burned into your brain.
Maybe it’s the way he’d looked right into your eyes as he’d said it.
Maybe it’s the way your advisor had leaned over, whispering “Can I presume that the war is over?”
It’s almost enough to forget the line Akaashi had drawn in the sand yesterday morning, putting distance between you.
Almost.
The sting is still there, hurt and confused that he can manage to both turn away from you and still act like a jealous boyfriend.
Things are not alright between you, but you can still be proud of him. You are proud of him.
–
“God, it’s all finally over!” Yachi stretches her arms high above her head, her body slumped against yours in the booth at the bar. It’s decently crowded in here, the last night of the conference always a social hour. The reward of finally being done, another year successfully come and gone.
The boys are at the bar, sipping whiskey and laughing about nothing.
You watch Akaashi idly, your eyes drawn to him without effort. He’s more muted than Kuroo and Bokuto, but you can tell he’s enjoying himself.
You just smile, a little bittersweet, and lie your head atop Yachi’s. “I’m so tired, ‘Toka.”
She just sips at her cocktail. “Something’s weird with you guys. Weirder than usual.”
You sigh. “I asked if I could kiss him yesterday morning. Before breakfast.”
She jerks up, jostling you. Your drink sways dangerously in your hand.
“What?” she half-whispers. “And then?”
“And then,” you laugh. “He rejected me.”
She just blinks. Processes. “There’s no way.” When you shrug, not sure what else to say, she presses. “What exactly did he say?”
Your brow furrows. “I don’t know, I guess nothing? He looked surprised and was just staring at me. And then he tried to tell me something, but Bokuto texted about breakfast. And then when I tried to ask him what he was saying-” You put your drink down, a little rougher than intended. “-he said ‘Oh. Nothing’.” Your imitation of him is bad and laced with frustration. “That’s it. Just-” You frown, staring down at your hands. “Just nothing.”
Yachi thinks for a moment, staring at you and then glancing over at Akaashi. “I don’t really think that’s a rejection, babe.”
You meet her gaze. “What? Of course it is.”
She shakes her head. “Just sounds like he chickened out of something.”
“Yeah, a rejection.”
“Or,” she presses. “Not a rejection. A confession.”
You don’t understand. “Why would that have been a confession? He was just standing there looking at me. He didn’t seem happy or anything-”
“Yeah, because you guys have all these fucked up rules,” she jokes, almost like it’s obvious. “Guy like him? Genius grad student who’s used to knowing what’s happening all the time? He was probably standing there overthinking, Y/n.”
The knot of anxiety ties itself up nice and pretty in your chest. “But-I mean-”
You hadn’t considered that. Of course you hadn’t fucking considered that.
Yachi watches you closely, and then takes a breath, like she knows you’d probably gone and done something stupid. “What did you do after that?”
You stare right through her.
She stares back, understanding washing over her expression. “Y/n… What did you say?”
“I asked him if we were still filming something this weekend,” you say blandly, still staring right through her. “Because I… thought I had to backtrack and recover.”
She sinks low in the booth. You just stare down at the table.
“Y/n,” she starts slowly. “I love you. You know I love you, right?”
You nod.
She nods back. “You fucked that up. Real bad.”
You nod again. “I see that now.”
She leans in. “You know you have to fix it, right?”
“Fuck,” you whisper. And then you meet her eyes. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” she breathes. “Fuck.”
“Okay. Okay,” you start, gathering your things. “Okay. I’ll just go over there and ask him to talk.”
“Good plan.”
“And then I’ll-”
Fuck.
You stare at the back of Akaashi’s head, just like you’d done earlier. But he isn’t looking at Kuroo or Bokuto or Tsukishima anymore.
He’s in the middle of a conversation with that girl. That girl from two days ago.
And she’s looking up at him with those siren eyes, leaning close and twirling her hair around her finger.
And he’s talking back. Nodding, shrugging, smiling.
“Y/n.” There’s a hand on your shoulder, but you barely feel it. Yachi just shoves you toward the end of the booth. “Y/n, go. Go now.”
You stumble out, somehow making your way across the room to the bar. Eyes locked on Akaashi’s face, on the way he meets her eyes and smiles when she does.
You can’t feel your fingers or toes or anything but your own heartbeat, pounding and loud and burning.
She puts her hand on his arm.
You’re burning.
You don’t even realize that Akaashi is shaking her off of him. You don’t realize, as you near them, that he’s responding politely but not warmly, that his smile isn’t flirtatious or sweet or anything close to interested.
You don’t realize any of it. And, frankly, you don’t care.
You step between them, staring right at her. Eyeing her up and down. “Can I help you?”
She lifts an eyebrow, clearly affronted. “Excuse me?”
“Just wondering if there’s something you needed from my boyfriend.” You feel Akaashi shift behind you, but you keep your eyes on her. “If not, you can move along.”
You’re not used to this – this feeling that sears through you. This unending jealousy, this possessive heat that’s almost unbearable. You can’t bring yourself to care that you’re coming off rude, that you’re being confrontational in a crowded bar. You want her gone. Now.
She steps back, taking you in. And then she looks over your head at Akaashi. You want to rip her face off her body.
“You’re with her? Really?”
Akaashi’s chest presses into your back when he leans closer. His hand slides around your middle, pulling you back against him. “I think she was pretty clear. And also probably the nicest she’s gonna be about it.”
The girl scoffs, straightening and turning to leave. But then she pauses, reaches over the bar for a pen. She scribbles on a napkin and slides it to him. You know without looking that it’s her number.
“In case you get bored,” is all she says. And then she’s gone.
Her face isn’t enough. You think she’d look better without a head.
“Boyfriend, huh?” Akaashi murmurs behind you. You see him drag the napkin toward himself, and you turn, still angry.
“What the fuck, Akaashi?”
He meets your eyes, playing with the edge of the napkin, his expression deceptively innocent. “What? We were just talking.” At your rage, evident in everything about you, he leans close. “That’s allowed, isn’t it?”
Behind him, you see Bokuto starting to interject, because he’d always hated when you and Akaashi would fight. Thankfully, Kuroo and Tsukishima both grab him and hold him far away from you two.
“Absolutely the fuck not,” Kuroo mutters.
You’re grateful for them, but right now your judgment is clouded. Right now, all you care about is him.
“You know it’s different.”
His brow furrows high on his forehead. “I don’t fucking know anything anymore, Y/n. None of this is making sense anymore. Things were good, and then suddenly, they weren’t.”
You breathe out, frustrated. “I know. I fucked up. I misunderstood.” You lean into his face and lower your voice. “But let me make something clear right now, so that you don’t misunderstand. You are mine, Akaashi Keiji. Mine.”
His lips part in surprise, and he starts to whisper your name, but you’re not done. “And no one else can have you, ever. Do I make myself clear?”
His eyes flick over your face rapidly, taking you in. Taking in the resolve in your eyes, the finality in your glare.
He slips the napkin between his fingers, glancing down at the digits written on it.
You inhale sharply. “Akaashi-”
He rips it in half, and then in half again, his face neutral. And then he drops the shreds in his whiskey glass, watching the liquor wash the ink away.
When his eyes meet yours, there’s a warmth in them that you hadn’t realized you’d missed so much.
“You made yourself clear.”
Air fills your lungs. You hadn’t been breathing.
His fingers wrap around your wrist, and suddenly you’re being marched across the bar to the door.
“We’re never gonna see them again,” you hear Tsukishima mutter.
Akaashi moves through the hotel and to the elevator bay without a word. You watch his back as you’re dragged along, heart pounding in your ears.
As soon as the elevator doors close behind you, you’re pressed up against the wall.
He tastes like whiskey and desperation.
You’re probably giving it back tenfold.
“You misunderstood?” he mumbles against your lips. “What the hell could you have possibly misunderstood?”
“Shut up, Akaashi,” you growl, fisting his hair in your hands and kissing him again. “You’re such a fucking know-it-all.”
“Not with you,” he pants, lifting you by the thighs and pinning you to the wall with his hips. He bites down on your bottom lip, sucking hard. “You make me feel like a fucking idiot.”
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open, but he doesn’t put you down. He just stumbles down the hall with you in his arms, pressing you up against the wall every few feet and kissing you like he keeps forgetting what he’s supposed to be doing.
“I can’t think straight when you’re around,” he mumbles, your back against one wall.
And then another. “Can’t think when you’re not around, either.”
Another. “Fucking hate it.”
Another. “You make me feel pathetic.”
Against the door of your own room, all breath and panting and a slight whimper that echoes behind his words. “I’m so fucking pathetic for you.”
“Good,” you whine, clinging to him and pushing your mouth against his. “Tell me it’s only me, Keiji. Please.”
He groans, slipping his hands under your dress and grabbing fistfuls of you, anywhere he can. “I told you already.” Your underwear start to slide down your thighs, and you’re distinctly aware that you’re still in the hallway. “I told you. You fucked me up,” he chokes out, fingers hooked tight into your panties. “You ruined me, Y/n. I’m yours.”
You tear up, emotion overcoming you. Your eyes burn, and the tears flow over, and you know he can feel the way your body trembles. You know he can taste the salt on his tongue.
You know he does, because it makes him moan.
You’ve never loved him more.
You pull away and lean your head back, taking him in. His lips are swollen and red, and his face is flushed. And his eyes are on yours, taking you in, too. And you can’t help but feel good, because the sight of your tear-stricken face is making him harder than he already is.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Tell me you’re mine, too. Tell me this is mine. Please.”
“Take me inside, Keiji,” you whisper, pushing your lips against his again. “Make me yours for good.”
The door feels better against your back from inside the room.
Maybe it’s because you know you’re alone now, finally.
Or maybe it’s because Akaashi loses himself when you flip the deadbolt shut.
He drags you away from the door, only to slam you against the wall. It stings, but you barely notice. Even when you make a noise of discomfort, even when he apologizes against your mouth, you barely notice. You just force him to set you on our feet and then start pushing him through the bedroom, your mouth attached to his throat.
His pulse pounds against your tongue. “Where are we-ngh-” He inhales sharply when you shove him past the bed. When his legs hit the armchair in the corner, your hands drop from his chest to the front of his slacks.
“Please, ‘Kaashi,” you whisper, fingers working the belt free and then focusing on the zipper. He moans quietly against your ear. “Please let me have this.”
“Have what-”
The sound of his belt hitting the floor echoes off the walls behind you.
You shove him down into the chair and drop to your knees.
He gasps quietly, trying to straighten, but your plant your hands on his thighs and lean up into his face.
“Y/n, this isn’t-”
“Keiji,” you breathe, pushing your lips against his lazily. “Let me have this.”
He kisses you back. “I don’t want you to be disappointed. I get in my head.” He’s protesting, but it’s quiet and weak. He wants this as much as you do.
“Just focus on me,” you coax. “Think about me, Keiji.”
“That’s all I do,” he says, his smile a little pathetic.
“Then think about this,” you say, kissing him while you slide your hand past the band of his boxers and wrap your hand around his cock. He shudders, and you press a kiss to that spot under his ear that you like so much. “Think about making me cry like this.”
His cock twitches in your hand, and you smile against his skin, because he’s letting out a shaky ‘Fuck’ against your shoulder.
You settle back on your knees and press a kiss to his thigh, eyeing him from where you are. “You wanna make me cry on it, Keiji? Wanna fuck my mouth until I cry?”
His fingers find the back of your head. “You’re so fucking mean,” he grunts, glaring down at you.
You run your tongue along the underside of his cock, smiling with your mouth open when he tangles his fingers through your hair. Smiling when he shivers, when his heated glare tracks your tongue until he can’t anymore. Until he can’t help but let his head fall back, because you’re wrapping your lips around him and bobbing your head.
“Agh-fuck-” he chokes, his chest heaving. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-”
You take more of him, feeling the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. You back off, breathing heavily every time he slips out of your mouth. You beam up at him, and then you pout teasingly.
“You don’t wanna watch, Keiji?”
He groans, not even opening his eyes. His fingers tighten in your hair. “So fucking mean,” he breathes. “You’re such a fucking ass-nngh-”
You’ve got him halfway in your mouth when his hips move sharply. He hits the back of your throat, and you gag involuntarily.
You smile, knowing you got him.
“Fuck!” he yells, his fingers tangling tight and pushing your head down. You let him – let him push you down hard, let him make you gag, let him thrust harshly into your mouth. You let him fuck you like this, because it’s exactly what you’ve wanted for so long.
Your tears hit his thighs before anything else, and his head snaps up when they do. You’re still smiling, and although you can’t see his face, you can feel his reaction. His grip on your hair starts to hurt in a way that makes your heart pound, and his cock hardens more against your tongue.
“Holy shit,” he breathes. “Look at you. Look how fucking pretty you look like this.” You moan when he praises you, and the vibration makes him moan, too. “You’re so fucking pretty baby,” he starts, rambling aimlessly. “Look at you taking me like that. You like crying on my cock, Y/n?” When you nod, he suddenly remembers his grip on you, and he uses it. He bobs you up and down, smacking against the back of your throat every time and moaning when you gag. Moaning when you swallow and suck and slide your tongue against the vein on the underside.
He’s whispering to you the whole time.
“That’s my girl, so fucking cute when she cries-”
“You having fun, Y/n? You like turning me out like this?”
“You want me to come down your throat, baby? Can I?”
You nod vehemently, moaning when you feel his breath change and his hips stutter.
“Y/n, fuck,” he grunts, voice tight. “I’m really fucking close, are you sure-”
You knock his hand away from your head and sit up on your knees, taking him with your own pace and showing him just how desperate you are for it.
Akaashi Keiji looks so pretty when he comes down your throat.
His hands wrap around your biceps, anchoring himself, and his back arches, and his voice bounces off the walls when he chokes on your name.
You swallow everything, all but worshipping him.
You release him with a pop and watch, delighted, as he comes down, his breathing sharp and his eyes screwed shut and his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead.
“How was that?” you whisper, grinning.
He doesn’t respond, just dragging his nails along your skin gently.
You climb up into his lap, carding your fingers through hair at the base of his neck while you press kisses to his throat.
“Shut up,” he finally breathes against your ear. “You almost killed me.”
You laugh into the crook of his neck. And then you gasp, because he’s pushing your hips down against him. “What-”
“Take these off,” he says, hooking his fingers back into your panties. “Hurry up.”
“Already?” you cry, letting him drag them down your thighs. “You’re fucking insatiable.”
“Oh, so you want to stop?” he argues, pulling his hands right off of you. “You’re totally fine right now?”
He knows you’re not. Even without the whine that’s pulled out of you when he stops touching you, he knows.
You bury your face against his skin. “Take them off, Keiji. Please.”
When he slips inside of you, it’s without any resistance at all. You both moan into each other’s mouths, unable to focus on anything but the way he rocks you in his lap, demanding and a little desperate.
“Missed this,” he admits, kissing you. “Missed you. My pretty girl.”
You start to bounce, lifting yourself off and letting your hips drop freely, loving how his firm thighs feel against your soft ones. Loving how a moan gets trapped in his throat every time you drop.
But you start to get tired, knees already sore and thighs burning. You cling to him, rolling your hips.
“Need your help, Keiji,” you whine. “Need you, I can’t do it-”
The groan that rumbles through his chest and against yours is heated, and suddenly you’re up in the air, legs hooked over his elbows.
He lays you on the bed with as much delicacy as he can manage. It’s not much, because he’s too focused on pushing the tip of his cock against your entrance. “Need you to hold onto me, Y/n,” he grunts, sighing when he slides back in.
Your eyes roll back in your head at the feeling, and your nails dig into his back. “Make me cry, baby,” you whisper, holding tight. “Do whatever you want to me.”
“Fuck,” he bites, gripping the undersides of your thighs and prying you open for him.
You don’t remember much after that. Akaashi Keiji empties your mind, fucking you into the mattress and clamping his hand over your mouth when you scream for him. Fucking you only that much harder when tears stream down your face and you start to sob, your own name falling past his lips in a pretty mantra, again and again.
You don’t remember much, because he flips you over at some point, digging his fingers into your hip with one hand while shoving your face down into the mattress with the other. He fucks you just like that, just like you love, because he’d never forget what your favorite position is. He’d never forget it, because you cry harder like this, screaming and crying his name and nothing else.
You have nothing else.
Nothing else but-
“Keiji, Keiji, love you, Keiji-”
His hips stutter, falter, and then stop. You keep crying, unable to catch your breath, the blankets around your face soaked.
“What?” he pants. His breath is short and sharp, and you can feel how sweaty he is. “What did you say?”
You don’t respond, crying and whining because he stopped fucking you and you can’t take it anymore, why isn’t he fucking you-
“Y/n.” He yanks your head up by your hair. You moan helplessly, squeezing around his cock. “Y/n, what did you just say?”
“Love you, Keiji,” you pant, throat aching and eyes burning and heart pounding everywhere. Your chest, your throat, your ears, your toes. “Love you, love you, love you-”
He drops down over you, your head falling back onto the mattress when he lets you go. “Y/n, look at me.” You can barely open your eyes, but you do your best. “You mean that? You mean it, right?”
“Love you, Keiji,” you sigh, head spinning and body screaming for him because he still isn’t fucking you and you’re starting to lose your mind. “You love me too, right? You love me, Keiji? Need you to love me-”
“Fuck-”
His hips stutter against you, and his forehead drops to your shoulder, but thank god, because he’s starting to move again. His hands are on your hips and he’s pushing down into you, again and again and again.
“Yes,” he breathes, voice wavering. “Yes, fuck, I love you.” His pace picks up, and you’re being fucked into the mattress again, his grip so tight that the bruises he’s leaving are forming bruises on top. “Fuck, Y/n, I love you. I love you-”
“Promise, Keiji, promise,” you cry, blankets balled up in your white-knuckled grip. “Promise you love me, Keiji, make me yours, please-”
“You’re mine, baby, you’re mine forever. I love you, you’re mine-”
Your skin feels wet, and his skin does, too, and you’re distantly aware that you’re screaming, but you can’t feel anything but the way he fills you up. His voice is shaky, and he’s moaning ‘fuck, fuck, just like that, baby, just like that’ into your hair, and it’s only then that you realize it’s because you’re squirting while he comes inside of you.
And when he collapses on you, it’s with his hands wrapping around your wrists and his face in the crook of your neck and his cock still inside of you.
You fall asleep like that.
–
You only wake up because the sun’s in your face.
And also maybe because Akaashi is groaning into your hair.
“We’re so getting charged for this mess.”
You blink into the blankets, cold and warm at the same time.
“Why’m I wet?” you grumble. “‘s cold.”
He just laughs, arms wrapping around you. “See for yourself.”
“Don’t wanna. Everything hurts.”
His fingers push along your spine, hot on your chilled skin. “Too much?”
“It was perfect,” you mumble, smiling into the mattress. Your hands hurt, still over your head and buried in the blankets. “You’re perfect.”
His lips dance along your shoulder. “Do you… remember everything?”
“Nope.”
He stills. You turn your head to him, peering up at him. He looks stressed, so you decide to show him a little mercy.
“How many times did I say I love you?” you whisper, a little embarrassed.
He blinks, relaxing slightly. “Six.”
“You counted?”
“Yeah,” he admits, chewing on his lip. “How many times did you mean it?”
You smile, shy. “Probably ten.” When his brow furrows, your smile grows. “Said it more in my head.”
He just stares down at you, gaze tracing over your face. And then he leans in, lifting one of your arms gently and tucking himself under it. His nose brushes against yours.
“Say it again, then.”
You just push your mouth against his. “I love you, Keiji.”
His smile is small, but you see the way his eyes light up. “I love you, too.”
You sigh, relieved. And then you press your forehead to his. “I’m sorry. For misunderstanding what happened in the bathroom. I thought you were rejecting me when you didn’t respond.”
He blinks, and then he blinks again. “Oh. Fuck. I was busy freaking out.”
“So was I. I didn’t think. I’m sorry for pushing you away like that.”
He nods, kissing you again. “I’m sorry for talking to that girl to make you jealous.”
You lean away with a gasp. “I fucking knew it-”
He cups your jaw, dragging you back in. “Don’t forget you love me,” he laughs.
“You’re such an asshole,” you complain, despite letting him hold you tight and press his mouth to your skin. “Don’t do it again.”
“Promise. You made yourself clear,” he breathes, teasing.
You’re too tired to push him away.
–
When you leave the hotel, it’s with sheepish grins and a large tip left for the cleaning crew. And when you think you’re going to part ways, all he does is drag you in the other direction, taking you home with him. His home, where he fucks you slow, with your name whispered into your mouth and ‘I love you’s pressed into your skin. His home, which he only lets you leave two days later, when you argue that you can’t go to campus in repeat outfits, lest your advisor pull the two of you into his office for a nosy chat.
His home, which you return to that same night, takeout and a duffle bag in tow. Your keys on his dining table and your clothes in his closet and your body in his bed.
When you graduate six months later, it’s with two signed contracts at the same university in Osaka and a shared lease.
Two bedrooms, one that your friends help you decorate, along with the rest of your apartment.
The other, an office that they suspiciously never see the inside of.
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