#akaashi fluff

[akaashikeijisbeloved]

Akaashi is the kind of boyfriend who'd peel oranges for you absentmindedly. You're in the kitchen, telling him bout your day, and he'd just sit there on the dinner table, listening to you patiently and humming along, as he peels oranges for you. He'd feed you the orange slices in between.

[whenandfromanotherworld]

if you feel like falling, catch me on the way down.

akaashi x reader wc 2.1k

your reality had been beginning to spin and twist around risk and carelessness. when your hair blew in the wind you had wished it could take you. far away whispers written across coastal breezes that had more of a story than you ever would. you became one with the will of this world, cruel and unforgiving in nature. you had stopped trying, becoming a silent victim to your own mind.

it had not always been this way, although you were quiet and shy as a young girl, the severity of your compliance with life never reached this level. but things had changed, the weight of responsibilities running you dry of the fight.

so you let life take you, spin you and render you senseless to the motions. you stopped answering texts, never raised your hand in class, became unafraid of consequences and just, existed.

seasons passed, fall faded to winter and the joy of christmas only felt bitter on your tongue. you let snowflakes drink from your skin, the cold being more inviting than accepting your fate.

you allowed life to take you from the sidelines.

it’s not that you wanted to die, but you merely weren’t afraid of it anymore. spending so much time fearing the unknown, dreading the end, it becomes exhausting. but at what point does accepting our human truth just become dangerous?

the spring air is crisp and delicate on your fragile skin. it nips at your cheeks and leaves them red. you feel how dry your eyes become, but you still stare into the pale sky. the snow has melted, and the sunrise is light blue and pink. your sweatshirt itches at your skin, you won’t adjust it.

you have nothing to prove.

the concept of railroads becomes fixating. the idea of commercially transporting goods and textiles millions of miles per year, you almost wish you too could be so careless. careless enough to run your feet deep into the ground and make your presence known just as loud as the train horn. you wish you could take your baggage and know it was going somewhere it was wanted.

but this is not a dream-land, and real life doesn’t grant beggars their dying wish.

instead you spend your early mornings walking train tracks and balancing your weight on the metal beam. it’s easier than learning to balance your own emotions, anyway.

most mornings you do this, until something changes.

your eyes stay glued to your feet as they step in front of each other, the faint click of the rubber sole against metal rail.

but there’s another black sole, one that doesn’t belong to yours now meeting the tip of your shoe. strange, you think.

your careful eyes dart up, a pant leg, black and loose around its inhabitant. up more, until you meet two eyes that feel as if they will now summon the stars to listen to you.

his eyes are dark and forgiving, comforting all in one. they gaze at you, and his face is set in a sort of understanding that slowly eats away at the ice that has sat freezer burnt in your chest for months.

he doesn’t say anything, but you two just look at each other. you take a minute to allow yourself the pleasure of memorizing his features. you don’t interact with people very often anymore, and what an opportunity this was.

his stature was gentle, black hair loosely fitting his head and it cascaded just below his ears. his jawline sharp and defined, handsome and unwaveringly confident.

something within you tells you to run, to walk away from this. that people don’t just show up as miracles, but something deeper scratches at the bars guarded around your heart and begs you to stay.

the wind blares in your ears, and you can’t tell if it’s the breeze or a faint blush that makes your cheeks feel warmer. you can feel his gaze on your face.

neither of you say anything, is there a purpose in doing so? why is he here? are the two of you so different after all? is this where all lost souls find themselves when life derives itself to nothingness?

is he on the sidelines too?

silently, you perceive his hand draw out of his pocket. he unwraps his wired earbuds and pushes one into his own ear. you prepare yourself to now turn away and forget about this weird, star crossed interaction. but instead,

he outstretches the other side and offers it to you.

diligently, you take it. you ignore the way the pads of your fingers brushing against his palm makes him shiver. you try your best to ignore the way it makes you shiver too.

soft jazz comes to life through the playable track. not your usual go to, but for now it’s nice. you don’t know this strangers name, but maybe you don’t care. besides, you aren’t afraid. you haven’t been afraid for a very long time.

—

it isn’t until the sixth time of you meeting this mystery person that you find out his name. not because he offers it to you, but because he must’ve forgotten to take off his school badge before routinely meeting you now at the train stop.

you no longer step on the tracks, you tell yourself that it’s definitely not because he doesn’t, and you just follow suit. and now the choice of walking the tracks seems so abysmal and silly, the small bench in the train stop is much better, right.

you listen to a lot of music, and once you feel your eyes start to droop when the sun sets, he stands from his seat and walks away.

it’s an unspoken rule that you don’t speak, of course. and you’re not afraid of this, you don’t even question it. no part of you was normal at this point, so this simply doesn’t bother you.

but you do wonder, staring at his ID, who akaashi keiji is on the inside. and why he still shows up to exist alongside you every evening.

you haven’t wondered about something in a long time.

this odd arrangement continues like this for weeks, gaps on the weekend. you still go, but he doesn’t. the first weekend it worries you a little, but then you remember that you don’t worry, and the next weekend it is normal. he will come back on monday.

you’ve found that you start to notice small thinks about akaashi keiji in your silent time together.

you notice that when the wind becomes especially harsh, he crunches his nose and his eyes squint. you notice that he shuffles his head every so often to move the hair out of his eyes, you wonder if he gets hair cuts often. you wonder how much he cuts off, or if he ever ties it back.

but of all things, you notice the way that day by day, his pinky has become closer to touching yours beside the both of you. it never does, but you swear it gets closer every day.

it’s not like you don’t spend your waking hours wondering what it would be like to actually touch him, no.

you notice the way you blush when he accidentally makes eye contact with you. but he never looks away, he never breaks it first. he allows you to, and your gaze always retreats back to your feet.

it continues in shy patterns like soft watercolor on canvas. inviting but never demanding as it overtakes white stretched thread. akaashi was never demanding, he was love held out in the ship port. waiting and waiting, and it softened a part of you that you hadn’t known had grown stubborn.

but good things were never meant to last, and as seasons change and winter grows closer, so does a desperate feeling in your chest.

your music catalogue might have grown larger too, but your heart was bigger. you were full of patient glances and silent asks of trust, you were ready to take a leap of faith, to step out and give your hand to something so soft and kind.

almost a year later, christmas day, you stood there. the dainty sound of wrapping paper crinkling under your fingers. wrapped diligently, a vinyl album of songs he kept playing over from the same album. you didn’t know if had a record player, or if he even wanted to use vinyl media. you didn’t need to, what you needed is for him to know you listened. that you cared quietly, and that he was enough. that he made you feel like enough.

but he wasn’t there, and you brushed it off. it was christmas, he probably had family events. but he didn’t come the next day either, and each day his side of the bench became ice layered and unmoved. yours remained cleared.

he never showed.

the worst part about grief of someone you don’t even know is that you can’t put a name to it. of course you know his name, but as you spend hours deliberating the loss, you realize he doesn’t know yours.

maybe he got tired of waiting, like they usually did. exhausted of your tireless envy to speech. impatient with your ability to voice anything. you were used to this, at least it was familiar.

a piece of you cracks like porcelain pottery, because maybe a part of you had hoped he too would become casual.

but you kept waiting like a foolish child, and each day when the train blew past and the street lamp came on, he was no where to be found. you returned with the same vinyl in your hand. you had even switched the wrapping paper with each holiday, because then you wouldn’t feel so pathetic when he realized you really had been waiting that long.

for someone who cared so little about everything, you did care about him.

maybe it was stupid, but even when the tears stopped after months of grief, part of you felt devoted to it. maybe it was because it was all you had left. from the sidelines, you watched yourself lose it all again.

part of being a mixed media arts major was that you had to attend all showcases from other graduating students. yours would be showcased too, next year. you had even started formulating it.

routinely, you walked down into the presentation hall. you could hear the soft hum of music from the speakers. the light was soft and purple, and the thermometer was a little low for your liking. but when you walked in it all made sense.

this photographer had been intentional in his work. his pieces all displayed in low contrast black and white. some film strips, but most pieces displayed across large canvas. every imperfection blown to insane proportion, meaning they had to be really proud of the piece.

at first, they seemed like general appreciations of nature. a black and white sky with a simple lamp post.

the next, a building in the distance. steam smoke puffing above it.

the next, train tracks, wait

the next, your eyes frantic now.

a picture of small black flats sitting on pavement. there was train track before them, and you recognized them like no other. your silhouette, clad in black not even from the filter. staring the other way, and you can remember it like yesterday. what you don’t remember is a camera, a clicking flash. maybe you were lost in it all.

but it is you, it is you and it was where you met him.

it all feels surreal, because how would this college student even begin to get this photo. and how was this photo taken?

you’re embarrassed, because anyone could notice it was you now standing in front of this photo. and maybe you’re a little angry, because why would someone take this photo without your permission or credit?

flustered, you peak at the crediting card to the photo, looking for some kind of indication of you would even take this up with, only to be even more surprised.

“i’ve found you, small dove. and if you could be so kind, find me too.”

-akaashi keiji

your heart races and you smile, and it’s all too much. you will find him. because he saw you with eyes open and inviting, and there would be no part of you that wouldn’t return that favor. you will find him, and a new beginning will blossom into something loud and colorful. no longer afraid, sitting in silence. no, honest and loud. everything you were no longer afraid to be, because you no longer were on the sidelines alone.

a/n: i don’t write even remotely happy endings so this is sort of a challenge or shift for me! hopefully everyone enjoys. highly inspired by queen phoebe.

[kleinflx]

JUST WHEN I WAS ABOUT TO LOOK AWAY — a . keiji .

you have been admiring akaashi for over 9 months now. always attempting to make a move but being too much of a wuss to really do anything bold. waiting outside his classroom after school just incase he ever glances your way, conveniently having an extra pen incase he needed it in your shared class, always putting extra makeup incase you see him around, choosing outfits you find to be cuter. you even asked a mutual friend to set you up—every attempt met with silence, coincidence, or failure. it was miserable, but you endured it. you told yourself you weren’t too deep yet, that you could still walk away if you needed to.

the next day, you missed your alarm.

there was no time for makeup, no time to curate yourself into someone worth noticing. you just wore whatever you thought would be natural. the only thing giving you courage to go to school is that: he wouldn’t notice anyway. and you were right. when you stopped forcing proximity, stopped forcing interactions that were never meant to happen, he never once looked your way. somehow, that made acceptance easier.

then the weekend came—the day of the school athletes big game, you used to attend every practice and match with a friend, pretending it was for school spirit when it was always for him. but this time, you stayed home. there was no point anymore.

what you didn’t expect was that on monday, during your history class, he would call you over.

“hey,”

“oh, did you need anything?” this encounter was not planned. your voice was calm but you felt your chest caving in. the feelings rushed back like a candle relit, its flame sudden and unforgiving. you didn’t know whether you should entertain or not… but why not?

“no, i was just.. a little curious.“ he rubs his neck as if it doesn’t make the question any less random. “why werent you at our game yesterday?”

“huh—uhm.” before you could come up with a sentence, you were cut off.

“—sorry. i just.. i notice you alot… during practices and.. you’ve never missed a game. it was just— i don’t know. sorry, i don’t know what i’m saying.” he chuckles and looks away nervously. “sorry...” he mumbled, absolutely sounding like he regretted starting this conversation with you.

you fidget with your fingers and let out a small laugh. you genuinely never expected this. “ah.. i wasn’t feeling well, i had a .. doctor’s appointment that day.” you don’t know if he believes it or not, but it’s the only lie you could have made on the spot.

“i see,” he nodded “uhm. sorry again for the.. random... yeah. i hope i see you again during practices.” he hesitated and smiled.

for a moment, you weren’t sure if you heard him correctly—or if he even knew what he meant. but it made you laugh, and you offered him a genuine smile, one you hadn’t practiced in the mirror.

he waves goodbye and headed to his next class.

you felt your cheeks getting warm, and then the realization settled in.

you were right back where you started.

[yasminlong]

bookstorecrush!akaashi x nerdy reader

art by @freaka_loonyz on tiktok! this idea randomly spawned in my head so here are a few hcs/ideas I have for bookstorecrush!akaashi:

sitting in your english lit lecture, you would smell a faint aroma of old books and musk and look below to find akaashi keiji training his eyes on the lecturer

you would tell your friends about the smell, and they would tell you he works at the vintage bookstore near campus, and it has garnered some popularity because of the cute guy working at the front

finding yourself at the vintage bookstore, you insist that there’s a book you need for english lit here and roam the aisles in hopes of sneaking a glance at akaashi

akaashi would climb up the old wooden ladder to reach a dusty book for the old lady below, telling her that it’s “no trouble at all”, while struggling to balance on the steps

he would frantically rearrange books moved to the wrong section, and memorise the genre of each of them

you pick up a book by a familiar author, emily brontë, and rush to the line before it can get any longer

akaashi smiles, that soft, understanding smile, when he sees the book you’ve picked and you take the time to ask him about the books he likes

he seems surprised at the question, but carefully places the book in the brown paper bag as he answers your question

speaking to akaashi is far easier than you could’ve imagined, and being around him inspires a kind of calm in you

a girl that you recognise from your department coughs loudly, and you realise that you’ve been holding up the line

in an attempt to continue your conversation, you quickly blurt out that you’ll come tomorrow as well

he continues to grin as you leave, a secret desire for your words to ring true (they do)

you rush into the bookstore the next day, and the day after that, and for the whole of next week too, not even buying anything, just browsing

you leave a permanent look of confusion on your face, and akaashi falls for it every time, and helps you choose a book based on the reads you told him you enjoyed

he remembers every detail, no matter how small, and records your interactions in his journal, writing his own love story

his fantasies stop being enough one day, and once he’s memorised the inflection of certain words when you speak, the way you wring your hands before you ask him a question, the glint in your eyes when you speak about your favourite books; he knows he’s ready

at the end of his shift, he picks up a book for himself, one you recommended him, and pays for it at the counter while his coworker gives him a knowing smile

he rushes home, and devours the book, highlighting his favourite passages, writing little comments under different quotes, and folding the corner of every inspiring page

he looks at the time, 03:13am, and sighs, he has a 9am lecture tomorrow, but it’s the only one with you so he can’t miss it

reaching for a post-it note from his desk, he writes out a small poem detailing his feelings for you, and sticks it on the front page of the book

the next morning, he’s filled with nerves, unlike ever before, and slides the book to you with a shaky smile

the sweaty residue of his fingertips lingers on the soft cover of the book as you stare down at it, you already have this one at home, but you thank akaashi anyway

you don’t open the book until you’re home, but when you do, your heart swells with joy, and you ponder how long it took him to finish

grabbing your phone from your bed, you note the time, 17:24pm, he’s probably off work by now you sigh, realising that after weeks of speaking to him, you still don’t have his number

the only thing left to do is to rush to the bookstore, hoping he’s still there so that you can finally be honest with yourself

akaashi crouches by the entrance of the bookstore, wondering why he’s still here, moving up his glasses to wipe away the shame on his face

loud footsteps hurry over to him as he glances up, the very reason he chose to work overtime running to his side

you take a moment to catch your breath, and move to speak the same time akaashi rises up and attempts to convey his feelings

your heart is pounding in your chest as you tell him that you got his note, and that it was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for you

akaashi covers his flushed face with the back of his hand, turning his head to the side to hide his expression, no fantasy could replace the sight of you right before him

you look down at you feet, unsure of what to say next as a sound escapes his lips

you almost miss it, and he repeats himself, telling you that his thoughts are consumed by you, that you’re the only one that could make him feel this way

he continues to detail everything he loves about you—from your melodious laugh, to your kindness, to the way your curly hair brushes his shoulder as you lean in to pick out books with him

your mind goes blank as you lean in and touch akaashi’s soft lips with your own, feeling his hands rest gently on your waist pulling you in tighter and tighter as if to memorise the curves and structure of your body to feel once more in his mind

you pull away first, and rest your hands on both of akaashi’s cheeks, forehead rested on his own

he lingers there for as long as possible, and you both wish this moment would last forever

MY FIRST POSTTTT! this was kinda nerve-wracking to write cuz i always reblog and read, but never write myself, but i wanted to give it a go, so i hope you enjoyed reading that! i kinda wanna write a clingysuna fic next but that might take me some time… (school’s killing me rn)

[showhay]

errors

akaashi keiji x f!reader

keiji would rewrite the dictionary just to make sure you never have to be wrong again.

wc: 1.7k c: reader has bad grammar.

grammar was, for akaashi keiji, a holy crusade. he lived his life by the sharp, uncompromising edges of a fountain pen. to him, a misplaced comma was a personal insult; a dangling modifier was a physical itch in the center of his brain that he could only scratch by leaning over and softly—but firmly—correcting the offender. he was the guy who would pause a high-stakes volleyball strategy meeting just to tell bokuto that he meant “fewer” mistakes, not “less” mistakes. it was a reflex. it was as natural to him as breathing or setting a perfect toss.

then there was you.

you were a walking, talking linguistic catastrophe. you spoke in a dizzying slurry of slang, half-finished thoughts, and sentences that often ended in a preposition just because it felt right in the moment. you used words like “thingamajig” when you couldn’t find a noun, and you had a habit of turning adjectives into verbs that definitely didn’t exist in any known dictionary.

and akaashi? he was absolutely, terrifyingly gone for it.

he watched you across the gym floor, his eyes tracking your every move with the intensity of a starving man watching a banquet. you were laughing at something konoha said, throwing your head back, your hair catching the fluorescent light in a way that made akaashi’s chest tighten until it actually hurt. he felt a desperate, clawing need to be the reason for that sound. he wanted to gather every botched syllable you ever uttered and store them in a silk-lined box inside his heart.

“hey, ‘kaashi! look at this!” bokuto barked, shoving a crumpled piece of paper under akaashi’s nose. it was a handwritten sign for the upcoming training camp. “everybody bring there own water bottles!!”

akaashi’s eye didn’t even twitch. usually, he would have reached for a red marker with the precision of a surgeon. but he saw you standing behind bokuto, nibbling on a pen cap, looking proud of the sign you’d clearly helped him write.

“it looks fine, bokuto,” akaashi said, his voice a low, melodic hum.

the gym went silent. konoha dropped a ball. sarukui froze mid-stretch. even washio looked up, blinking in confusion.

“fine?” bokuto yelled, his voice echoing off the rafters. “akaashi, you literally spent twenty minutes yesterday explaining the difference between ‘their,’ ‘there,’ and ‘they’re’ to me until i cried! you said it was ‘non-negotiable’! you said it was ‘a blight on the fukurōdani legacy’!”

akaashi didn’t look at him. he was busy watching you walk over, your shoes squeaking against the polished wood. “is something wrong?” you asked, tilting your head. “i thought the sign was pretty clear. we want ‘em to bring their stuff, right?”

“it’s perfect,” akaashi murmured. his gaze was heavy, dripping with a devotion so thick it was borderline intoxicating. he stepped closer to you, invading your personal space with a quiet, predatory grace that felt both protective and overwhelming. he reached out, his long, slender fingers hovering just inches from your shoulder before he pulled back, as if afraid he might accidentally crush something so precious. “it’s the most effective sign i’ve ever seen.”

“but the ‘there’—“ bokuto started, only to be silenced by a look from akaashi that could have withered a redwood forest. it wasn’t a glare; it was a cold, soul-piercing command to shut up before he was erased from the roster.

𓏵

later that afternoon, the team was huddled around the benches. you were telling a story about a dog you’d seen on the way to school.

“and then he just, like, runned right into the puddle!” you chirped, waving your hands around. “he was so happy, he didn’t even care that he was all muddy. he was the most happiest dog ever.”

akaashi was sitting on the bench next to you, his water bottle forgotten in his lap. he was staring at your lips with a hunger that was honestly a bit much for a tuesday. he looked like he wanted to inhale the air you were breathing.

“most happiest,” bokuto whispered, his voice cracking. he looked at akaashi, waiting for the correction. the “most” was redundant. “runned” wasn’t a word. the world was tilted on its axis. “akaashi... did you hear that? she said ‘runned’.”

akaashi turned his head slowly. his expression was serene, almost saintly, but there was a flicker of something like a silent warning that you were his personal sovereign, and your version of the japanese language was the only one that mattered.

“she expressed herself clearly, bokuto,” akaashi said, his voice like velvet over gravel. “the imagery was vivid. i could see the dog. can you not see the dog?”

“i see the dog! but the grammar is dying, akaashi! it’s screaming for help!” bokuto flailed his arms. “you told me last week that “anyways” wasn’t a word! you made me write “anyway” fifty times on the chalkboard!”

akaashi leaned toward you, his shoulder brushing yours. the contact sent a visible jolt through him, a tiny shiver of pure, unadulterated yearning. “ignore him,” he told you, his voice dropping to a private, intimate frequency. “i like the way you say things. it’s... innovative.”

you beamed at him, reaching out to pat his arm. “thanks, keiji! you’re always so supportive. i feel like i can talk to you about anything without feeling, like, stupider.”

akaashi’s heart didn’t just beat; it performed a violent, rhythmic ritual against his ribs. keiji. you called him keiji. he felt a desperate urge to fall to his knees and thank whatever cosmic force had put you in his path. he wanted to wrap himself around you like a shroud and keep the world from ever correcting a single breath you took. he would rewrite every textbook in the country if it meant you never had to feel “stupider.”

𓏵

the breaking point came during a study session in the library. the whole team was there, struggling through prep for midterms. the atmosphere was tense, filled with the scratching of pencils and bokuto’s occasional muffled sobs over math problems.

you were working on an essay for literature. you bit your lip, concentrating so hard a tiny stray hair fell over your eyes. before you could brush it away, akaashi’s hand was there. his touch was feather-light but lingering, his fingers tucking the strand behind your ear with a reverence usually reserved for ancient artifacts. he didn’t let go immediately, his thumb grazing your temple for a second too long.

“keiji,” you whispered, glancing at him. “how do you spell ‘definitely’? is it with an ‘a’?”

akaashi looked at your paper. you had written “definitly.”

“it’s perfect just as it is,” he lied. he, akaashi keiji, the man who owned four different editions of the kōjien dictionary, lied through his teeth without a hint of remorse. he would commit perjury for you. he would commit arson for you. a misspelling was nothing. “your handwriting is so beautiful, the spelling is secondary.”

bokuto, who had been eavesdropping with the intensity of a federal agent, finally snapped. he stood up, his chair screeching against the floor, drawing the attention of the entire library.

“THAT’S IT!” bokuto pointed a shaking finger at akaashi. “YOU’RE BROKEN! THE SYSTEM IS DOWN! YOU CORRECTED MY AMAZING MONOLOGUE YESTERDAY, BUT SHE JUST SPELLED A WORD WITHOUT HALF ITS VOWELS AND YOU CALLED IT BEAUTIFUL?!”

akaashi didn’t even flinch. he just looked up, his face a mask of calm, terrifying devotion. “lower your voice, bokuto. this is a library.”

“YOU LIKE HER WRONG WORDS, DON’T YOU?!” bokuto wailed, ignoring the librarian’s shush. “YOU’RE OBS—“

akaashi’s eyes snapped to bokuto, a predatory stillness settling over him. “choose your next word very carefully, bokuto.”

“YOU’RE DOWN BAD!” bokuto shouted instead, pivoting at the last second. “YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY WHIPPED! SHE COULD CALL A CAT A ‘FUR-FLAP’ AND YOU’D TRY TO GET IT ADDED TO THE ENCYCLOPEDIA!”

akaashi sighed, a long, weary sound, but his gaze immediately drifted back to you. the way he looked at you was almost scary—like you were the only source of oxygen in a room that was rapidly vacuuminizing. he reached over and took your hand under the table, his fingers interlacing with yours, squeezing with a desperate, grounding force. he needed to feel your pulse. he needed to know you were real and that you weren’t going to vanish.

“they’re hers,” akaashi said, his voice ringing with an terrifying, quiet finality that silenced the room. “so they’re right.”

the logic was circular, insane, and completely devoid of the intellectual rigor akaashi was known for. but as he sat there, holding your hand like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, he didn’t care. he watched you blush, your cheeks heating up, and he felt a surge of possessive triumph.

“really?” you asked, your voice small and sweet. “you don’t think i’m, like, bad at talking?”

akaashi leaned in closer, until his nose was brushing yours, his breath warm against your skin. he was so close he could see the tiny flecks of color in your irises. he felt a frantic, gnawing hunger to just... keep you. to lock you in a room filled with books and soft pillows and just listen to you invent new, grammatically incorrect ways to tell him you loved him.

“you are the most eloquent person i have ever met,” he murmured, his voice thick with a sincerity that made your toes curl. “every time you speak, you improve the language. i wouldn’t change a single letter of you.”

you giggled, leaning your forehead against his. “you’re so sweet, keiji. i’m lucky i gots you.”

akaashi’s brain stalled at ‘gots.’ it was a linguistic nightmare. it was a crime against the foundations of education. it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard in his entire life.

“yes,” akaashi whispered, his eyes closing as he inhaled the scent of your shampoo, a look of pure, delirious worship crossing his face. “you ‘gots’ me. forever.”

konoha leaned over to bokuto, who was still standing in the middle of the library aisle. “we should probably leave,” konoha whispered. “i think akaashi is about to start a cult where she’s the only deity, and i’m not ready for that kind of commitment.”

“i just want to know why i can’t say ‘ain’t,’” bokuto sniffled, defeated.

as the team shuffled out, akaashi didn’t even notice. he was too busy pulling out a fresh notebook, ready to transcribe every wonderful, mangled sentence that fell from your lips, archiving them like sacred texts because if you said it, it wasn’t just grammar—it was gospel.

n: i’m back with the not-so-subtle possessiveness, no one can stop me.

keiji’s taglist 1/2

@the-bloopsters @trulyylee @highandalive @nelinkythoughts @sleepykeijiii @averys-place @reverd-ck @sxnnee @anzuuhoshi @evilari111 @rabbitcola @nivabiva @s1lly-bon @miilsa @yeonette @forgottensniper @katzline @michexoxo @meonelixir @pelicanpizza @x3nafix @meikstv @depressinglyobsessed @buriedfifii @keiob @ghostwifeyy @bigdaddyyaoii @perpetuallydone @mptality @qardasngan @crystal-lilac @methiart @wensurr @alyriaschoenheit @rafsbeloved @suha-reads @sillylule @horanghaepaws @imjustanobody2024 @hibernatinghamster @olliesoxenfree @griffincorn @fiannee @snowstormsandavalanches @starzlytoetsie @ceramic-raven @nekoffie @eri0-0 @kuroofangirl67 @lov3shin

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !

iloveu

[tobioyaps]

𓋜 things i wish i could say (to you)

akaashi x reader, pre-timeskip (high school), first interactions, no smut | 304 words

admirer!akaashi writes notes for you, things like “your smile was very pretty” or “i like your hair” but only keeps them in his pencil case, telling himself that he’d never have a chance to say that to you.

admirer!akaashi deliberately sits in the library at a table not so far away but still able to see you from afar. he brought bokuto, but bokuto couldn't stand sitting in the silent library and accidentally knocked down a few books on the shelves. the loud noise causes you to look up, to see akaashi looking right back at you. you quietly laugh, palming your mouth as you look back to your studies.

admirer!akaashi watches you temporarily leave your seat, then suddenly starts writing a note, asking you if you wanted to stop by a bakery later.

admirer!akaashi quietly gets out of his seat to put that note on your desk, not to realize you were already almost at your seat.

flustered!akaashi trying to explain to you how he wanted to invite you to go to the bakery, but stammering due to embarrassment. he chooses to give the note to you instead.

stunned!akaashi when he sees you smile up close and say yes.

overjoyed!akaashi scrambling to grab his bags when you said you were about to leave.

giddy!akaashi when he can't stand still, waiting for you to pack your bags up.

proud!akaashi walking with you outside, the cold air freezing his cheeks, but he only felt warmth inside as he listened to you talk.

red!akaashi when he realizes he blurted out “i really like your hair” while you were talking. you paused, but laughed it off with a “thank you, i think you’re cute too”.

tomato!akaashi walking down to the bakery with you, absolutely whipped for you.

admirer!akaashi when he finally realizes he could possibly be boyfriend!akaashi.

awwh u two are so cute fuck relationships where's mine its almost 2026

[gisikisi]

Keiji Akaashi who…

Keiji Akaashi who... cups your face with his; big, slightly calloused, pen marked hands oh-so sweetly every-time you kiss because you're just too precious for him. Keiji Akaashi who… softly whispers: 'sorry' each time his glasses accidentally bump against your face or ever-so slightly poke your eye (you didn’t even notice.)

Keiji Akaashi who... ends up gently throwing his glasses to some unknown place because you’re so much more important than his own capability of seeing. As long as he can still see you that’s all that really matters to him. Keiji Akaashi who... gives the best cuddles, silently listening to you rant about your day and how you swear that the funny looking bird from your walk was following you.

Keiji Akaashi who… loves these soft moments in bed with you. Not because he finally gets to be lazy and lay in bed - but because you’re there. He loves you. 

extras ! :

AAAOSUDJBA MY FIRST ACTUAL WORK !! ꉂ૮(°□°'˶)ა

I hope you guys like it this was really fun to make 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 request characters who I should do this with !! I’ll be sure to do them.

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[xlettex]

It starts with a single sock.

Akaashi notices it one Thursday morning, lying defeated on the armrest of his couch like it surrendered to a long and honorable battle. It’s yours, obviously—soft gray, patterned with tiny white stars. It’s been there for two days. He’s counted.

He doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

He’s a patient man.

By the fifth day, patience becomes a quiet hum of irritation. Not enough to cause a scene, but enough that he finds himself glancing at it every time he walks past.

You notice him noticing.

“What?” you ask, sipping your coffee.

He gestures with his pen. “The sock.”

“What about it?”

“It’s… still there.”

You squint, as if seeing it for the first time. “Oh. Yeah.”

Silence.

You take another sip. “I’m kind of attached to it now.”

He stares at you for a beat too long, lips parting, breath caught between disbelief and resignation. “…You’re attached to the sock?”

“It’s become part of the aesthetic.”

Akaashi exhales slowly through his nose. “What’s the aesthetic, clutter?”

You grin. “Exactly.”

The next day, the sock is gone. He feels a quiet, smug satisfaction. Until he opens his dresser drawer that night and finds it sitting neatly on top of his folded shirts.

He blinks.

You’ve declared war.

What follows is nothing short of tactical brilliance— the brilliance meaning chaos of course.

He hides the sock under your pillow. You retaliate by tucking it into the pocket of his blazer.

He finds it during a meeting, of course, pulling it out with all the composure of a man whose life choices are flashing before his eyes. Bokuto sees. Bokuto wheezes.

“Bro,” Bokuto laughs, “is that a sock in your jacket?”

Akaashi doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

By week two, it escalates. You start naming it. “Have you seen Gregory?” you ask sweetly over breakfast.

He doesn’t look up from his laptop. “Gregory?”

“The sock.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t name the sock.”

But you’re grinning—leaning across the table, chin in hand, eyes bright with mischief. “Too late. He’s family now.”

Akaashi hums under his breath. “Then perhaps Gregory should start paying rent.”

Somehow, the war turns into routine. Every morning, the sock appears somewhere new—your doing or his, neither of you keeping score anymore.

In the fridge. In your purse. Once, hanging proudly from the antenna of his car.

Every time he finds it, he shakes his head, but there’s a faint smile tugging at his lips. You’ve ruined him, he thinks, folding Gregory neatly and setting him aside for tomorrow’s counterstrike.

One night, after you’ve fallen asleep, he stands by the bed holding the sock in his hands.

He could end it now. He could throw it away, reclaim his home, restore balance to his world.

But instead, he sits on the edge of the bed and laughs quietly to himself.

Because the truth is, he likes this. Likes you—your mess, your laughter, your ability to turn a sock into something soft and stupid and full of love.

He places it gently on your nightstand before turning off the light.

Morning comes soft and slow, sunlight creeping across the sheets. You reach for Gregory out of habit—and freeze. He’s gone. You frantically search everywhere, worried Keiji’s gotten sick of your mess. Until you notice him sitting proudly atop Akaashi’s bookshelf—neatly folded, displayed like a trophy.

Beneath it, a sticky note in Akaashi’s tidy handwriting reads: “Victory is temporary.”  - Keiji ♡

You snort, grabbing a pen and writing underneath: “So’s cleanliness.”

When you move in together months later, there’s a drawer in the dresser labeled ‘MISC.’ Inside, tucked among batteries and half-used candles, lies a small, worn gray sock.

You never speak of it again.

But every time you open that drawer, Akaashi’s hand brushes yours—and you both smile, remembering how love, apparently, can look a lot like losing the great sock war.