a/n. @yourlocalmeta1head requested iwa, so here’s pt3 >_< (srry if you didn’t wanna be tagged, just lmk and i’ll remove it!!)
link to pt1 , pt2 , pt4 , and pt5
☆ — IWAIZUMI
he likes when you beg him to go faster and or harder. your cute little moans and whines as you cry out a "haji— faster!" makes him nearly cum right there. just hearing you so blissed out with pleasure gets him going, but when you want even more? how can he deny you?
"yeah? you want more? say please."
☆ — MATSUKAWA
obsessed with the way your eyes get wide and your mouth drops open with pleasure when he first slides inside of you. he’s just so big, you can’t help but react like that. he loves it though, especially when you gasp at first, your hands grappling to hold onto his biceps. nothing is better.
"does it hurt, baby? too big? you’re okay."
☆ — BOKUTO
likes when you praise him. he gets an extra thrill out of any praise from you, especially during sex. loves loves loves when you gush about how good he’s fucking you, moaning out a "jus' like that!" subconsciously goes faster whenever you babble compliments, and he won’t break the rhythm until one of you is cumming (probably him).
"it’s good? mhm? tell me how good i’m fucking you."
☆ — AKAASHI
eye contact. he honestly never thought he’d be into it until he met you. now he’s constantly seeking out your gaze, wanting you to struggle to maintain it while he hits deep inside of you. he thinks it’s so cute when your eyes can’t help but roll back, or when you get too embarrassed and look away. he'll urge you to look downwards, where the two of you are connected, if you can’t just look at him.
HAIKYUU BOYS ✰ HOW THEY WOULD BE IF THEY HAD A CRUSH ON SOMEONE
FEATURING. Kageyama T., Kuroo T., and Akaashi K.
NOTE. i’m giggling at these ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ ) + starting to lean into more headcanon posts because it’s so fun!
KAGEYAMA TOBIO — SUDDENLY FULL OF QUESTIONS
When Kageyama Tobio has a crush, he’s suddenly full of questions.
He doesn’t realize when it starts, only that something feels different, like a switch flipped quietly in his brain without his knowledge. One day he’s focused on his volleyball, on keeping his head in the game, and the next he’s glancing sideways at you without meaning to, his thoughts drifting away from volleyball formations and subjects that he badly needed to pass to play volleyball. The questions come before he can stop them, slipping out of his mouth as if they’ve always been there, waiting.
“Hey,” he says from his seat, eyes still glued to his notebook like that might hide the heat creeping up his neck. It doesn’t help that his notebook’s blank. “What’s your favorite food?”
He sees you look surprised, eyebrows raising before you smile at him. “Huh? Curry, I guess.”
He nods slowly, committing the information to memory even though he has no idea why it matters so much. His pencil scratches against the page, writing nothing important. “Spicy or not spicy?”
You tilt your head. “Medium.”
“…Okay.” The word comes out firm, decisive, as if he’s just confirmed something important. He forces himself to look back down at his notes, shoulders stiff, ears burning red.
A few minutes pass. He manages to last exactly two minutes before the need to ask another question becomes unbearable.
“Do you like cats or dogs?”
Your shoulders shake as you try not to laugh, turning in your seat to face him properly. “Cats.”
“Why?”
“They’re quiet,” you answered after a second. “And cuter, personally.”
He hums under his breath, satisfied. That makes sense. He likes that answer more than he probably should.
After practice, you walk home together, the air cool and the sky painted in warm shades of orange and pink. Kageyama doesn’t think about it when he slows his pace to match yours; he just does. His bag hangs heavy from one shoulder, the sound of your footsteps falling into an effortless rhythm.
“Do you get cold easily?” he asks suddenly, staring straight ahead.
You laugh at him again, light and surprised. “That’s kind of random.”
“I’m just asking.” His tone is defensive, even though there’s no real reason to be.
“Yes,” you answered, still smiling. “Why?”
“…Nothing.” He shakes his head once. “Just—good to know.”
You wrap your scarf tighter around your neck, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, clearly amused. Kageyama doesn’t say anything after that, because he could barely look at you—too focused on the thoughts that are running in his head.
The next day at lunch, he notices it without meaning to. The empty space on your table. The way you pause, looking around like you’ve forgotten something. Without thinking, he slides his unopened milk carton toward you.
“You didn’t bring a drink.”
You blinked at the carton, then looked at him, your expression soft albeit surprised. “Oh. Thanks.” You nodded. “You noticed.”
“…Yeah.” He looks away quickly, pretending to adjust his bangs, his heart thudding too loud in his ears.
You eat in comfortable silence for a while. Ten seconds pass. Fifteen. It becomes unbearable.
“What music do you listen to?” he asks.
“Soft stuff. Acoustic. You?”
“None.”
You snorted. That figures.”
He frowns, genuinely confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re cute,” you reply easily, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Kageyama immediately chokes on his rice, coughing as his face turns red. You pat his back between laughs, apologizing even though you’re clearly enjoying this. All Kageyama could think about was the pressure of your hand on his back as he almost had a near-death experience. Your hand was very light and gentle.
Later, when you’re assigned to clean the classroom together, the room feels quieter than usual. Sunlight spills through the windows, dust floating lazily in the air. Kageyama works quietly, but his attention keeps drifting to you as you wipe down the windows, humming softly under your breath. The sound sticks with him, like a lullaby.
“Do you hum when you’re happy?” he asks before he can stop himself.
You paused, turning to look at him. Your pout is thoughtful but fond. “Yeah. Do you ask questions when you’re nervous?”
“I’m not nervous,” he says instantly, too fast.
You shrug your shoulders, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh.”
He doesn’t understand it. He just knows he wants to know everything—what makes you laugh, what you eat when you’re tired, whether you prefer sunsets or sunrises. The questions feel endless, and none of them feel unimportant.
You step a little closer to him when you finish. “You know, you can just say you want to spend time with me.”
Kageyama freezes, every muscle locking up as his face burns hotter than it ever has. He stares at the floor, fists clenched at his sides.
“…Is that ok?” he asks quietly, completely serious.
Your laughter is music to his hears—what is wrong with him? “Yeah, Tobio. It is.”
He nods once, like he’s made a decision in a match. “Okay.” He swallows. “Then—can we walk home together again tomorrow?” Tomorrow because he knows that volleyball practice today will end late, and he doesn’t want you waiting for him so late.
Your answer comes without hesitation. “Of course.”
KUROO TETSUROU — STUDIES IN ADVANCE TO IMPRESS YOU
When Kuroo Tetsurou has a crush, he becomes unbearable in the most subtle way possible.
He doesn’t brag outright—he’s not that obvious. Instead, he prepares. Thoroughly. With intent.
The night before chemistry class, he’s sprawled across his bed, textbook open, phone discarded somewhere near his pillow. He’s already finished tomorrow’s homework, but that isn’t enough. He rereads the chapter anyway, flipping pages with practiced ease, making mental notes of things that might come up. Not because he’s worried about the test. Because you sat one row ahead of him, and sometimes—sometimes—you turn around and ask questions.
He wants to be ready.
The next day, Kuroo leans back in his chair as the teacher drones on, eyes half-lidded, posture relaxed. To anyone else, he looks bored. Lazy, even. But he’s listening, catching every word, every concept he already knows by heart. Also because he’s studious like that.
Sure enough, you turn around, pen tapping lightly against your notebook. “Hey, Kuroo.”
He perks up instantly. “Yeah?”
“You get this part?” You point at an equation. “The coefficient change.”
“Oh,” he says casually, like he hasn’t memorized the entire section. “Yeah. It’s just adjusting for the reaction rate.”
You squint. “Just?”
He grins. “You’re overthinking it.”
You scoff. “I am not.”
“You totally are,” he says, leaning forward. “If you isolate the variable first, it’s way easier.”
You study the equation again, and then he sees your lips curl into a small, smug smile. Oh no. “That only works if you assume ideal conditions.”
Kuroo pauses.
“…Okay, yeah,” he admits, impressed despite himself. “But that’s what the teacher’s going for.”
“Still,” you say, chin lifting slightly, “it’s not wrong to consider alternatives.”
He laughs quietly. “Did you study ahead again?”
“Maybe,” you replied innocently, even batting your eyelashes at him. “Did you?”
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
If “maybe” was 96 hours of him studying non-stop and juggling that alongside volleyball, then yes, maybe he did study.
You hold eye contact for a second too long, and Kuroo suddenly feels the urge to blink because he thinks his face is growing hot. He feels something in his chest—that spark he always feels with you, the way conversations with you never feel dull or one-sided. You don't just listen. You push back, whatever that means.
After class, he falls into step beside you in the hallway, hands tucked into his pockets.
“You’re annoying,” you mused lightheartedly.
“Because I’m right?”
“Because you enjoy being right.”
He smirks. “I do. Sue me.”
You bump his shoulder with yours. “Don’t let your head get too big.”
You stop by the lockers, and Kuroo leans against the metal casually, watching as you fumble with your lock. “So,” he says, tone intentionally offhand, “you like physics or chemistry more?”
“Physics,” you answered without hesitation. “It makes more sense.”
“Oof. Bold take.”
“You disagree?”
“Chemistry’s more fun,” he says. “More variables. More chaos. Plus, Lab’s fun when we get to do actual experiments.”
You laughed, nodding your head. “That tracks.”
He watches your expression, the way your eyes light up when you talk about school, about learning. He likes this side of you. Likes that you don’t dumb yourself down. Likes that you challenge him.
But he wants more.
The walk toward the school gates together was as mundane as can be, afternoon sun filtering through the trees.
“You always ask me about school stuff,” you pointed out suddenly, glancing at him. “Is that, like, your thing?”
Kuroo blinks. “What, being smart?”
“No,” you reply, amused. “Being… this.”
“This?” He gestures between you.
You shrug. “Debating. Studying ahead. Competing.”
He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess so.”
There’s a beat of silence before he adds, “I can ask about other stuff too, you know.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Like what?”
Like what music you like. What makes you laugh. What you do when you’re not being ridiculously smart.
A million topics just went through his head.
Instead, Kuroo says, “Like… what you do after school.”
You nodded your head slowly. “I tutor my cousin. You?”
“Volleyball,” he replies easily. “Captain duties. Being awesome.”
You rolled your eyes at him. “Naturally.”
He grins, emboldened. “You ever come watch?”
“…Maybe,”
…
“If you promise not to show off.”
“No promises.”
You laugh and shake your head and start walking again. He follows, heart a little lighter.
“Hey, [Last Name]?”
“Yeah?”
He hesitates, then asks, “What do you do for fun? Like—not academic fun.”
You think for a moment. “I like reading. Baking. Long walks.”
“Baking, huh?” He perks up. “What kind?”
“Cookies. Mostly.”
He nods seriously. “Important information.”
“Why is that important?”
He shrugs. “Just… wanna know more about you.”
Your steps slow. Just a little.
“Oh.”
You reach the corner where your paths split, and for a moment neither of you moves.
“Well,” you started, tucking your bag higher on your shoulder, “see you tomorrow, know-it-all.”
“Later, genius,” he replies.
As you walk away, Kuroo watches you go, smiling to himself. He still wants to impress you—always will—but maybe it doesn’t have to be just about textbooks and equations.
Maybe it can be about cookies.
Oh, man. He was going to learn how to make the world’s best cookies.
AKAASHI KEIJI — THE CHALANCE IN NONCHALANCE
Akaashi Keiji is painfully aware of how conscious his breathing is.
In, out. Counted. The same way it always is—except today, it feels louder, like his body is betraying him with how aware it is of you. You sat one row ahead by the window, sunlight catching in your hair as you absentmindedly twirled your pen between your fingers. You aren’t paying attention to the lecture at all. Akaashi notices because he always notices things like that.
Patterns. Habits.
The way people drift when their minds are elsewhere.
You look peaceful. Unbothered. And for some reason, that makes him want to disrupt it—just a little.
When the teacher pauses to write something on the board, Akaashi leans forward, voice low and careful, like he’s approaching a wild animal he doesn’t want to scare away.
“You’re going to miss the notes,” he says.
You flinch slightly, blinking as if you’ve been pulled out of a dream. You turn to him, eyes widening for half a second before softening. “Oh—sorry. What?”
“The last problem,” he explains, gesturing vaguely to the board. “It’s… important. Probably.”
You look back up front, then sigh. “I always zone out during explanations.”
“I wrote everything down,” he adds quickly, then hesitates, realizing how eager he sounds. He clears his throat. “You can copy mine later. If you want.”
Your lips curve into a polite smile, familiar and practiced. “Thanks, Akaashi. You’re always so calm and prepared.”
Always. That word lands heavier than it should.
He shifts in his seat. “I’m not,” he says before he can stop himself.
You blinked again, clearly confused. “Not… prepared?”
“Not always,” he clarifies, then feels compelled—why does he feel compelled?—to keep going. “I forget things. Often. Yesterday I left my uniform at home. And last week I forgot my lunch.”
You stare at him for a moment, then let out a small laugh. “That’s it? That’s your big secret?”
He nods solemnly. “Yes.”
“That’s very normal,” you say, amused.
“I am,” he agrees. “Normal.”
“You don’t have to convince me.”
Akaashi leans back, heart thudding a bit harder than usual. That didn’t go the way he planned—but you laughed. That counts for something.
When class finally ends, the room fills with noise—chairs scraping, voices overlapping, the familiar chaos that Akaashi usually slips away from unnoticed. Today, though, he times his movements carefully. When you stood up, he stood too, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“Are you heading to the library?” he asks, keeping his tone neutral even as his pulse spikes.
You look genuinely surprised, eyes flicking to him as if you hadn’t expected him to speak again. “Yeah. I have to finish my literature report.”
“I have a case study,” he says, then adds, “I could also… be there.”
There’s a brief pause, just long enough for him to wonder if he sounded weird and if this is the part where you tell him off. Then you smile. “Let’s get going, then.”
You walk side by side down the hallway, not quite close enough for your arms to brush, but close enough that Akaashi is keenly aware of your presence. He feels strangely stiff, unsure what to do with his hands, so he just clasps them on his front like he normally would.
“What’s your report about?” he asks, partly to fill the silence, partly because he genuinely wants to know.
“Romantic poetry,” you replied with a grimace. “Which is ironic, because I don’t really get romance.”
He glances at you. “You don’t?”
“It feels exaggerated. Like people overthink every little thing.”
He almost smiles. Almost. “Sometimes,” he says slowly, choosing his words with care, “people don’t know how to express themselves properly. So it comes out… awkward. Or intense.”
You hum thoughtfully. “Is that your personal opinion, or are you analyzing human behavior again?”
“…Both,” he admits.
You laughed, this time louder and unguarded. The sound hits him square in the chest, warm and dizzying. Akaashi feels something loosen inside him. He did that. He made that happen.
In the library, the air is quieter, softer. They sit across from each other at a long table, sunlight filtering in through tall windows. You spread your notes out, chewing on the end of your pen, brows furrowed in concentration. Akaashi opens his notebook too—but instead of studying, he finds himself watching the way you scrunch your nose when you’re thinking.
“You’re not studying,” you pointed out without looking up.
“I am,” he replies automatically.
“You haven’t turned a page.”
“…I was thinking,” he admitted.
“About volleyball?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
The question hangs between you. His chest tightens, nerves buzzing under his skin. He could deflect. He usually does. But today, he doesn’t want to.
“…How to make you laugh again,” he says quietly.
Your pen stills. You look at him, really look at him, eyes wide and searching.
“That’s…” you paused. “That’s actually really cute.”
Heat rushes to his ears. “I’m not very good at it,” he admits. “I think I made it weird for the both of us.”
“I think you’re doing fine,” you tell him. “You’re just not what I expected.”
He meets your gaze. “Is that bad?”
You shook your head immediately. “No. I like it. You’re not just the calm, intimidating setter everyone talks about.”
“Intimidating?” he echoes faintly.
“A little,” you shrugged. “But now you’re just… Akaashi.”
The way you say his name—casual, familiar—makes his chest feel strangely full.
He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small juice box, setting it on the table like an offering. “I forgot my lunch,” he says flatly. “But I remembered this.”
You stare at it, then burst into laughter, covering your mouth. “Is that your proof of being normal?”
“Yes,” he says, utterly serious.
Your laughter fills the quiet space between the shelves, bright and genuine, and Akaashi watches you with something soft and steady in his chest. He thinks—this is enough. For now.
Being a little weird doesn’t feel so bad if it makes you smile like that, especially when he’s being true to himself.
i like the interpretation that akaashi is lowkey weird af so here are some of my thoughts for akaashi nation. Short and sweet
If he needs something from you while you’re busy he’ll just stand behind you until you notice him instead of calling your name or tapping your shoulder to get your attention
Talks to himself a lot, not just thinking out loud either. Like full blown back and forth conversations
Cannot fix his face to save his life. He sees someone’s kids acting up in public and gives them this crazy side eye and won’t stop staring until you elbow him to stop
His socks are never matching
Loves silent films
Falls asleep to sciencey/philosophical YouTube videos. You often find him passed out on the couch with his phone dangling from his hand with a video titled something like “top 10 strangest deep space objects” still playing while he’s out cold
Has a shelf full of weird knick knacks and figurines he gets at thrift stores and antique shops
Along with his trinkets, he also likes buying clothes second hand. But he always ends up just getting tshirts with dad jokes/puns written on them
Sleeps like a corpse. Like flat on his back with his arms at his side. Blanket pulled up to his chin and he stays that way all night
"Should i tattoo your name on my chest?" He murmurs as you both are laying in bed, you between his thighs as he has his arm wrapped around your waist. he moves his lips up and down on your neck, lightly teasing your skin. "Ahn...why would you want that?...besides...it could hurt you..." you say a bit concerned by his sentence, but when you see his firey gaze in his eyes...you close and open your mouth like a fish..."are you really serious?" "I just want a piece of you with me. It would show that I belong only to you. I will feel so proud wearing your name every time, princess...and your name is most beautiful and unique one...I, myself will feel special just by having it on my chest...after all...gosh...i am so obsessed...y/n...y/n...just by saying it drives me insane, princess" he says hoarsly as his pupils are dilated...he grabs your hand and puts it on his muscular chest..."you will be in here always"
TW: NSFW | thinking ab timeskip!akaashi… i know I JUST KNOW this man’s a freak in bed…
i don’t think he does fwb honestly but that’s just my opinion. has probably done hookups before, like no more than 3 and decided that he hates it.
prolly demisexual in the sense that he won’t enjoy it unless he’s romantically attracted to them too. goes home and lies in bed and contemplates wtf he just did, “i could’ve been cleaning the house. doing the dishes. writing or reading. instead, i decided to have the most meaningless sex of my life ever.”
here’s where you get involved. (under the cut)
he’ll only do it with you when you’ve established that you’re dating. when you first start out with him, he seems pretty vanilla. gets you on the bed and fingers you, eats you out, fucks you in missionary and doggy.
then he begins to fuck you in the shower. against the wall. over the desk.
one fine day, one fine fucking peaceful day he walks up to you, dangling padded handcuffs from his finger: darling, what do you think of bondage?
you: …uhhhh keiji where is this coming from
it’s up to you if you’re into it. he’s a very respectful man. he’ll love you either way.
but if you’re into it… god. bondage, blindfolding, edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, fuckin dacryphilia— it might just be easier to ask him what he’s not into. (he’ll give you a printed list of it. not handwritten on the spot, no. the man PRINTS it out like he has a document sitting somewhere on his computer.)
he’ll explore with you if you’re new to it, finding things you like and don’t like. and if you don’t like it, no questions asked. he stops. and if you’re experienced, well. he just needs the hands-on experience. all the theory is in his head.
HAS DONE EXTENSIVE RESEARCH. like fucking extensive. this man somehow has knowledge in his head privy only to experts. like he’s read academic papers on this shit.
will dominate, will submit, whatever gets you off will also get him off.
Hanahaki disease, both love eachother but are too shy to say anything, kinda sad, and cherry blossoms || This fic was HEAVILY inspired by her @akaashiit—a very talented and sweet person<33
Akaashi never meant to let anyone see the diary.
It was a habit from his student days—keeping things close, organized, private. The leather cover was worn at the edges, pages softened by years of being opened and closed during commutes and late nights. Inside were schedules, clipped articles, a pressed cherry blossom sealed carefully between two pages.
One afternoon, as he flipped through it during a break, a coworker leaned over.
“Hey, Akaashi-san,” he said lightly. “That flower—do you always keep it there?”
Akaashi paused.
His fingers hovered over the page longer than necessary before he closed the diary. For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, quietly, “…Yes.”
There was something in his voice—measured, restrained, but fragile enough that the coworker didn’t push. Still, Akaashi surprised even himself when he added,
“It belongs to someone I love.” not loved—love.
He met you before he knew what love was.
You lived two houses down, a loud, cheerful presence in a world that Akaashi had always experienced as muted and careful. Where he hesitated, you moved forward. Where he overthought, you laughed it off.
As children, you dragged him outside when he’d rather stay in with a book, you held his hand crossing the street, chattering about nothing and everything, you called him by his first name without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Akaashi remembers thinking—she’s warm...and cute. Not just physically, emotionally. Like sunlight filtering through leaves.
In middle school, when he started volleyball, you were there. Sitting on the bleachers with homework spread out, cheering too loudly, clapping at the wrong moments—he never asked you to come—you never asked if it was okay.
You just did.
By high school, it felt inevitable that you’d become Fukurodani’s manager. You fit too well. Encouraging Bokuto, teasing the team, remembering everyone’s preferences. And Akaashi—Akaashi trusted you without realizing when it happened.
You brought him drinks when he forgot—smiled at him in that easy, familiar way that made his chest feel tight for reasons he never examined too closely.
You dropped hints. Soft and careful ones.
“You’d make a great husband someday, you know?”
“I think cherry blossoms suit you...both of you are pretty”
“Whoever you end up with is going to be really lucky.”
Akaashi heard them. He just…translated them wrong.
He told himself you were kind to everyone, that you were naturally affectionate, that assuming otherwise would be arrogant and dangerous. He overthought every word until it lost its shape.
And you—patient you—never corrected him.
Akaashi noticed you’d started carrying lozenges in your pocket, always offering them to others before taking one yourself.
He didn’t know about the illness.
Sometimes, after laughing too hard, you’d turn away under the excuse of fixing equipment, shoulders tense just a second longer than necessary.
There were mornings you showed up pale but smiling, insisting you were fine when Bokuto asked, waving it off like it was nothing important.
You grew used to stepping out of the gym for “fresh air,” counting your breaths until the tightness in your chest eased.
Once, Akaashi asked if you were sick. You smiled, bright and practiced, and said, “Just allergies.” Cherry blossom season had just started, after all.
He didn’t question why you avoided the nurse, or why your laughter sometimes ended in a quiet, swallowed cough.
Looking back, Akaashi realizes how often you chose to be alone right after choosing to be kind.
But there were days you looked impossibly happy, eyes bright, voice light—and Akaashi never realized that joy could hurt just as much as sorrow. you seemed lighter than usual, almost glowing, and Akaashi mistook it for confidence instead of devotion.
Sometimes, loving him felt so full, so overwhelming, that your chest ached with it, like your heart didn’t know where to put all that feeling, but still it felt right.
You used to be happy—because you love him so much that you were coughing petals in the devotion you have for him—even the universe couldn't deny that love you have for him is the purest and deepest.
On those days, you laughed the most. And later, alone, you coughed petals into your hand and wondered how something so painful could still feel so gentle.
Cherry blossom season suited you too well, Akaashi thought it was because you loved spring. He never considered that spring loved you back in its own cruel way.
You’d smile afterward—always afterward—like happiness was something you could choose to keep, even when it left traces behind.
He didn’t know that sometimes, the reason you looked so happy was because loving him—even silently—still made you feel alive.
Only later did he understand, the petals didn’t come from despair alone, but from love that had nowhere to go, from the love you have for him from the start.
By the time you stopped coming around as often, Akaashi told himself it was adulthood. Different paths, life.
Then came the phone call.
Then the funeral.
Then the letter.
Akaashi has read it more times than he can count.
Your handwriting was familiar.
You wrote about childhood, about high school, about how loving him had never felt like a burden, even when it hurt. You didn’t blame him. Not once.
You apologized—for not being brave enough to tell him outright.
You thanked him—for every quiet kindness he never realized mattered so much.
I was happy, Keiji. Genuinely, being beside you as your friend, our team's manager, the person who knew when to tease you and when to leave you alone—that was enough to make my life feel full.
If I had another chance, I’d still choose you. I’d still call you Akaashiit without thinking and watch you sigh like you always did.
Someday, I hope you marry someone beautiful. Someone who understands your silences, who notices when you’re tired before you say it, who reminds you to rest and laughs with you on the easy days. I hope your life with them is warm and a little messy and full of happiness and dreams.
There’s one small thing I want to ask—cherry blossoms fall quickly. They’re fragile, and they never stay as long as you want them to. But they’re beautiful anyway. If you can, please keep one with you. Not as something sad—just as proof that something gentle existed between us, even if it didn’t last forever, and hopefully you will preach about my tales to your children too, if you don't I will haunt you!
Years later, Akaashi still keeps the flower. The flower from the same tree, that grows from the ground were you're resting—waiting for him.
It's pressed, fragile. A reminder not of tragedy—but of a love that existed quietly, sincerely, without demands.
Sometimes, when he opens the diary, he thinks of your laugh echoing across the gym, of small hands tugging his sleeve as a child, of the way you believed in him before he learned how to believe in himself.
The memories are warm.
The ending is not—because maybe, maybe if his was honest about his feelings, then perhaps you would have been here with him, being his wife.
Here's a tissue for you dear (•‿•).LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!
Don't steal,copy,edit or use my works in any form without my permission.
