✿ spring fever || day 2 ✿
blindfolding || akaashi keiji
✿ tags: sensory deprivation, dom!akaashi, brat tamer!akaashi, established relationship, riding, akaashi's the one being blindfolded ahahahahahaha kill me
✿ wc: 800 ✿
✿ spring fever masterlist ✿
✿ MINORS DNI ✿
"you really want this, don't you?"
he's giving you that look, the one that's half-amused and half-examining. you used to think he was judging you when he would look at you like that — back when time spent together was new and nerve-wracking. back when you couldn't tell how he was feeling just by the look in his eye. back when half-examining felt more like half-mocking.
but you know now that it's not that.
you know that that look only comes out when he's thinking about things he shouldn't, putting you in positions that are entirely inappropriate for the situation.
even though it's you who brought it up at the cafe, half-whispered and leaning in close to his ear, he's the one whose mind is racing.
"please? just once?" you ask again, dragging the toe of your shoe across his ankle under the table. "it's always me."
he looks at you like that — like that — only a moment longer, and then he blinks it away, gaze returning to his work. "that's because i like you like that."
"and i could like you like that," you try. "if you just let me try."
he smiles to himself. "it might not even do anything for you. or me, for that matter."
it might sound like he's rejecting you, but you know that voice. you know that tilt of his head, that look in his eye.
after so many times of trying and failing, he's finally considering it.
"i know," you concede, gentle. "but think about it. what if it does do something for you?"
he just hums, unconvinced. "it's not impossible, i guess."
—
"nngh-baby?"
"yes, pretty boy?"
he's panting hard, skin shining with sweat. he reaches for you, a broken sound leaving his throat when you knock his hand away.
"c'mon, don't do this to me," he laughs pathetically.
you let him feel you, rolling your hips and sighing happily when your folds slide along the shaft of his cock. you've only spent five minutes grinding down on him, but you know from experience — from wearing that silky length of white fabric over your eyes — that he feels like it's been hours.
"but you always tease me," you pout. you roll your hips again, biting down on your lip to keep your moan from slipping out. you don't push him away when he finds your hips, because you know what comes next. even with the roles reversed — even with akaashi keiji blindfolding and trembling beneath you — you know him.
the lift of your hips is followed by the press of his cock against your entrance. you sink down, head lolling back as a moan falls out, almost like he'd pushed it out of you.
"keiji," you breathe. not a warning, not a call, nothing but his name. just because you love to say it, and you know he loves to hear it.
"fuck-" he exhales, breath sharp and punctuated by the jerk of his hips up against yours. "you feel so good like this."
you start to bounce, your words bouncing with you. "what'do you mean? i ride you all the time."
he grunts, and you let out a weak laugh. he can hear what you're not saying, but you say it anyway, just to maintain some semblance of control.
"what's different this time, keiji?"
he grimaces, but his moans come out anyway. his muscles keep tensing, and his cock keeps twitching inside you. "you know what's different." when you make a noise like you have no clue what he's talking about, he grits his teeth. "fucking brat," he whispers. "such a fucking brat."
you stop bouncing and let him roll your hips back and forth, his cock buried to the hilt in your warmth. you give a few teasing clenches, beaming when his back bows off the bed and his fingers dig bruises into your hips.
"your brat, though, right?"
his laugh leaves him in a loud, frustrated exhale, like he can't believe you're asking for compliments when you're torturing him like this.
"yeah," he whispers.
and then he rolls you onto your back, a mere half-second of effort that throws you off balance.
he's still blindfolded when he towers over you, arms caging you in.
"my fucking brat." his voice is sweet, even when his words aren't. "take it off."
your fingers curl around the fabric and slide it down his face slowly.
his gaze is even more overwhelming when you haven't seen it in a while. eyes pure cyan and a glare that speaks of promises you hope he keeps.
the blindfold dangles between you as he fucks you into the mattress, until the bed starts to creak and the headboard starts to smack against the wall. until you're crying his name and unable to think about anything else.
something tells you this isn't the last time this'll happen.
>>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.<<
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.
→ he's definitely the tall , hot guy that you see in your philosophy class that you have a lowk crush on
→ but not a serious crush; like you're not stalking his socials or anything, cos you don't even know his name so that would be a bit too weird, even for you. but like a very mild crush that you utilise to motivate yourself to go to your philosophy lectures, in hopes that he'll notice you or smth
→ ofc that never happens but you can dream
→ HOWEVER, one day your professor will post the assigned pairs for your group report and you'll see that you got paired with a guy called 'akaashi'. which is whatever. you just hope he's smart cos philosophy is definitely not your strongest subject.
→ anyway, you'll email each other and arrange a time to meet up irl to discuss the report. honestly, he seems polite enough over email that you don't even think much of it...
→ ... until
→ until you're scanning the library, surveying the area for anyone sitting alone at a table, because this is where you agreed to meet your philosophy partner... and you see him sitting at a table in the corner of the room.
→ you're heart fucking leaps out of your chest in that moment. your brain is working on overdrive because you're not sure how to feel about this. on one hand, it's so lucky that you got paired with the one guy you've been lowk crushing on, especially cos there are hundreds of other people in that philosophy class so the chances of this happening must be less than 1%. so it has to be fate.
→ but on the other hand, the concept of actually having to interact with this man terrifies you. what if he doesn't like you ? what if he thinks you're stupid?
→ before you had the opportunity to contemplate any of that, he must've felt your eyes glued to him from afar, as he perks up in his chair and waves you over to the table. shit.
→ you were pleasantly surprised by the outcome of that scenario. when you sat down and sheepishly introduced yourself, you soon found out that this 'akaashi' guy is actually pretty kind. you both made friendly conversation about your time at uni and then started planning your report, with minimal disagreement. plus, he's pretty patient with you.
→ although you didn't suspect he was interested in you... until you went over to his dorm the day before the assignment was due to review the final draft together...
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
tears blur your vision as you're sat at your desk, attempting to read the final draft you had up on your laptop. "which sug— suggests that the pricipl— hahh!" but it proves to be a challenge when you've got a guy knelt under your desk, wreaking havoc between your legs.
"i can't hear you." his words vibrate against your already sensitive core. somehow he expects you to read this paper to him, despite the fact he's tongue-deep in your cunt and your legs are practically twitching around his head. but from the way you can feel him quietly laugh to himself, you assume he finds your struggle amusing in some way.
he licks stripes across your cunt and kisses your folds with an alarming passion. your fingers weave their way through his hair and you relax into your chair while whistling a small whine. yet whenever you melt too far into him, he immediately withdraws himself from your pussy and tells you to keep reading the essay.
"you know it's due tomorrow morning." he says. his voice is so monotone that it's almost funny to hear him speak so seriously while the lower half of his face is gleaming with your slick. "we need to read the whole thing to make sure it's okay before we submit it."
" 'we' need to read it? i'm the one doing all the reading." you splutter defensively.
although akaashi shuts that down by simply raising a brow and tilting his head slightly, "would you rather i stop and help you instead?"
there's a beat of silence. although you feign hesitancy because unfortunately the answer to his question occurs to you instantly. while biting the inside of your mouth, you grumble, "uh, no. please keep going."
the corners of his lips tug into a small smile. he leans his cheek against the inside of your thigh and asks, "could you repeat that last part for me?"
you furrow your brows at him, discontently. but unfortunately he is such a good eater, that you're basically forced to do as he requests. "please keep going, keiji." you whisper meekly, averting your watery gaze.
"awh, of course i will, beautiful." he says softly, and as promised, he leans in and resumes. yet the contact of his cold mouth against your cunt was enough to make you gasp slightly.
his tongue laps at your folds, while he brings his hand up to toy with your clit. both sensations simultaneously are so overwhelming and cause ripples of numbness through your abdomen, but you still try to obey his request and read the report. "principles of de— deont—" you take a deep breath, "deontolog— ahh!"
you almost scream and your body tenses as his tongue worms its way into your pussy. it hurriedly slides back and forth between your walls, the wet friction making you light-headed. all while his lips still massage yours, a mix of saliva and slick staining your thigh and dripping down his chin and onto the floor.
"deontology!" you gasp hastily, as soon as he pulls out from between your walls and removes his hand from your needy clit. but you're hardly given a moment of peace before his lips wrap around your clit and he starts greedily sucking.
"oh shit, oh shit." you plea, tossing your head back and letting your jaw go slack, knowing full well that there is no way you could read this damn essay when you can barely keep your eyes from screwing shut. but thankfully, this time akaashi doesn't seem to press you on it.
in fact, you can feel him smile slightly against your clit, sucking it then giving it a small kiss when he concludes. his tongue plunges into your tight hole once again, ruthlessly pushing in and out and groaning so deeply into you. "mm, fuck," he gurgles incoherently, "so sweet. so good." his arms wrap around your thighs, rubbing the circles into your skin.
your hips rut against his face as he tongue fucks you through a mind-numbing orgasm. molten waves shred through your body and staggered noises are torn from your throat; it's all so intense, it's like you can feel so much yet so little at the same time. you lose yourself to the feeling of his tongue against your pussy.
and of course he can tell from the way your body responds to him, so he coaxes you through it, unrelenting until the high eventually dies down. only then does he carefully slip his tongue out from inside you, and lean back to look up at you. however, he's still close enough that you can feel his breath against your cunt.
"you okay, beautiful? did i do it right?"
it is almost humorous how unsure he is, despite just giving you the best orgasm of your entire life. although you're too worn out to laugh, in fact you are too worn out to even look at him. and a part of you doesn't even want to; you know that if you saw his flushed cheeks and his damp lips that it would probably turn you on again. so instead, you keep your eyes locked to the ceiling and sigh, "you did great. thank you."
"you don't need to thank me. i enjoyed it." he hums, shuffling out from under the table and standing up. he grabs a tissue from his bedside table and wipes his face, and says, "i'm going to get us some water. then, we can review the essay."
"no aftercare?" you whine.
akaashi halts in his tracks. "oh, right, sorry." his eyes are wide as he frantically searches his mind for an example of aftercare that could be applied in this situation, "we could review the essay... and also cuddle." there's a frightened pause at the end of his sentence as he waits to find out where his suggestion was satisfactory or offensive.
"yay, that sounds nice."
phew.
TSUKISHIMA KEI
→ the two of you were a part of the same group of five to complete a history report
→ but everytime y'all would meet to discuss the group work, it was more like you and tsukishima arguing for forty minutes straight with three bystanders
→ truly the two of you were so uptight and wanted to take charge of the report and have everything done in accordance with your vision, and the problem occurred when you ended up disagreeing on basically everything
→ every aspect of the report you'd butt heads over. from the topic, to the citation style, to the font. every last detail stemmed from a heated argument between the two of you.
→ your other group members were partially relieved that the two of you were taking on the bulk of the work, but they probably weren't too keen on having to witness your snarky back-and-forths during every compulsory group meeting.
→ mind you, you've got no idea who this tsukishima guy is. you arrived at your first group meeting with you assigned teammates, noticed there was a hot guy there and almost started to feel giddy. UNTIL he opened his mouth and had the audacity to suggest that focus of the report should be feudalism instead of renaissance humanism
→ ever since then, he's been your #1 op.
→ despite the tribulations that came with cooperating with tsukishima, eventually your report was near completion. hence, tsukishima booked a private study room in the library for 6PM and invited everyone to come and work on the finishing touches.
→ unsurprisingly, only you showed up. the rest of the group all came up with flakey, empty excuses, but you both knew the real reason they didn't come was because they were so accustomed to the pair of you doing all the work, they don't feel the need to contribute anymore.
→ anyway, at least there was no one awkwardly watching while you and tsukishima berated each other over text citations.
→ "tsukishima, why've you been referencing in vancouver? i thought we agreed to do it in harvard." "if you actually attended the seminar, you'd know the TA recommended vancourver." "fuck the TA, i've already done everything in harvard." "well, you're just going to have to change it then, aren't you?" "why do i need to change all mine? why can't you change yours to harvard?" "because the TA recommended vancouver and all my references are alre—" "the TA is not the professor; we are not doing vancouver!" "yes, we are!" and so on, and so forth.
→ but all this tension building up in such a small, private room. after a couple more screaming matches and instances of name-calling, it was only natural that one thing would lead to another and...
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
you don't even know how you ended up like this. with your dress hiked up and your panties pulled aside to allow tsukishima's thick cock to plow into you from behind. he had you bend over the table, with one hand on your hip and the other on the small of your back to keep you in place.
you're face was pressed against the cool surface of the table, which you breathed heavily against as you felt his rapid pace split your pussy open, "ngh— fuck, tsu—"
"—shh! shut up." his rhythm momentarily falters as he frantically leans forward to clamp a hand over your mouth. "moron. do you not know where the fuck we are?" he hisses, the urgency in his tone contrasting against the slow, sensual movements of his hips as his dick grinds into your wet cunt. like he's savouring every inch of you.
"calm down." you scoff, grinding back on him and causing your eyes to roll back in your head as your tight walls need to stretch to accommodate him. it's dizzying trying to remain snarky when he's got you so fucked out on his cock; you can hardly remember why you're annoyed with him. "there's— mph— no one around."
he removes his hand from your face as you speak. not because he has any interest in what you have to say, but rather due to the fact your tight cunt wrapped around him is making his arms and legs weak. muffled groans fall from his lips, and he fixes his hand back on your waist so he can hold you in place while he starts ramming into you again. his tip touches your cervix repeatedly while his length forces your spongy pussy open.
and he's merciless. he pierces into you at a delirious rate and just keeps going. his hips slamming into your ass over and over until you're screaming his name and twitching around his cock. when he notices your hands fruitlessly grasping at the smooth surface of the table, he only laughs, nails digging into your pelvis as he does so, "like that, huh? being fucked on a table like a whore."
his relentless drilling into your pussy doesn't falter. additionally, he punctuates his sentence with a slap on ass, rough enough to momentarily echo through the room and cause you to shudder. hence, you're unable to respond with anything more than moans and a choked gasp. which only further amuses tsukishima, "huh? say something, slut."
he rubs the flushed skin of your thigh where his palm landed. you'd think he was trying to be sweet by caressing the sensitive skin, but rather it just felt like he was haphazardly groping you, which makes you whine out even more. his hips slow down, but he redirects his energy to being incredibly forceful. each pointed thrust felt like an attack on your pussy and would knock the wind straight out of your lungs. "tsu—tsukki!" is the only coherent thing you're able to cry out.
he laughs mockingly, "you had a lot to say earlier. but now you're too stupid to talk." one hand moves from your thigh, so his fingers could reach back and play with your needy clit, pulling more pornographic moans from you. "if i'd knew you'd go dumb, i would've stuffed you full a lot sooner." he derides, but when he feels you're pussy flutter around him, there's a dramatic shift in his demeanour, "you close, baby?" he almost whimpers.
"mhm." you're way to cock-drunk to notice this abrupt change. instead, you seem to fawn over him — since you know that he's unfortunately the only man who can give you what you need right now. "so close. mph, please." you don't even need to specify what you're pleading for because he already knows.
without further delay, he swallows the lump in his throat and swings back into his insane pace. ramming into your poor pussy over and over, and constantly fondling your damp clit, until your breathless figure was bouncing the table with each thrust and your cunt was drooling onto the floor.
and he didn't stop when your walls constricted around him and he heard your desperate cries of release. he kept ahold of your waist and kept plowing into you until he hit his own climax, and spilled his cum within the confines of your fluttering pussy.
but he didn't want to pull out. so instead he just laid down next to you on the table, sex teeming the air while you both laid in partial silence, struggling to catch your breath after such an intense ride.
just as you were about to open your mouth to make a sarcastic quip, you're interrupted by a loud knock on the door, followed by, "hello? anyone in there? we've got this room booked for 7PM."
BOKUTO KOTARO
→ that moment when you're paired up with hot, athletic guy in your biology class to write a lab report
→ and at first you think you've hit the jackpot bc basically every girl in that class wants him
→ but then... you realise that you're actually in hell
→ HE IS SO USELESS
→ he must be a REALLY good volleyball player because evidently he must've got into this college based on sports scholarships alone... there is no way he could've performed well academically
→ he hardly shows up to the labs to actually do the experiments, and when he does, he just messes around the entire time — on his phone, talking to his friends or just simply not paying attention.
→ and the worst part is that he tries to be friendly with you too. he makes small talk and jokes in the middle of the experiment, thinking you'll find him funny or charming like everyone else, but instead you're just livid because you're trying to do a titration and he's distracting you
→ the only useful thing he'll do is clean your beakers and equipment at the end of the experiment... but even then he might accidently shatter one smh smh
→ and when it comes time to write the lab report about your findings, you're disappointed but not surprised to find out that he has the literacy skills of a high schooler. he can hardly string a coherent, professional sentence together.
→ it's just astonishing you how someone so unequipped could make it into the same college, into the same course as you
→ anyway, you realise that you're not the find person in history to be given a freeloader as a lab partner, so you don't sulk over it for too long. you get your head down and start working on the assignment.
→ however, bokuto might be dumb, but he's not stupid. the report is due in two days and you've not contacted him about it for weeks — you've stopped asking him for help all together, which means he has barely contributed to this assignment.
→ and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that you're probably going to contact the professor and tell them he didn't help, thus he'd likely get a 0 for this class
→ so as a last ditch effort to make it seem like he's been helpful, he texts you and invites you over to his dorm so y'all can look over the final draft together.
→ but little do you know, he has.. ulterior motives.
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
"bo— bokuto!" you squeak as he lays into you from behind. after you already reached your climax in missionary, there was hardly any downtime before he flipped you over, onto your knees with your ass up so he could continue to lay into you and release another load into your tight cunt.
your walls quiver around him and lewd mix of your wetness and his previously deposited load teems at his base. holding your squirming calf in his hand, he caresses it with his thumb as he merciless fucks into you. and he pants, "just cum one more time for me. c'mon, baby, you deserve it."
"it's— mmph—" you struggle to speak due to the sting from his thick dick stretching out your insides, along with the fact his harsh thrusts keep pushing your face deeper into the pillow. hurriedly, you shift your head to the side so your cheek is pressed into the pillow instead, and you're able to whine, "ngh, s' too much.."
"hang in there, baby." he speaks so softly to you, and rubs your calf so lovingly, which contrasts with the sharp and relentless way his cock keeps splitting you open. so rough and quick with each movement that your ass practically recoils and the whole bed creaks every time his hips slam into you.
when he can tell your feeling weary, and your moans start to become more frantic as you become overstimulated, he blabbers out some praise in hopes you calm you down, "so lucky to have such a smart girl like you to help me with my assignment." he leads over to plant a kiss on the back of your neck, and pepper them lovingly across your shoulderblades, just his pace doesn't slow down for a second, "and a tight, virgin pussy i can use as a cumdump. you're so perfect."
oh god why is he being so sweet to you right now. and even worse, why is it making you so desperate for him. a part of you knew he was only being nice to you to get on your good side but the kind way he touches you and gentle kisses he presses on your back are all too convincing.
you whimper as his balls slap against your ass and his tip scrapes against that sensitive spot on your walls, and you can feel his lips spread into a smile against your hot skin, "you make s— uh—" he cuts himself to slowly grind into you, knocking the wind out of his lungs when he pays attention to the way your snug walls cling to him. "such cute noises.." he huffs out the end of the sentence.
after he resumed his brutal pace, it wasn't long before the knot constricting in your abdomen snapped once again. but this time it was warmer, and stronger, leaving you a squealing mess as you submit to the ecstacy coursing through your body and let your fluttering pussy gush around his length.
you hardly notice the wet sensation because your mind is entirely consumed by bliss, but bokuto knelt behind you is left to absolutely relish in it. "shit.. didn't know virgins could squirt like that. you're really something else, baby." he yells, and you can virtually hear his wide grin in his voice. although the orgasm is short-lived, in tandem with your uncontrolled moans, it's more than enough to bring him to his climax.
bokuto's head tips back and his hand grasps your ankle as he fills you up with his cum. while he does so, he lets out the most shamelessly loud string of groans, occasionally spluttering a semi-coherent phrase. "aah— this pussy's dr— hah— driving me fuckin' crazy!"
once he's ridden it out and sufficiently stuffed you with his load, he pulls out with a pained hiss, as though it hurt to leave you. he collapses but your side on the bed, without his arms to support you, you fully lie down too, still on your front.
he lays on his back and flexes his arm so his hand is behind his head. there's a minute or two where you're speechless and simply pant; worn out and breathless. eventually though, after staring at the ceiling for ages, he casts his warm gaze over towards you and hums, "want to take a nap then we can go for round three?"
"no. everything hurts. and tired." you were too exhausted to even form whole sentences.
"yeah, i figured. but so am i." bokuto laughs, and reaches down to place a hand on your ass, giving it a gentle and loving squeeze, "you did really well for your first time. y'know, if you didn't tell me, i probably wouldn't have been able to guess."
"thank you?" honestly, you can't tell if that's supposed to be a compliment or not, but you also can't be bothered to figure it out.
"yeah, you were great, angel." he beams, and you let out a faint hum of acknowledgement, while your eyes are closed and you're already drifting off to sleep.
the whole reason he asked you to come over was so that he could convince you to let him put his name on the project, even though he didn't do that much work, so that he could pass the class. but now that he's got you here in his bed, looking so peaceful as you're about to fall asleep, that thought gets buried under the rest.
hii, could i get a pink latte for akaashi, surprise me
with your favorite pastry? for here please :)
❥ handjob w akaashi keiji !!
━━━ RECEIVING
he loves it. loves melting beneath your touch as he rests his head on the crook of your neck, little whines leaving his mouth against your skin as you fist his dick. you can feel it twitching in your hand as your thumb traces the throbbing vein on his thick shaft before running your finger over his slit, smearing his precum over him.
“baby, just— hah” keiji says against your ear, and you know how close he is. your hand can barely close around him, but you manage to speed up your pace, jerking him off as you whisper soft praises in his ear “you’re doing so good, kei” “c’mon, give it to me. you know how much i love your cum”. you see his thighs twitch, his grip on you tightening and his dick grows even harder.
your purrs drive him mad and, before he can even realise, his spilling thick cum over him, your hand and some of it even lays on your face. he’s a panting mess, already satiated when you gather his cum with your finger and suck your digit drenched of him. he knows he’s staring, but he can’t help it before guiding your pretty mouth down on his dick. if you wanna drink it, he’s more than happy to give it to you properly.
━━━ GIVING
he’s so sweeeet. almost as sweet as your folds, that’s why he’s addicted to them. he stares at your entrance, it’s almost embarrassing. he’s so focused on how you suck him in each time he pushes his fingers in and out, watching you swallow them as you squirm beneath his touch.
you cry on his lap while his other hand caresses your trembling thigh. your nails scratch his broad back, your hips grind against his fingers while his pads rub your sweet spot and his thumb grazes your clit. “kei—! please.. wanna cum” you whine, and his fingers thrust faster into your hole.
“..like this?” his raspy voice against your ear makes you squirm between his arms, your arms tightening around him as you nod quickly. you make a mess, ecstasy splashing over his thighs and abs — yet he’s so sweet and gentle with you that you wouldn’t mind doing it again.
keiji loves eating you out. not like a wild animal, but precise and intense. arms wrapped around your soft thighs, caressing them lazily meanwhile yours are tangled with his hair and the other playing with your breast.
his tongue traces slow circles as he savours every inch of your pussy, keeping a measured pace, letting the tension build until you couldn’t hold still to draw out your pleasure as longer as possible. your back arches when he sucks on your clit softly, and the feeling of him humming against your bud is almost too much for you. “keiji, please-“ you whine, and your eyes roll back when he resumes lapping your aching cunt, tongue sneaking in and out your whole deliberately as you tug his hair softly. when you jerked your hips up, trying to feel his mouth even closer, he tightened his grip on them, pinning them against the mattress and pressing his tongue harder against your core. he is persistent, yet slow and sweet, feeding off every desperate moan you let out. “you’re so sweet” he whispers against you, and the soft grazing of his lips against your swollen clit makes you twitch. “you’re doing it great, sweetheart. be quiet, ‘kay?” he kisses your inner thighs before continuing with his task in hand, gathering your slick with his tongue and pushing it in and out of your delicious hole. when he finally rips your ecstasy out of you, he doesn’t waste a single drop, hearing your moans and whines as he accidentally overstimulates you.
he can’t help it — your sweet pussy will always be his favourite dessert.
(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) masterlist ❤︎ read this before requesting!
kenma kuzome → he is lazy. there's no two ways about it. although he is passionate about many things: volleyball, his company, video games, you — just because he enjoys them, that doesn't stop him from taking short-cuts once in while. to him, using toys with you is the same as using cheat codes in zelda; no fun if overused, but in moderation it can certainly amplify the experience. sometimes kuroo will drag him out the house to do something dastardly like go on a run or work-out at the gym, and on those days, he comes home and his body is so spent he seriously cannot be bothered you fuck. he doesn't even want you to ride him while he lies there cos his heart is already beating so fast it might leap out of his chest, and your tight cunt on his cock would only make that worse. he might die. so he'll give you a dildo and tell you go to town. he'll even let you ride it while it's positioned on the seat of his expensive gaming chair , so he can lay on his bed and watch. he loves watching you tire yourself boucing up and down desperately on that plastic toy, he might even be able to muster up the strength to smirk. but he definitely isn't smiling when you fuck yourself so hard that you end up squirting all over his chair , soaking the mesh and foam padding. he has to buy another one, and along with it he buys a new dildo. one with a sunction at the bottom so your messy pussy can drench his wall instead.
nishinoya yuu → nipple clamps!! but only the proper ones, with the dainty chain connecting both clamps. he especially likes when you wear them while riding him, cowgirl, so he can tug on the chain as it bounces around. he loves the way you react to it; your sweet little whimpers and the way your snug cunt clenches on his cock. his eyes are always fixed on the way your nipples strain in the clamps, and he loves how stiff they are when he finally takes it off.
keiji akaashi → classic. he likes using a vibrator on your clit while he fucks you. but his finger work is also excellent. if you were to ask why he does it , he would say it's because he wants you to feel the best you possibly can, and the vibrator is a useful tool to help you experience the most euphoric high... but in truth, the reason he does it is because he types all day at work and fears he might be suffering from carpal tunnel syndrome , so making repetitive motions with his fingers is torturous for him. still, you love it. sometimes he'll keep the vibrator pressed to your clit even after he's pulled out from fucking you to your climax. you're already so overstimulated and the intense vibrations sent molten shock waves coursing through your frail body. your face contorts with pleasure, and through teary eyes you see akaashi looming over you. his glasses are foggy but you can still his the immense desire and hunger in his eyes. he stares at you , not blinking for so long that his eyes start to burn.
hajime iwaizumi → he's a simple man. when he hits it in doggy style, he likes to see a little bit of sparkle. your ass ripples against his pelvis each time his hips slam into you; his dick splits you in half while the small metal plug is nestled snugly in your ass. each time he fiercely thrusts into you, the plug shifts just a little and adds an increased desperation to your moans. you might consider it uncomfortable or overstimulating at first, but the plug is a massive improvement from what would occur before the purchase of the toy. previously, when he'd fuck you from the back, he'd end up toying with your asshole himself; poking at your rim and mercilessly shoving his finger in and out with zero prep. plus, the metal plug has a pretty gem on the end.
