warnings: all fluff and writing after a major writing block sooo beware lol
a/n: so tumblr clearly hates me because i had to rewrite this after the website totally ate up my original draft but! i hope this is okay! sorry for being away for so long - writing has become so much harder for me. i really hope this is as cute and funny of an idea as i hoped it would be :) all comments and keyboard smashes are more than welcome!!
haikyuu masterlist
“She sure is something isn’t she?” The boy in your class beamed, his eyes sparkling in the direction you had left in. It was lunch time but even though everyone else seemed like they were staring, he was more focused on you than what was in his lunch.
Tsukishima said nothing, headphones carefully placed on his ears but no music playing. His eyes were focused on his phone screen, acting as if he was tuning them all out when in reality, he was actually interested in how this conversation would continue.
“Who? Y/L/N? Shit man, you better watch it,” another classmate murmured, shaking his head. Tsukishima noticed in his peripheral vision the way the boy’s eyes darted back from the new kid to Tsukishima.
“What? Why? Does she have a boyfriend?”
There was a slight pause and the boys who were gathered around the chairs all awkwardly shared a look. “Not really. But she’s off limits.”
“How can a girl be off limits? What, does she just turn down every guy who asks?”
“No man, it’s just… she and Tsukishima Kei over there are kind of a thing.”
“A thing?”
In the silence that followed, Tsukishima could see his fellow classmates nodding vigorously.
“Oh come on. That’s pathetic. Why hasn’t he confessed to her and made her his girlfriend then?”
The boys collectively shushed him, obviously not wanting Tsukishima to overhear the other boy’s loud accusation.
“I mean... they’re a thing but I don’t think Tsukishima really knows,” one of the girls chirped up, giggling with her friends. “But he’s always really sweet with her - he seems rather bored with everyone else.”
“Well that’s dumb,” the boy shrugged. “If they’re not officially together, it means I still have a shot!” He insisted, though everyone around him didn’t seem to agree.
“No way man! Watanabe Arata from Year 2, Class 4 tried to confess to her ages ago and even though she rejected him, I heard that Tsukishima sent him such an icy glare! To an upper year! Can you believe that?” Another boy hissed nervously.
Tsukishima felt a smug smile grow on his lips as he aimlessly scrolled through his phone, pretending he was so out of the loop. He remembered that godawful confession you had gotten. It wasn’t just long, it was clumsy and awkward and you had looked so uncomfortable just receiving it. Tsukishima thought back to that moment, trying to imagine how his face must’ve looked. He hadn’t glared that hard... had he?
“No way, a girl like that is totally worth it! Maybe she’s just being friendly with him and she doesn’t even think about him like that,” the new kid shrugged.
Tsukishima couldn’t help himself anymore. He pulled his headphones down slowly in a fluid motion, drawing everyone’s eyes to him. Normally, he hated being the centre of attention but right now, with the shocked looks and wide eyes on their faces, it was just too good to pass up. “Go ahead then, why don’t you ask her out?” He asked, cocking his head over the new boy, smirking a little just to add to the pressure.
“Pfft maybe I will!” The boy shot back, clearly not expecting for Tsukishima to have heard the conversation. He shrunk back almost immediately though as you and Yamaguchi’s laughter entered the room, coming back from the the drink machine outside.
You raised an eyebrow at the sudden silence that filled the air, all eyes drawing over to you and Yams like there was something wrong with the two of you. “What, did you start a fight or something?” You asked somewhat playfully to Tsukishima, putting the drink you got him on his desk before settling into your own seat.
“Who, me? Never?” Tsukishima smiled innocently, but you could’ve sworn there was a little devilish look in his eyes.
“You guys okay?” Yamaguchi asked your classmates curiously, noting the fact that they were still all staring at you.
The classroom quickly filled with typical lunchtime conversations as everyone turned away awkwardly, the boys huddled in the corner no longer speaking loudly but instead avoiding Tsukishima’s presence.
The blond waited for the new boy to walk over and say something to you, but he didn’t. Coward, Tsukishima thought to himself. He was just starting to think the boy had given up as the end of the day neared, but as the teacher dismissed the final class, you felt a shadow cast over your desk.
“Hey, you’re Y/L/N right? I’m Okada Daiki! Nice to meet you!” The boy beamed, apparently having found some of that confidence he was exuding during lunch. “So... this school’s pretty big huh? Think you could give me a tour? I heard that you’re pretty involved in some of the school’s clubs so it would cool to hear from you!”
You blinked in surprise - you hadn’t ever really been the whole welcome-committee girl, usually that was the student council members’ jobs so why was he coming to you? “I didn’t think this school was big at all,” you admitted bluntly, not realizing the ulterior motive in his words. “But... I mean-”
“Hey, Y/N, you’re coming to practice right? Tsukki and I were going to work with Noya for our receives- oh I’m sorry, were you two talking?” Yamaguchi asked with the most innocent looking face.
You tried to suppress your smile as much as possible, but Yamaguchi’s little shiteating grin was just too contagious. Whoever told Okada about you being involved in clubs must’ve left the part out about Tsukishima being involved in the same clubs, not to mention Yamaguchi’s love for interrupting unwanted invitations. “Ya I think Kiyoko and Yachi wanted me to help out with pumping the volleyballs though so I might not be on the actual court for a bit,” you told Yamaguchi with a curious look in your eye.
Did he know something you didn’t about this guy? You turned back to Okada with a slightly apologetic smile, “Sorry, I’m only really involved in volleyball club with Tsukishima and Yamaguchi and it takes up a lot of my time so I’m not sure I’d have much time to show you around. But if you’re looking for someone, Sasaki usually gives tours to the new students!” You offered, continuing to pack your back.
Tsukishima’s face was enough for Okada to not want to back down. The blond had the most annoying smile on his lips, as if encouraging the new boy to continue embarrassing himself.
“Well do you think you’d have time to tutor me? I know you’ve got great grades and I’ll have a lot of catching up to do!” Okada suggested quickly, giving you what must be his most attractive smile.
“Honestly, I’m a terrible tutor,” you admitted with a laugh, thinking back to when you attempted to help Hinata and Kageyama but ended up getting too impatient and falling asleep instead. “But I think there’s a tutoring group within this group that you could probably join!” You thought for a moment, genuinely trying to remember who was in that group.
“If you really need help with your academics, I’m sure you could find some but I’m afraid it can’t be my girl here,” Tsukishima finally spoke up, his voice cool and steady, as if he was enjoying this moment a little too much. “Come on, Y/N, we should get going. Can’t be too late to practice if I’m supposed to walk you home afterwards,” he added lightly, like this was a very normal thing for him to say, before grabbing your hand and interlacing his fingers with yours, and tugging you and your bag out of the classroom.
Yamaguchi followed with suppressed laughter tightening his chest. You were too stunned to really argue, following Tsukishima out the door as you tried not to look at your fellow classmates who all scurried over to the hallway windows, whispering and murmuring as they watched Tsukishima be so outwardly affectionate with you.
The laughter burst from Yamaguchi’s throat as soon as the three of you left the building, continuing onward until you got to the gyms. “I can’t believe you-” he breathed heavily between snickers, shaking his head as he headed towards the club room. “Damn Tsukki,” he grinned, shooting his friend a thumbs up before disappearing to get dressed.
You blinked in surprise, still not really over whatever just happened. You looked up at Tsukishima, as if waiting for him to explain, though he just stood there with his ears and cheeks burning pink. “What was that about?”
“What was what about?”
You raised an eyebrow at him and then looked at your hands, still interlocked together. “I thought you wanted to keep us secret?”
“Not secret just... not so public,” Tsukishima mumbled, all of a sudden feeling a bit shy. He cursed internally, hoping you hadn’t mistaken his dislike of PDA for wanting the two of you to not have a public relationship.
“Tsukishima,” you said slowly, squinting your eyes at him as he avoided your gaze. “Did you convince the new boy to try to ask me out just for you to embarrass him by outing our relationship?” You scolded, though your lips were turning into a smile.
“No! He embarrassed himself - everyone told him not to do it but he insisted,” Tsukishima rolled his eyes but gave you a small smile. “He looked real stunned didn’t he?”
“I mean, you did call me your girl and my first name. Not to mention you grabbing my hand, you dummy,” you laughed, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you.”
Tsukishima pulled you closer, tilting your chin up to look at him, his cheeks still red but his eyes seeming less flustered, “Well believe it. Cause you are my girl, ya got that?”
You beamed up at him, happy to hear those words from his lips, “All yours,” you nodded and Tsukishima bent down to press his lips against yours quickly.
It might’ve been a quick kiss, but somehow rumours spread that you and Tsukishima had been kissing behind the gyms. You had the suspicious feeling the rumours got started because of one Yamaguchi Tadashi not being able to hide the fact that Tsukishima had been outside the club room with you, and a whole boys volleyball team who definitely peeked out the door to see. Anytime you passed Okada in the halls after that, you could’ve sworn there was a prideful smile on Tsukishima’s face, his fingers almost always interlaced with yours now.
Not that you minded because you liked being Tsukishima’s, and he liked being yours (even if he rarely admits it).
haikyuu taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed! :))
a/n: so i impulsively decided to write this because sometimes music can really move you — listen to reflections by toshifumi hinata to set the mood ! (the slowed version linked is just beautiful)
also @solkeiji i hope this is a good amount of pain JDNWNXMANS ily
wc: 0.3k
reblogs are appreciated <33
AKAASHI KEIJI regrets not telling you he loved you more. He was a man who chose to show his love through his actions, with every touch symbolizing the depth of his emotions that never seemed enough to be encompassed into a simple “I love you.” It was only after the two of you had parted that he realized that perhaps, a simple touch didn’t have the same meaning to you as it did to him.
BOKUTO KOUTAROU regrets not giving you your space at times. He knew you loved him, and he knew you’d always be there for him, but there were days where your proximity was the only thing that allowed him to truly feel like the love enveloped him, warm and fuzzy. Now that he’s alone, he realizes that maybe, you needed some time to yourself, and he never gave you that.
KUROO TETSUROU regrets not taking you seriously at times. Teasing each other was a normal part of your relationship after all, but perhaps his dismissal of some of the things you insisted on took a toll on you. Now anytime you don’t even acknowledge him when you see him (despite all you used to be), he realizes how terrible it may have been for you.
OIKAWA TOORU regrets not spending more time with you. He adored you, he truly did, but in between his pursuit of his passion and your constant support (you never once complained), he lost track of the time he spent alone with you. Now sitting up at night, he wonders if you would’ve stayed if he’d set aside more time for the two of you to be yourselves.
IWAIZUMI HAJIME regrets not cherishing the things you did together. He loved you, and he was almost certain you’d always explore more together, but now that you’re not together, he realizes those moments were ones he wouldn’t trade for the world, and he let them slip through the cracks of hands.
content warnings: aran’s is longer than the rest i think. also a little bit suggestive in aran’s.
SUNA RINTAROU— holding you is literally one of his favourite things to do. you take naps frequently in his arms and he takes so many pictures, both good and bad and keeps them in this special album to look at when you’re away from him. also likes to be a little spoon from time to time but don’t let anyone know that because he’ll deny it forever.
IWAIZUMI HAJIME— lays your head on his chest and rubs your back as you tell each other random things that happened throughout your day. the best sleep aid because when it’s closer to night time his voice has an extra rasp to it and it. once you’re asleep he places a kiss on your forehead before telling you his daily ‘i love you.’
MIYA ATSUMU— head remains right between your thighs it’s his favourite place to lay. sometimes he turns his head so his chin is laying on your pelvis and he occasionally bites at your thighs because he’s an asswipe like that. you fall asleep in that position 9/10 and you always wake up complaining because he made your legs fall asleep >:(
USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI— really awkward at initiating cuddles sometimes so you’ll just have to grab his hands and drag him to your bed to let him rest his head on your chest so you can run your ingers through his hair lol. loves being the little spoon! yeah big spoon is nice but he finds it so calming and always thanks you before placing a kiss onto your collarbone.
KUROO TETSURŌ— laying in his bed is really a challenge because big ceo man still likes to eat in his bed so most of the time you’ll randomly get stabbed by a random chip that dropped in the process :( but besides that he likes to have you straddle him and then he’ll wrap his arms around you because he finds the position comfortable for some reason.
MEIAN SHŪGO— bear hugs you when he cuddles lol. and it’s so annoying because he quite literally doesn’t let you move and you will most likely fall asleep (or attempt to) in any position he has you in. good thing is he doesn’t like staying in one position forever so he’ll move..eventually. just hope your body hasn’t fallen asleep before then <3
BOKUTO KŌTARŌ— another bear hugger! super cuddly once he gets home from practice and quite literally falls on top of you. but he’s sweaty so you tell him to go shower with a pout. likes to attack you with kisses or lays on your stomach so he can draw patterns on it and he likes to look up at you while he talks about his day or what happened at practice.
MIYA OSAMU— cuddles really wild. like you will have your limbs tangled up in weird ways but it works for you and neither of you complain. doesn’t really like talking while you cuddle so you just listen to the sound of each other’s breathing or if you’re not watching anything the sound of his heartbeat and it’s very calming to hear. really enjoys stroking your thighs while you cuddle for some reason lol.
ARAN OJIRO— a top tier cuddler if you will. when he comes home he heads straight to the shower and comes out to leap right into your arms. the smell of his body wash (he’s one of the few that doesn’t use 2 in one btw) combined with his soft skin and the warmth still radiating from his shower he’s literal heaven. i’m rambling so much lolol but he’s a big spoon and likes to place sweet kisses against your neck and near the shell of your ear to feel your squirm. laughs because he’s a meanie </3
author’s note: lol i’m kinda back writing again. i’ll be posting drafts of finished works since i’m still on hiatus. the link to fill out my taglist is here. reblogs are encouraged and very appreciated!
— tsukishima kei x gn!reader. 1.5k words, fluff. characters are aged up.
— it's his birthday, his boss throws him a party, and he's had one too many to drink.
a/n: happy birthday tsukki :)
He really should have bolted out of the office as soon as the clock struck 6 PM. He should have made up some white lie about having plans on the night of his birthday.
But he was speechless and unable to say no when it was his boss that coaxed him for an after-work party.
So now here he was—sitting side-by-side with his Mr. Yukimura who had been pouring him glass after glass of beer.
Tsukishima internally whines and his face already had a forced smile as he finishes off his sixth draft of the night. Everyone in the izakaya cheers and applauds as he smacks down the empty glass on the table.
Their boss had generously rented out the whole establishment for the rest of the night. So nobody currently cared about how loud and rambunctious they were being.
With how busy and overloaded everyone was at the company, Tsukishima and his colleagues were just happy to finally have a break. And they were really going at it especially since the boss was paying for their food and drinks.
He stumbles forward when Mr. Yukimura gives him a solid hit on his back. “Look at Tsukishima go!”
The boss laughs boisterously. “We should have more drinks together!”
The thought almost made Tsukishima let out a groan but he simply nodded and made it seem as if he was considering the big boss’s suggestion. There simply was no way out of it once Mr. Yukimura had his eyes on you.
“But you’re always so busy, Yukimura-san,” he lightly chuckles. “And besides, doesn’t your wife want you to come home early?”
The people at the table who heard Tsukishima’s statement simply agreed with him.
“Yeah, boss! Whenever you go on overtime, she calls each one of us to check up on you,” his secretary chimes in.
The boss waves a hand in the air, “Don’t worry. I already told her about tonight.” He pats Tsukishima’s shoulder, “I said I was throwing one of my best employees a birthday party.”
This made Tsukishima genuinely smile. Heck, with how lightheaded he was at the moment, he even felt shy and somehow his cheeks felt hot.
“You didn’t have to do this,” he turned to face Mr. Yukimure and bowed his head in gratitude. “But thank you, I appreciate your kindness.”
He chuckles and pats his head, “Now, now, Tsukishima. I want to know… don’t you have someone waiting for you at home?”
Tsukishima grabs his glass, wondering who’d given him a refill, but he still drinks it. He feels the alcohol run down his throat and it makes him all the more dazed.
He takes a second to answer, “I’m not sure what to answer to that.”
He knows that he’s the one in the hot seat now, and some people from the other tables had joined in. Everyone was apparently curious about Tsukishima’s love life.
He hears a question thrown from the side, “Are you single?” A playful hoot follows.
Feeling everyone’s eyes on him, he shifts on his seat and touches the rim of his eyeglasses. “I don’t think I really have the time for that right now. I—“
Another voice. “But aren’t you always going out of the office on time?”
“Oh yeah, I noticed that too and he always seems to be in a hurry,” someone agrees.
Tsukishima’s growing more restless and he could only smile in silence, hoping that they stop questioning him.
“If I had a partner, I don’t think I’d be here with everyone tonight.” As he says that, his eyes briefly meet someone’s in the corner of the room.
He knows he has a habit of saying things before thinking, and most of the time, what comes out of his mouth always sounded a bit hostile than what he intended them to be. He hopes no one takes it the wrong way.
His boss chuckles, “Alright, guys! He has a point. Let’s go back to enjoying the rest of the night. Order more drinks, it’s all on me! But before that,” Mr. Yukimura stands up and raises his glass.
“Here’s a toast to Tsukishima Kei,” he tips it towards the boy. “Truly one of our hardest working employees. We’re glad to have you on our team. We wish you continuous success and happiness for another year.”
After the quick celebratory salute, everyone returned to their tables and seats and the merrymaking continued on. Despite his initial reservations, Tsukishima actually allowed himself to enjoy the company of his colleagues and had a few more drinks.
They drank, exchanged stories, and ordered a few more rounds until their boss had to leave sometime close to midnight. But even then, no one wanted to go home yet.
In the middle of listening to Kobayashi’s story of how yesterday’s client meeting ended in total disaster, Tsukishima excused himself to get some air.
Stepping out, he found an empty bench just a few steps from the izakaya. The seat felt cold and he regrets not bringing his coat with him. He throws his head back, closes his eyes, and relishes in a few minutes of silence.
The cold evening breeze manages to get him to slightly sober up. He takes a few more deep breaths and when he opens his eyes, he sees a figure hovering over him.
He instantly recognizes you.
Lifting a hand to reach your face, his fingers tickle your cheeks. Tsukishima gives you a soft smile, “Why did you go outside? It’s cold here.”
You scoff, “Says the person who just spent ten minutes outside because he had too much to drink. I swear, you can never hold your alcohol.”
You drop his coat on his lap and take a seat beside him, “Here. You’re probably freezing your butt off.”
He simply shakes his head at your remark, and slips on the coat. When he’s done, Tsukishima rests his heavy head on your shoulders and he immediately calms at your familiar, homely scent.
“I’m sorry. I know I said we’d go to that fancy restaurant tonight,” he says in a muffled voice as he links his right hand with your left. “We even had a reservation made in advance.”
You squeeze his in return, “It’s fine. We could go there anytime. Besides, I had fun, especially when they had you cornered about your love life.”
He hides his face on your neck and you hear him grumble, “Shut up.”
The moment that occurred just an hour ago flashes back to your mind. You were quietly huddled with your work friends at a corner table but the commotion that stirred in the middle of the restaurant caught your attention.
“Are you single?” You were anticipating Tsukishima’s response, knowing he would be at a complete loss as to how to answer that. You watch him as he shifts in his seat, and your lips unconsciously turn upward when you meet his gaze.
You and Tsukishima were close friends since middle school, and the both of you had always been tiptoeing the fine line between friendship and lovers that it drove everyone around you mad.
It was obvious that there was unspoken mutual attraction and though his best friend, Yamaguchi, always pointed it out, Tsukishima didn’t make a move.
It went on for years until you and Tsukishima discovered that the two of you were going to the same university. The moment you started the new chapter in your life, everything changed.
It was on your graduating year that he asked you out. You remember it clearly. The two of you were just casually working on your individual papers in your favorite coffee shop when he mentioned,
“Do you ever think… about the two of us? Like together?”
“In a relationship?”
“Yeah, would that be weird?”
You and Tsukishima exchange a knowing smile and in that moment, everything just seemed to fall perfectly in place.
“No, it wouldn’t be weird. It would feel… right.”
After graduation, it was by chance that you both got a job offer from the same company. Though you’d be in the operations department and Tsukishima in the marketing department, the two of you still agreed it’d be wise to keep your relationship a secret.
Having worked in the company for four years now, everyone still thinks of Tsukishima being a cool and dependent bachelor. Though it never really bothered you when people would make a pass at him, since at the end of the day, he always comes home to you.
Your mind is pulled to the present when you feel Tsukishima drawing circles and shapes on your palm. You lean your body closer to him, “You’re such a child.”
“But I am your child. You have no choice but to put up with me.” The words come out a bit unclear and he looks up at you doe-eyed and pouting. You figure he’s still a little drunk.
You steal a kiss and he gasps. “Happy birthday, Kei.”
Tsukishima’s quick to put his hands on both sides of your face, “That’s not fair!” He pays you back by littering kisses on your cheeks, nose, eyes, and forehead before finally pressing his chapped lips on yours.
He pulls away and touches his forehead on yours and says in the gentlest voice you’ve heard, “I love you. Thank you for being with me all these years.”
And just as a group of your coworkers exit the restaurant, Tsukishima passes out and rests his head on your shoulder.
It was the perfect timing for someone to catch you stroking his hair affectionately and kissing the top of his head. They gush as they watch you whisper an I love you as response to his earlier declaration and after a brief moment of surprise, everyone left to give you some privacy in the remaining hours of his special day.
Summary: Kunimi doesn't like running, but he'll do it for you.
Genres and other tags: fluff, pre-relationship, flirting, banter, a bit of enemies to lovers, manager!reader, second year!Kunimi
Words: 767
Warnings: none
*****
"What are you writing?" Kunimi asked you.
He stood beside you in the empty hallway, hands in his pockets. His tone didn't reveal much curiosity, but he leaned against you as he looked over your shoulder.
You yawned, stretching your arms out in front of you as you held your notebook and pencil.
"That you came late for conditioning practice again," you told him.
The rest of his teammates had already gone a few laps through the school hallways and headed down the stairs. It was dark and snowy outside. The sun hadn't even risen yet. Kunimi hated winter.
"Coach should've cancelled practice with all the snow outside," he said, scrunching his nose and twisting his lips.
"Did you forget that volleyball is an indoor sport?" you told him with a smirk.
You checked your watch. You had bought it when you had become their manager.
"You should've come earlier," you said. With your pencil, you pointed at his volleyball shoes. "It also doesn't take fifteen minutes to switch out of your boots."
Kunimi grumbled as you scribbled a fifteen next to his name.
"You'd better start running or else it'll be a twenty," you added.
"Have you been keeping track this whole time?" he said with a scowl, hands still in his pockets. "Coach didn't even do that last year."
"Of course I have to," you replied. "Who's going to make sure you don't slack off?" The team's attendance records filled the loose paper fastened to the front page of your notebook. "It's all in here."
"Really?" he asked. He held out his hand and you gave him the sheet. After pretending to look at it, he dashed off.
With the paper in hand.
"Kunimi! Get back here!" you shouted as you ran after him.
At first, his expression displayed an indifference to your yells. Yet a tiny grin grew on his face before he turned around to stick his tongue out at you.
"Ugh! Kunimi! You idiot!"
He finally stopped after a few minutes, but only after rounding the corner and running down a flight of stairs. You cursed his long legs. He was too fast. You smacked him with your notebook before plopping onto the bottom step of the stairs.
"I hope you're ready to make up the time after school," you said out of spite as you caught your breath.
"At least cut my time in half if you make me only run on the stairs again," he told you, squatting in front of you.
"You should have thought of that before you came in late," you said between shallow breaths. "Besides, we need to make sure you're in good condition for the next tournament."
Kunimi didn't like you at first. You were too stubborn, too loud, too annoying. And yet…
"Hey Y/n," he told you.
You raised your brows. "What is it this time?"
Months ago, he had been dumbfounded when you had laid down a trail of salted caramel candies in front of him, claiming you had heard it worked like catnip. (Did you really think he was that simple-minded?)
You had let him lie on your shoulder in class when sleep-deprivation had taken over. (Although the first time that had happened, you had smacked the back of his head.)
You had placed new knee pads in his locker when the elastics in his old ones had become brittle and worn. (You really shouldn't have written his name on them if you had wanted it to be a secret. He could recognize your handwriting anywhere.)
"Could you be our manager again next year?" Kunimi asked you nonchalantly. You had only planned to help out this year to help support Yahaba as captain.
You scratched the back of your head. "I guess I have to," you said as you took his hand to help you up. "Who else would make sure you're not late?"
"Pfft," he snickered into the back of his hand. "Please continue taking care of me, Miss Manager."
You widened your eyes before blinking a few times. Looking away, you clutched onto the notebook in one hand as you continued to hold Kunimi's in the other.
"Okay," you told him, eyes avoiding his gaze. "I will."
A blush formed on Kunimi's cheeks, not at all expecting your reaction. His eyes darted away from you. The halls were still empty.
He wanted to ask you to take care of him for years to come. But not right now.
He wanted to savour this moment a little longer as his fingers were intertwined between yours.
*****
Hehehe. I hoped you liked it. I did. lollll.
Please check out my other stories if you liked this one. :) (I also have a Google form for my taglist if you're interested.)
get ready for a whole lotta hurt <3
inspired by @agasheeee
characters: oikawa tooru, iwaizumi hajime, kageyama tobio, tsukishima kei [gn!reader]
wc: 0.7k
it was obvious to you how oikawa tooru was pulling back from your kisses, how your hugs were getting shorter, how he went to sleep earlier. it pricked your heart like thorns, and left you bleeding and crying. you don't know if oikawa notices how you've started to cry yourself to sleep. and if he did would be more surprising, considering he comes from practice - or you assume - late, too late. and you could see him saying this from a mile away, but it still hurt. it felt like he ripped out your heart and threw it away because he didn't care for it anymore. "i don't- i don't think we're meant for each other." he had said, and he was a coward while he did so. he couldn't look into your eyes which were reddened from tears but you still willed yourself to stand straight. you nodded and he left. you broke down right there.
you loved iwaizumi hajime too much. it left you dizzy and giggly whenever he shot you a smile, or kissed your jaw. you were so in love, you didn't even realize when it all started going wrong. you had ignored everything and focused on him even when he had stopped focusing on you. you let the scent of a new perfume be disregarded and threw them in the laundry. you refused to acknowledge the late nights and messy hair. the buttons on his shirt were hardly ever buttoned in the correct order anymore. you just wished he started to hide it better, spare your heart a little. but iwaizumi hajime is harsh, he's cold though not to the people he cares for. and you used to be one of them. "i'm sorry, i found someone else." he let you keep the apartment, the apartment you spent a whole week breaking plates and letting them nick your feet.
you didn't realize kageyama tobio would stop finding happiness when he's with you. you didn't realize your movie nights would become chores for him. you didn't realize that your every move would be a bother to him. you didn't know. you swear you didn't. you were in love, was it so wrong to think that he would be too? and when you did, you could hear your heart shatter. it was loud and ugly. you trembled whenever he tried to come early because he was faking it just for you. because he didn't want to break your heart. he was hurting and you didn't even realize. the thought makes you break. but everyone has their limits and he had come to his. his lower lip quivered as he had pushed out the words, "i'm- i'm not, i can't do this. i'm sorry." you gave him a smile, contrasting the tears that rushed out.
tsukishima kei was your everything. and despite how much you loved him, how much you adored him, you still ended up screaming at each other every night. tears streamed down your face, and he was as cold as he was the first time you met him. you tried to remember the golden memories but his insults started to overpower them. started to outnumber them. you knew you had issues, you knew you were a little afraid, a little insecure which were usually the cause of your arguments. sometimes tsukishima would stop listening to you and left the room, leaving you to cry on the sofa alone. sometimes he'd hug you, and spoon-feed you some warm soup. but it seems that lately those days never come and the fights have just been getting louder and longer. and one day, he just gave up. you knew this day would come, and still his words became an everlasting memory. and not the good kind. "you're too difficult to love." tsukishima single handedly broke you.
synopsis: sometimes the person who’s right for you is not the one who’s “perfect” for you.
genre/warnings: akaashi x fem!reader, nyc au, mostly fluff, about three minutes of angst, like four (4) swear words.
tags: @neonghxst @catzula
commitment level: 8.5k words.
a/n: dedicated to sandra bullock and my cat. I tried to capture the ups and downs of a real relationship, but with a hollywood feel haha. I know it’s kind of a biggie, but I personally think the end is worth it :)
+
It’s not hard to fall in love. It really isn’t.
Not when Love is standing right before you in a crowded Barnes & Nobles on the corner of South Street and 22nd Ave.
Not when Love is wearing a rumpled button down, half-frame glasses, and a sheepish expression on his face.
Not when Love, rubbing the back of his neck, apologizes for reaching for the same book that you were reaching for and says, “I’m Keiji Akaashi, pleased to meet you,” and “You have good taste,” accompanied by a laugh that sounds like almost everything you’ve ever wanted wrapped up in one chuckle.
It’s not hard to fall in love with Love, especially when he offers you the last remaining copy of that book and asks if you want to grab lunch after checking out.
“Sure,” you say lightly, beaming when his face brightens. “So long as you let me lend you this after I’m done.”
“Deal,” says Akaashi, and before you know it you’re perched at an outdoor counter beneath a cheerful yellow awning, sipping on a latte as Akaashi stirs stevia into his black tea. The scent of confederate jasmine surfs on the breeze, weaving through busy traffic and hapless cyclists until it fingers your hair from your shoulders, sweet and subtle.
“I believe in soulmates,” he says fifteen minutes into the conversation. He’s half-smiling, but something about his tone convinces you he’s entirely serious. “The Greek philosopher Aristophanes believed humans originally had two sets of limbs and strength great enough to rival the gods, so Zeus decided to split them in two parts each.”
“And ever since we’ve all been feeling the loss of our other halves,” you finish, lips quirking up at the corners. “So what you’re saying is you’re a little bit of a romantic, then?”
“Just a little,” Akaashi laughs, absentmindedly piling the table’s little coffee creamers into a pyramid. “I’d consider myself more of a hopeful realist than a romantic. It makes sense, no? Sometimes there are those people we meet that just seem… right.”
“Very true,” you say softly, picking up a creamer that falls from the top of the pyramid and handing it back to him.
Just then, the waitress arrives with your sandwiches, and when she sets the plate down before you, you automatically begin ripping the crusts off, only to stop when you hear Akaashi laughing at you.
“Listen,” you say, meeting his gaze with a burning face, “I know it’s childish, but I —”
“No,” says Akaashi with a grin. “It’s not that.” Then he looks down at his own plate, and you follow his eyes to his own crusts piled on the side of his plate.
Sometimes there are those people we meet that just seem… right.
“Very true,” you repeat softly.
“Very true,” he echoes, eyes on yours.
It’s not hard to fall in love, not when Love believes in soulmates and rips the crusts off his sandwiches.
And something tells you it’s not hard for Love to fall for you either.
+
There’s always been this amorphous idea of who Love is drifting around your brain, but over the next couple months, he begins to take on a more solid shape. What used to be a vague outline fleshes out, rendered in flushed skin and ink-shaded hair and blue eyes so dark they nearly look black in the dim light of the early evening.
Turns out, Love isn’t six foot six with a blinding smile and a Herculean physique. He’s lithe and great at slipping in and out of rooms unnoticed. He likes running more than he likes weightlifting. He only watches movies made before 1990 and after 2010, and he grinds a dangerous amount of peppercorn over everything he eats. His last name fits with your first like it’s meant to be, and your fingers click in place like two hands off the same sculpture.
He kisses you three weeks after your first date, halfway through the walk home to your flat. The music from the concert he brought you to see still plays in the back of your head, huge and sweeping and orchestral. It’s a cool night, and you’re sure the stars would be beautiful… if you could see them.
“Stupid light pollution,” you say, craning your neck up to see a murky slate sky. “Can’t see a damn thing.”
Akaashi looks up, leaning back with his hands shoved in the pockets of his long black coat. “That’s the thing about living in a city, I guess. You sacrifice the stars for the subway.”
All around you, red brick apartments rise high into the air, windows shining warm and bright. On the side of the street, a man playing a James Taylor cover on his beat up acoustic guitar smiles in your direction, and Akaashi stops to toss a dollar in the man’s overturned baseball cap.
“And for the horrendous traffic,” you continue, nudging him with your shoulder as you amble along. It’s late, but plenty of other civilians are out and about — there’s an older woman walking her cocker spaniel, and a father in his early 30s pushing his fussy toddler in a stroller, while his wife walks alongside. “And dogs peeing on the sidewalk. And bread that costs $5.99 a loaf. And hotdog carts of very questionable quality.”
Akaashi laughs and scoots a little closer to you, avoiding a street sign. “And skyscrapers that light up like Christmas trees all year long, and tiny corner delis with chubby cats snoozing behind the counters. And millions of different people dreaming millions of different lives into being every single night.”
Despite yourself, you smile. Akaashi may be an editor, but he’s got the creative writer gene wired into his DNA — and you love it. “See? You’re definitely an optimist.”
Again, Akaashi shakes his head. “No. Just the other side of your coin.”
You stare at him for a moment, searching those big blue eyes — and he lets you. He lets your peer into him, face serene with slight amusement playing on his thin lips.
Those lips…
The world freezes like a record scratch, and you’re quite sure your expression mirrors Akaashi’s: hesitant, waiting for someone to give permission, for someone to dive into the water and ripple its glassy surface. You’re in a dreamlike state — can I? Can we?
And suddenly you’re being pulled back into reality and across the street; a taxi blares its horn as you stumble by but you hardly notice; you’re being pressed up against the graffitied wall of an alleyway, hands bunched into Akaashi’s collar as he kisses you, as his fingers tangle in your hair to draw you closer to him. His lips are gentle but firm on yours, smooth and sweet as maple syrup.
Nearly unbearable heat blossoms in your chest, and Akaashi’s spicy, heady cologne along with the lack of oxygen starts to make you dizzy until he pulls away, face flushed and breaths ragged.
“I…” he starts, swallowing thickly as he takes in your disheveled appearance. He self-consciously runs a hand through his own mussed hair, leaning his other hand on the wall behind you. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually that… reckless.”
“No?” you say softly. Your hands are still twisted in his shirt, and your heart is still throbbing in your temples, the erratic bass beneath the surface of a hopeful song.
“No,” says Akaashi. He grins, the dimple in his left cheek winking. “You just make me impatient, I guess.”
“Good,” you whisper, and the word’s scarcely left your lips when he pulls you back in, mouth soft on yours. He folds you into himself until you’re pressed flush against his body, fingers splayed across his chest. Akaashi is your anchor in these wild, rapid waves, crashing at your feet again and again as this strange feeling overtakes you, this unfamiliar urge to keep kissing and being kissed forever. A sharp pain pricks at your bottom lip and you realize he’s sunk his teeth into it, playfully giving it a gentle tug before dipping down for another warm, slow kiss.
It’s you who ventures to slip your tongue into his mouth, and he sighs softly when you do, squeezing your waist in appreciation. When he returns the favor, it’s no longer just kissing — it’s devouring, it’s drinking deep from an endless well of a desire to know and be known.
Now your hands are curled in his hair, and his fingers are flirting with the hem of your sweater, and you’re all but in your own impervious snow globe as the world outside blurs by.
Almost impervious, that is.
A nearby police siren startles the both of you, and you jerk apart, swiveling your heads nervously. When it finally dawns on you that no, the police are not typically dispatched to arrest young couples for kissing in alleyways, Akaashi seems to have realized it too, and you and he exchange an embarrassed look.
“So,” he begins, at the same time you blurt out, “That was…”
The two of you laugh, and a graceless dance of “No, you go,” and “No, no, you go,” commences:
“I was just going to say —”
“Yeah, that was just —”
“I mean, yeah, it was so —”
“Good,” finishes Akaashi breathlessly. “It was good.”
You nod vehemently, unable to suppress the smile bubbling up in your throat. Then something snags your eye. “Oh, wait — take a look at that.”
“Look at what?” Akaashi says, glancing behind him.
“There.” You gesture to the wall opposite you. Though it’s dim, and the orange light from the nearest streetlamp hardly permeates the narrow alley, you can just make out several swirls of cobalt, gold, and white spray-painted in bold strokes on the other side.
“It’s ‘Starry Night,’” Akaashi breathes. “A very good imitation of it, at least.”
As you squint, the characteristic black town rises into view, giving each wild, burning star an audience to shine for. You inhale sharply. “It’s beautiful.”
“Looks like you got to see your stars after all,” jokes Akaashi, and in response you slip your hand into his, giving it a light squeeze.
“Looks like it.”
Akaashi finally drops you home (after several “last” kisses) and as you sip a mug of green tea at your kitchen counter, you gaze out the window at the starless sky. It’s the same one you complained about an hour earlier, yet, somehow, it bothers you far less now.
Perhaps it was the graffiti in the alley.
Perhaps it’s the lingering giddiness of a first kiss.
Or perhaps, it’s the sudden realization that just because you can’t see the stars doesn’t mean they’re not there.
+
Summer fades into autumn, and Akaashi clears a space for you in his life.
There’s a you-sized indent in his mattress, the result of sleepless nights and sleepy mornings spent tangled in his sheets. Your favorite brand of orange juice finds a home in his refrigerator, ready to slosh into a glass that you’ll sip out of as you watch Akaashi’s bare back at the stove. His weeks are slowly filled by your fingerprints, Wednesday coffee runs and Friday dinner dates.
He makes time for you.
When he introduces you to his mom, she envelopes you in a tight hug, squeezing what seems to be enough love for the entire world into your body. She’s shorter than you, but she takes up so much space, a sharp contrast to Akaashi’s habit of seamlessly melting into corners.
“I love your sweater,” you say after she releases you, gesturing to the thick, cream-colored pullover she wears. Its hem is embroidered with countless tiny blue flowers connected by a continuous vine of emerald green leaves.
“Keiji bought it for me,” she beams, and you smile back, seeing Akaashi — standing off to the side — flush a little.
“Her birthday’s in February,” Akaashi explains, pointing to the flowers. “Irises.”
“Ah,” you say. “Ever detail oriented.”
Akaashi rolls his eyes with a small smile and bends down to kiss his mother on the cheek before heading into the kitchen, murmuring something about putting the kettle on. The moment he leaves, Mrs. Akaashi takes a hold on your upper arm and draws you close. She smells like home — an odd but pleasant mix of flowery hand soap, laundry detergent, and burnt sugar.
“My dear,” she whispers to you, a sense of urgency in her voice. Her eyes widen. “Keiji never smiles as much as he’s been smiling since he’s met you. I’ve never seen him so alive.”
“Oh?”
She nods vigorously. “Whatever it is you’re doing, keep on doing it.”
“Love brings out the best in people, I suppose,” you muse with a smile. Akaashi’s mom is about to say something else before Akaashi walks back in, a tray of tea and honey teetering in his hands. He raises his eyebrows at your pose — arm in his mother’s grip, bending your ear to her.
“Gossiping about me?” he jokes, setting the tray down on the coffee table with a soft click.
“Just warning her to get out while she still can,” Mrs. Akaashi teases right back. She leans towards you conspiratorially. “Keiji’s so picky about girls — the fact that you’ve surpassed his standards means he’ll never let you leave now.”
You laugh, picking your way between armchairs to stand beside Akaashi. His arm slips around your waist almost automatically, chin coming to rest on your hair. “I wouldn’t want to.”
“I’m holding you to that,” Akaashi murmurs, eyes glinting with mischief.
“Ditto.”
+
Sometimes when you think about the night of your first kiss with him, you remember Akaashi’s low but confident voice — “Just the other side of your coin” — and you think he must’ve been right.
There’s a steady push and pull to your relationship, a seamless switch of high tides and low tides washing up against the sand. Akaashi is incredibly straightforward, methodical in his work and his personality — he’s drawn of clean ruler lines and ballpoint pen. You’re a little more spontaneous, a little more disorderly, sketched in smudged charcoal and splashes of paint.
You’re always the first to lose at chess, but he’ll never challenge you to a game of Concentration. He thinks the way you douse your rice in soy sauce is abhorrent, but he never misses the dirty glances you cast at him when he sprinkles sugar on his eggs.
You’ll sing your lungs out in the great outdoors, breathless and giddy, while he’ll only be caught humming in the privacy of the shower. You despise ordering at restaurants, while he’ll make small talk with the waiters, no problem.
It’s not to say you’re opposites. No, the places you overlap are enough to show you’re just two shades of the same color. You give each other depth and richness, cerulean and indigo so well blended it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.
+
“I think I want to go back to school,” you remark offhandedly.
It’s mid-October, and it’s been a little over a year of loving Love.
It’s been a little over a year of concerts in the park, of grocery shopping at 10pm, of 6-hour flights to see your family and 2-hour train rides to see his.
It’s been hours of sitting in comfortable silence, reading a mystery novel while he cleans out his email inbox across the living room.
It’s been a Thanksgiving, a Christmas, and a New Years, an overcooked turkey and socks patterned with reindeer and a midnight kiss that tasted like Champagne.
It’s also been a handful of petty fights and disagreements — arguing over whether or not you should redo your shared bathroom, if the governor should’ve spent as many tax dollars as he did on infrastructure this year, which Adele album is objectively the best, etc. But you feel like you’ve gotten the hang of this love thing by now. And if a few small arguments are the price, you’re more than willing to pay.
“You want to go back to school?” Akaashi repeats, eyebrows raised. You can already tell he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, and you deflate.
“For my Master's,” you explain, playing with your fingers. “Could open up some career options for me, you know?”
“It could,” says Akaashi slowly. He takes his glasses off, folds them, and sets them on the arm of the sofa, leaning forward. “I just thought you were happy with your current position.”
“I am,” you concede. “But I might not always be.”
“Is that ‘might’ enough of a reason to go to grad school?” Akaashi asks seriously. “It also ‘might’ be a waste of time and money.”
“I’ve given it enough thought,” you insist, leaning in to place a hand on his knee. “Even if I end up staying with this job, a little more education won’t be a waste.”
Akaashi stares at you in silence, searching your face.
“Plus,” you say lightly, “I might not even get into the program I apply to. Or I could change my mind before enrolling. I’m just gonna register for an application right now.”
Finally, Akaashi sighs, not out of exasperation, but of reluctant agreement. “Well,” he says, tilting his head. “I trust your judgement. And I support you entirely. You know that.”
“Thanks, Keiji,” you say, squeezing his wrist before leaning back into your seat.
Trust. That’s key, you think. So, a couple weeks later, as you’re knee deep in application essays and forms, when Akaashi says he’s been thinking about trying to get a manuscript of his published — you give him your wholehearted trust, too.
You’re the one who, in March, after you’ve submitted your application to grad school and he’s sent his manuscript to a publisher, suggests you open your letters together. They arrive on the same day, after all, and if that’s not a sign from the universe, what is?
“Okay,” you say, nervously tapping your fingers on the kitchen counter. “Ready… set… open.”
There’s a shaking of hands, the impatient, rustling sound of two envelopes being torn. It takes a moment for your eyes to register what the letter says.
Dear Miss… we regret to inform you…
Oh.
“They’re taking it!” Akaashi exclaims in disbelief. You look up to see his cheeks flushed with happiness, reading and rereading the publishing house’s response. “Oh my God. Wow.”
Then he looks up, sees your face. The small smile drops off of his as he gently pries the letter from your hands and scans it, eyebrows furrowing. He glances back at you. For the first time since you've known him, it seems that Keiji Akaashi doesn’t know the right thing to say.
So you say it instead. “It’s okay. I’m proud of you.”
You blink hard, willing yourself to smile rather than cry. Akaashi’s book is getting published — today is a good day. “Anyways — you were right. Waste of time.”
His face falls. “Oh, baby.”
You stand up and push your chair in, turning your face towards the window so he can’t see the first tear fall.
There’s a fragile moment of silence that hangs in the air, a delicate cobweb swaying in the breeze as it awaits a warm spring rain to wash it away.
And then you hear Akaashi stand up as well, footsteps thumping their way over until he’s standing behind you. You smell that woodsy cologne, you hear his deep, steady breathing — and then you feel him wrap his arms around you and squeeze. He squeezes and squeezes and squeezes, because even though he can’t find the words to say, he is still his mother’s son and he knows how to hug love into someone.
You start crying.
+
It’s not easy to stay in love. It really isn’t.
There are growing pains. Humans are dynamic creatures, and who we were yesterday is seldom the same as who we are today, regardless of the other constants in our lives.
Sometimes, change hurts, and we mistake that ache for falling out of love.
+
Akaashi has a busy schedule now.
It’s been a couple months since his book’s been published, and he’s been unexpectedly catapulted into the apex of the literary scene, selling 10,000 copies the first week and double that the second. It seems like he has another journalist calling for an interview every other day — once, someone on the street stopped him for an autograph while the two of you were walking to the bank.
At first, it was a constant celebration — you’d started to call him “Superstar,” and when his first paycheck arrived you booked a cab to the most expensive sushi place in town and shared a bottle of Dom Perignon between you, equally tipsy on alcohol, tuna nigiri, and glee. The sting of being rejected by your grad school pick faded slightly, smoothed over by a warm pride for your boyfriend.
But success comes at a cost. A heart can only handle so much at the same time. You feel guilty for wondering if Akaashi’s no longer has room for you, between the constant publicity, the endless symposiums, and his day job for the manga publishing house (at which he’d promptly received a promotion after his newfound authordom).
He forgets things.
Your two year anniversary, for instance — it’s not as scandalizing an offense as it might be were you married, but you can’t help but acknowledge the small pinprick of pain you feel when the warm June day comes and goes without Akaashi’s recognition.
He forgets to call that last “I love you” over his shoulder when he leaves for work early in the morning. Where you used to make a point of prioritizing physical intimacy, he now often slumps into bed several hours after you do, asleep before his head hits the pillow.
He’s less patient and more terse; and although you know he tries to be kind, he’s tired, and it shows.
And every sharp word, the increasing frequency with which he snaps at you — they grind you down, sandpaper on wood, slowly but surely carving you smaller and smaller.
+
You’re awakened by a hand shaking your shoulder.
“Babe.”
Bleary eyed, you sit up in bed, scrunching the navy blue comforter beneath your fingers with a yawn. There’s a sliver of sunlight slicing through the drawn curtains, but aside from that, the room is dark. Akaashi is already dressed and wide awake, work satchel swinging from his shoulder.
“What is it?” you mumble, voice scratchy. A quick look at the nightstand tells you it’s still before 7:00, when you usually drag yourself out of bed for work.
“You didn’t insert new ink into the printer last night like I asked you to,” he says, a slight edge to his voice. He glances at his watch.
You groan. You’d been up far too late, working a crucial proposal for your boss. “I’m sorry, it slipped my mind.”
“Yeah, well,” says Akaashi, sighing and ruffling his hair. “I just need to know where the ink refills are. They’re not in the usual drawer.”
“They’re not?”
Akaashi gapes at you. “What do you mean, ‘they’re not?’ I thought you must’ve moved them.”
“No,” you say, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. “I guess we’re out.”
“Shit.” Akaashi buries his face in his hands. “I had to print several extremely important documents for a meeting this morning.”
“Can’t you just print them at the office?”
“No!” he snaps, turning on his heel and stepping into the hall, the one you’d painted pale green together and lined with framed photos.
You follow him into the hall, taking a quick glance at a picture of you and Akaashi at the seaside, squinting from sunlight as the deep blue ocean swells in the background. Your bright smiles, forever frozen in film, seem mocking now.
“We’re meeting this client at a restaurant in about, let’s see —” Another look at his wristwatch. “—five minutes ago. Last time I checked restaurants don’t have printers.”
You’re still dressed in your oversized sleep shirt and fuzzy socks, and feeling far too much like a child being reprimanded. “Okay, well, look, I’m sorry I forgot about the printer, but it really should’ve been your responsibility anyways —”
“I have a lot of other responsibilities to take care of!” Akaashi says, jaw tensing in reproach. He snatches his keys from the counter with a metallic jingle. “It was the least you could’ve done.”
“Excuse me?” You blink in disbelief. “I have a lot of other responsibilities, too — just as many if not more than you do, actually, considering how you’re never home! More often than not, I’m alone in doing the dishes, the cooking, the vacuuming, the toilet cleaning —”
“Wow, toilet cleaning,” says Akaashi sarcastically. “How incredibly difficult that must be for you! While I’m out there doing real, professional work, you have to clean the damn bathroom once a week. Oh, the humanity!”
The next beat of silence spans a slow, painful century.
Finally, you swallow, eyes filling with tears. “That was mean, Keiji.”
He stares, the full significance of his frustration fueled words solidifying. “I— I didn’t —”
“Just because I’m not some hotshot novelist doesn’t mean my job isn’t ‘real work,’“ you say, voice slightly raised. “And I know you’re stressed, but that doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. Maybe if you got your nose out of your Gmail and actually spent some time in the real world you’d notice how fucking insufferable you can be sometimes!”
Again, no sound but a few pigeons cooing outside and the constant tick-tick-tick-tick of the wall clock.
Akaashi glances at it and sighs, tightening his satchel strap. “I’m late. We can talk about this later —”
But you’re gone, storming back into the bedroom so he can’t see the hot tears beginning to scald your cheeks. And when he gets home late that night, you’re already in bed, eyes closed, facing the wall.
“I know you’re awake,” he says quietly, but you don’t trust yourself to answer. You feel his weight sink into the mattress as he lays down beside you. He huffs a soft sigh. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier today. It was mean. And untrue.”
“I’ll try to do better.” He falters, starts again. “I’ll do better.”
You don’t say anything aloud, but when he slips an arm around your waist, you take his hand and give it a light squeeze. A light squeeze that says, It’s okay. I’m sorry, too.
He squeezes back.
+
Three words to describe the next two weeks: Fragile. Tentative.
Fake.
There are no fights. Everything is pleasant.
The two of you are tiptoeing. Tiptoeing, ever so carefully, on a bridge built of nothing but olive branches and forced smiles.
+
“Keiji,” you say, brushing his shoulder lightly. He looks up from his seat on the balcony across from you, newspaper balancing on his knee, black coffee in hand. Although plenty of other routines have dissolved in the turmoil of this past season, Sunday breakfasts together remain a stubborn tradition. “You remember that poetry workshop I’ve been taking?”
Akaashi flashes you a grin. “Duh. I’m the one who told you to take it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you say with a good-natured eye roll.
“What about it?” he urges you on, blowing the steam from his mug.
“We’re having a sort of performance,” you explain after you take a bite of toast. Here, on the fifth floor of the apartment building, you’re removed from the rest of the world down below. It’s so easy to pretend that everything is okay. “At a cafe downtown.”
“So it’s like a slam poetry sort of thing?” Akaashi muses. You try to ignore the obviously contrived, over-compensating interest in his tone.
“I mean, the term ‘slam poetry’ makes it sound a lot more hip than it really is,” you say. A sudden, blaring car alarm somewhere down the block drowns you out, so you patiently wait until you hear the car owner cuss and run outside to stop it before you repeat yourself. “The class is mostly just a bunch of young people looking to add something creative to their resume.”
To be quite honest, you’re a little embarrassed to be bringing the poetry thing up — you’ve never had quite the artistic caliber that Akaashi has, it seems. But you’ve been working hard on your portfolio, trying your best to channel some sort of hidden lyrical talent, and, for the first time in a while, you’re genuinely anticipating something.
“What day is it?” Akaashi asks. A red robin lands on the balcony railing, whistling in glee as Akaashi proffers it a crumb of his toast.
“It’s on the 15th. 7:00pm.” The robin pecks at the crumb and darts away with a chirp. “I know you get off at 6:30, but I was thinking you could just meet me there after work.”
Akaashi leans forward to push your hair from your face and presses a brief kiss on your forehead. To him, it’s just a kiss, but to you, it’s a stamp of approval. “I’ll be there.”
“Will you?”
“I promise.”
+
6:44.
6:49.
6:53.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
7:00.
+
He doesn’t come.
+
“Baby, I’m sorry —” Akaashi starts as you burst through the door to the apartment, flinging your scarf and coat onto the sofa.
“You said you would.” Your voice is quiet but quivering with frustration. Without meeting his eyes, you speed walk to the bedroom and begin shoveling your belongings into a duffel bag, tossing in t-shirts and cosmetics without rhyme or reason.
Akaashi follows on your heels, remorse plain on his face as he runs a hand through his hair. “I know I did — and I should’ve. It’s just that my publisher called me out of the blue with a new advertising offer, and I lost track of time, and I know it’s not a great excuse… I’m sorry — but you’ll have another performance, right? And it’s just poetry anyway.”
The moment the sentence leaves his lips, Akaashi knows he’s said exactly the wrong thing. You whirl around to face him, face puffy and tear-streaked.
“Just poetry?” You laugh without humor. “Actually, Keiji, it’s not just poetry. It’s everything.”
“Babe, if I had realized you were so into it I would’ve —”
“But that’s the thing,” you say, stuffing a handful of chargers into your bag. “I’m not. I’m into you. I wanted you to come listen.”
Akaashi stays silent as you bend down to empty your sock drawer angrily. You draw in a deep, shuddering breath.
“These past few months have been exhausting, okay?” you say, voice thick, as if it’s physically paining you to speak. “I love you, and I’m so, so wonderfully proud of you, and of all the good things in your life right now. But it’s like I’m not even a part of that life. We miss each other like fucking ships in the night, in and out of work and home and business trips, and it’s just —”
You stop to breathe for a second, fists clenching and unclenching at your sides. “It’s infuriating, Keiji. I’ve been trying to be helpful to you, and sometimes it seems like you realize that, but what you don’t realize is I just — I just feel —” You splay your hands and swallow hard, searching your addled mind for the right words — “I feel so small. So small compared to you. Too small for you to care about, if the way this relationship’s been going recently is anything to go by.”
You pause once more to zip the duffel, hoist it onto your shoulder, and push past Akaashi into the living room. “And that’s why I agreed to take that dumb poetry class in the first place,” you call over your shoulder. “To prove something. I’m not sure what — maybe that I can be eloquent, too. Or creative. Or whatever you want to call it. Anything that would get you to see me again.”
And when you turn to look at Akaashi’s face again, you’re surprised by the expression in those blue eyes — it’s like the fog has cleared, and he is seeing you — really seeing you — for the first time in what feels like ages.
“Please,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t catch it. Your heart cracks at the sight of it: Akaashi, standing there in the center of the living room, dark eye bags and the slumped shoulders of a tired man who knows he’s made a mistake. “Don’t go. Stay.”
Your chest throbs, and every fiber in your body screams to drop your bag on the doorstep and fling yourself into his arms. This is the only person you’ll ever love, you’re sure of that. But still… something has to change. Your head is made of stone as you shake it — slowly, achingly. “I’m going to stay with my cousin for a little while. I... I need to think.”
Your eyes sweep around the room one last time, and you turn the doorknob, stepping out into the open air. “I’ll see you later.”
And the last thing you see before you close the door with a resounding ‘click’ is Love, heartbroken.
+
Keiji Akaashi (24) for GQ Magazine, August 28th, 2021.
Q: Mr. Akaashi, pleasure to have you here today.
A: Thank you so much, Mr. Johnson.
Q: Please, call me Greg.
A: [laughs] Greg, then. Feel free to call me Keiji, too.
Q: Great. So, Keiji — why don’t you start off by telling us a little about this novel of yours that’s taken the world by storm this past year?
A: Well… it’s the story of a grey boy who meets a rainbow girl, essentially.
Q: Ah, so it’s an opposites attract sort of thing, would you say?
A: Not at all. You’ve noticed that a rainbow always follows a grey sky, I hope. It’s the same thing here. In fact, I think what readers have liked about my book is the subversion of the ‘opposites attract’ trope. I tried to show how the differences between two people aren’t always direct opposites. Sometimes they’re just… balances.”
Q: Like the concept of being one’s ‘other half’?
A: Exactly.
Q: That’s very romantic.
A: It’s very true.
Q: Well, Keiji, another thing it seems your fans have been wondering about is the book dedication. ‘To my one and only.’ Anything you can tell us about this mysterious lady love of yours?
A: She’s incredible. She’s a big part of why I wrote this book in the first place, actually. I’d been toying with the idea for a number of years, but I didn’t take action until we started dating a while back. I hope she watches this.
Q: You hope?
A: Ah, well… she’s quite angry at me right now. As she has a right to be. So I’m not sure.
Q: [laughs] Best of luck with that.
A: Thank you. But yeah, she really is my soulmate, you know? I love her more than anything.
Q: [to the camera] Well, I hate to break it to you ladies, but it seems that the charming Akaashi Keiji is all tied up when it comes to romance!
A: [laughs] Quite.
Q: Okay, then, onto the next question…
+
August 30th, 2021, via iMessage.
[You]: I did watch it, by the way.
[Keiji]: ?
[You]: The GQ interview.
[Keiji]: Good.
+
You’re etching in a crossword puzzle in your cousin’s spare room, struggling to find a four letter term for “by word of mouth” when you hear knocking on the front door. Three crisp knocks, and then nothing else.
You frown, distracted, and lean into the hall. “Anyone gonna get that?”
Quiet.
“No? Just me?”
You huff, tossing the crossword and your pen back onto the quilted bed before padding out into the front hall, rubbing your eyes as you do so. It’s too early for the mail, and nobody orders milk deliveries anymore — so what is it?
Violently bright sunlight blinds you momentarily when you crack open the door, so it’s a few seconds before your vision clears enough for you to notice the package sitting on the welcome mat. You inspect it carefully as you bring it in — wrapped in neat brown paper, it’s about the size of a clothing gift box. It also has your name written on it in very familiar handwriting, as does the pale blue envelope you find inside the box.
You resolve to open that last, because there’s a stack of several other papers lying beneath it. One of them is a stapled copy of a fresh application to the same grad school you’d been denied at the year before. Your full name is scrawled at the top, along with most of your required personal information. Stuck to it there’s a yellow Post-It note, with Akaashi’s small, even letters spelling out: Because some things are worth trying again.
Oh.
Your fingers find a small, glossy rectangle next, printed with a bright yellow vase bursting hosting equally bright sunflowers. You have to bring it right up to your eyes to decipher the tiny print on its back:
Exclusive Van Gogh exhibit. Once in a lifetime opportunity to see the renowned artist’s most famous works. September 16th, 7pm at the Riverside Gallery.
You draw a sharp breath. You’d been hankering to see the exhibit since you saw an ad for it on a billboard two weeks ago, but the ticket price had been just a little too high to justify it in relation to your salary.
Beneath the application and the ticket, there’s one final item wrapped in white tissue paper. You lift it from the box delicately, gasping when a heavy swath of black satin pours out onto the rug. Gingerly, you scoop it up and hold it out in front of you — an evening gown in your size. God, this thing must’ve cost a fortune, too, you think, running your hands over the luxurious fabric again and again.
When you finally manage to tear your eyes from the dress, you open the letter.
Meet me at the Riverside plaza. The occasion is black tie, hence the dress.
Yours,
Keiji
“Oh,” you sigh to yourself, partly in frustration, partly to keep any telling, traitorous tears from escaping. “You foolish, beautiful boy.”
+
There’s a book that reads, quite famously, “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast,” and so on and so forth.
What this book doesn’t mention, however, is that Love makes mistakes.
Love is not perfect.
Love is waiting at the front doors of the Riverside Gallery, wearing a tailored tuxedo and nervously looking at his watch again and again.
6:44.
6:49.
6:53.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
“Sir,” says the doorman, “The exhibit will be closing its doors soon. Are you sure your guest is on her way?”
Love believes. Love believes in you.
“She’ll be here,” he says, staring into the distance. “She’s a better person than I am.”
+
You glance at the kitchen clock for the umpteenth time. It’s half past six, and you’re still at home dressed in a ratty college tee and soccer shorts. Akaashi’s package lies on the floor, untouched since you’d opened it several hours ago.
“I’m angry at him,” you mutter. “I can’t go. It’d be weak of me.”
Your wavering tone sounds a little too much as though you’re trying to convince yourself — and you realize you’re fighting a failing battle.
You love him, undeniably so. And sometimes that means giving second chances even when you’re still hurting.
“Damn it,” you huff finally, scrambling onto your feet. You pull the dress up into your arms and stumble into the bathroom, tugging your hair out of its ponytail and haphazardly tossing your cosmetics bag onto the counter. Your reflection, frantic and, frankly, crusty stares back at you — you splash it with water and scrub furiously. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”
You’re halfway out the door when you remember the ticket, snatch it from the box, and practically somersault down the front steps, hailing the first cab you see.
“How long does it take to get to the Riverside Gallery?” you ask the driver, a grisly older man in a newsboy cap, as you hike up your dress and climb in.
“‘Bout 10 minutes, ma’am,” he grunts, pulling away from the curb.
“And what time is it?”
“6:50, ma’am.”
You swallow and thrust a ten dollar bill towards the front of the car. “Any way we could make that 8 minutes?”
+
It’s 6:57 when traffic comes to a halt about a block and a half away from the gallery. The cars are absolutely gridlocked, bumper to bumper, the air a cacophony of blaring horns and cussing pedestrians.
“Driver,” you say, peering over his shoulder, “Driver, can we speed this up at all?”
“Ma’am,” says the driver with exasperation, “I’m sorry, but there’s no way you’re getting there before 7:00 unless you get out of the car and run there.”
You blink.
“Okay.”
And then you’re pulling off your heels, opening the door, tumbling out of the cab — and the driver is yelling, “Wait, no! I didn’t mean—” but you’re already sprinting on the sidewalk, shoes in one hand and clutch in the other.
Your bare feet slap rhythmically as you pump your arms and legs, taking as big lungfuls of air as you can manage. Slap-slap-slap-slap-slap-slap. Breathe-breathe-breathe-breathe-breathe-breathe.
The pavement is absolutely filthy, and other pedestrians give you strange looks that you hardly notice; and oh, wow, you’re out of breath, damn it — but there! There’s the gallery rising into view, all marble columns and elegant domes, and there’s a lone figure in black standing on the steps…
You run faster.
+
7:00.
“I’m sorry sir, but I really have to close the doors now,” the doorman says apologetically, as Akaashi chews on his inner cheek.
“Just one more minute?” he begs. “It’s not past 7:00 yet.”
The doorman opens his mouth to say no before he’s interrupted by faint yelling across the plaza.
“Wait!”
Akaashi squints into the setting sun. Is that…?
“Wait up!”
It is.
It’s you, you in all your breathless, frazzled glory, sprinting up the plaza. Akaashi immediately runs to meet you in the middle, impulsively wrapping you in his arms for a brief embrace before you slump over, panting.
“Alright, then,” calls the disgruntled doorman. “Can you two come in so I can finally do my job?”
“Right,” says Akaashi, just as you stand upright. He can’t tear his eyes away — even after sprinting a quarter mile, you’re lovely. Your hair is falling out of its updo, and your face is flushed, and the bottoms of your feet are covered in street grime... and you’re positively beautiful.
He offers you an arm. “Care to join me?”
Your eyes are gleaming as you slip your heels back on, straighten your dress, and flash him a nervous smile. “It would be my pleasure.”
Oh, he’s missed you.
+
The art is breathtaking.
It’s all bold, brash colors, swiped across canvases that seem to be in motion like movie screens, displaying scenes of golden wheat fields, and thickly planted purple irises, and delicate white almond blossoms that you swear you can smell through the glass.
It’s also breathtakingly sad. There’s a heartbreaking honesty in some of Van Gogh’s portraits, portraits of people with just the ghost of a smile on their lips. People who want so desperately to feel — to live. You look away from some of them.
There’s an elephant in the room, too, sneaking between every piece of artwork. The silence between the two of you is deafening. Though you stroll through the gallery arm in arm, there’s scarcely a word uttered besides, “Oh, that one’s nice,” or “Watch your step, now.” You wonder why he can’t just shatter the glass and tell you what’s on his mind — because something is definitely on his mind. You can see it in his face, in the way he’s carrying his body. Like a fifty pound barbell is physically weighing him down.
The epiphany comes when a crisply dressed usher calls the attention of the exhibition hall with a bell.
“Will all ladies and gentlemen please make their way to the dining courtyard? We’ve been so privileged as to hear a few words from some of the generous donors who’ve made this Riverside event possible,” he booms, and as the rest of the crowd, men in suits and women in long dresses like your own, file through the doors, Akaashi takes your hand and pulls you the opposite direction.
“What are we —”
He shushes you and tugs you behind a pillar, keeping you close until the last of the guests are gone and the usher has shut the doors.
“Come,” he says simply, voice echoing in the emptiness, so you follow him, ducking behind walls and through several corridors until you reach another set of doors, behind which is a wide spiral staircase.
“Where’s this lead?” you ask, and Akaashi just gives you his small smile and pulls the doors open. There’s a brief climb, step upon step, until you emerge in a smaller, humbler room, one with only one painting at the back of it.
Eyes wide, you glide forward, heels clicking on the smooth marble floor. In front of you, firmly situated in a glass case on the wall, lies a stunning vista of swirling stars rising above a sleepy town. There’s cobalt blue, and gold, and white, and grassy rolling hills and a warmly glowing crescent moon. Beside the painting there’s a small museum label:
Vincent Van Gogh
The Starry Night
Saint Rémy, June 1889
On loan from the MoMA
“They’re going to bring it down for the second half of the evening,” Akaashi says, coming to stand beside you. “It’s supposed to be the main event.”
“But you wanted a private showing?” you joke, still unable to tear your eyes away from the painting.
“Yes,” says Akaashi, slipping his hand into yours. “But I also wanted to speak with you privately.”
You finally yank your gaze from the wall and cock your head at Akaashi, who’s rummaging in his pocket. After withdrawing what looks to be a crumpled sheet of lined paper, he clears his throat. And then he looks at you, and he says your name with such tenderness and magnitude that you’re frozen, as if the earth has just shuddered beneath your feet.
“I’m not very good at speaking on the fly,” he says, glancing down at the paper, which is almost imperceptibly trembling in his hands. “So I wrote this down. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No,” you breathe, “not at all.”
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
And then —
“It’s not hard to fall in love. It’s really not,” he begins, voice slightly faltering but growing stronger as he continues. “Especially not when Love was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, standing right in front of me in the Barnes & Noble on South and 22nd.”
You smile a little, recalling the first day, the shy glances and hesitant smiles.
“She was striking, you see, in every way imaginable, and I was long gone before I even knew it. I was gone before we even kissed, if you can believe it. Love had me in knots.
I remember saying something rather profound on that first date. ‘Sometimes there are those people we meet that just seem… right.’ I said ‘right,’ and not ‘perfect,’ because Love and I? We weren’t perfect for each other. But we were so, so right. We are right.”
He glances up at you, cheek dimpling.
“I screwed it up, though. Like people often do, I took Love for granted. I disregarded the little things, the things that made the full picture. The surprise dinners, and the mixtapes, and the way I always used to sneak an extra squeeze of honey into your coffee just so you’d always say I made it best.”
“I didn’t know you did that,” you interrupt, and Akaashi grins.
“I forgot the little things, but I never stopped loving you,” he continues, voice growing a modicum softer. “Even when I didn’t show it. And of course, that’s no excuse for the way I treated you. But I think it’s important for you to know that, much like the stars, just because you couldn’t see it shining, doesn’t mean love wasn’t there. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
You want to say, ‘I forgive you,’ but you’re so choked up the words can’t get out — but he knows. He knows.
“I hate that I ever made you feel small or unimportant. Because, actually, you’re the most important person in the world. You’re truly, honestly, genuinely my other half. You’re the reason why I desire to excel. You’re braver, funnier, and cooler than I am, and you both challenge and comfort me like nobody else can.”
Akaashi takes one last slow, deep inhale before tucking the paper back into his pocket and stepping forward, so close that you could close the distance just by leaning.
“Which all goes to say,” he breathes, “if you were to forgive my wrongs and give me a second chance… I would take it in less than a heartbeat.”
He swallows. “Because some things are worth trying again.”
And there he is. The boy you fell for in the first place.
Love outstretches his hand, pale and soft in the white lights of the gallery. It’s a slender hand, but a large one, palm wide and empty, the perfect landing place for your own. You reach out, the centimeters between stretched like whole galaxies as you slowly extend your offering.
Yes. Yes, you’ll try again.
Your fingers click in place like two hands off the same sculpture.
+
“Wait, why are you laughing? This is supposed to be heartfelt!”
“I’m sorry, Keiji, it’s just — I think I like the graffiti version better than the authentic one!”
+
Keiji Akaashi (26) for GQ Magazine, October 2nd, 2023.
Q: Keiji! So great to have you back today.
A: It’s great to be back, Greg.
Q: Been a whirlwind couple years for you, hasn’t it?
A: [laughs] You could say that, yes.
Q: I’d love a quick rundown on all the new and exciting things that have happened since we last spoke.
A: Okay, let’s see… well, less importantly, I’ve gotten my second book on the New York Times Bestsellers list.
Q: Less importantly? Goodness, that’s not something you hear every day.
A: Well, there are things more important in life than selling books, Greg.
Q: Aptly said. Speaking of your second book, though — I have to ask about the dedication page, yet again. Another unconventional one.
A: Oh, yes. That brings me to my second point.
Q: ‘Marry me,’ it says. And judging by that wedding band on your finger…?
A: My girlfriend — wife now, actually — was the first one to receive a copy of the published book. I thought I was clever for that one. She opened up the first page, read the dedication, and then I was on my knees in front of her.
Q: Okay, there’s no way you can deny the ‘romantic’ title now.
A: [laughs] I guess not.
Q: What’s your wife up to these days?
A: She’s currently a full time student. Getting her Master's, you know. And she’s gotten really into spoken word poetry, as well.
Q: Two artists in the family, then.
A: [laughs] She’s much better than I am, Greg. Much better.
tsukishima kei x manager! reader | fluff (?) | tw: suggestive content, aged up characters | wc: >1k
•••
“so…”
“so…”
tsukishima kei let out an exasperated sigh, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. you scratched the back of your head, chuckling nervously.
“i’m sure someone will come get us soon,” you said.
“i can’t believe you didn’t think to bring the supply closet key,” he huffed. you gave him a glare.
“i told you to hold the door while i grabbed the box-”
“and i told you that i would get it since you barely could reach it.”
you crossed your arms, looking back to the supply closet door. the two of you sat pressed against the wall.
“i appreciated your help but since you let the door close, we’re stuck until someone comes gets us.”
“i texted tadashi.”
“okay…”
tsukishima looked at his phone. he peaked over at you from the corner of his eye. you rubbed your arms, trying to keep warm. he chuckled.
“cold?”
“a little.”
“you really are one unprepared manager,” he teased. before you could give him an annoyed response back, you felt his club jacket draped over your shoulders. you looked up at him.
“you didn’t have to-”
“it’s better than hearing you shiver.”
you adjusted the jacket, having it rest just right on your shoulders.
“thanks.”
tsuki nodded. he hated how much he liked seeing you in his jacket. it drove him crazy.
“why’d you decide to become a manager?” he asked. you looked up at him, chucking nervously.
“oh, club requirement, that’s all,” you lied.
in all honesty, you thought what better way than to get your crush’s attention then by being the manager of his team.
“well i mean, you never showed interest in volleyball before, so you being our manager for our third year seemed kinda weird.”
you felt your face grow warm. you bit the inside of your cheek.
“i did too show interest…i came to a lot of your games before i became a manager.”
“you did?” tsukishima questioned, looking over at you again.
“yeah…i mean i mainly stood farther away as to not have anyone see me but i was there.”
“why didn’t you want anyone to see you?”
you stiffened your at the question, hiding inside of kei’s jacket.
“i didn’t want to distract you boys with my good looks that’s all,” you joked. tsuki sneered.
“sure you didn’t. honestly i almost wished i saw you…you could’ve given me motivation or something…”
your eyes widened. tsuki smiled to himself.
“kei-”
“you distract me a lot more now that you’re a manger. i even went as far as to get stuck inside a supply closet with you. hey, not the worst thing now that i think about it.”
you tried to wrap your head around what he was saying. tsuki just smiled, looking up at the ceiling. you turned to face him, trying to catch his gaze.
“you’re trying to tell me that you like me-”
“i didn’t say that-”
“you implied it. i didn’t become a manager for some dumb club requirement, i did it for y-”
you felt his hands grab your shoulders and move you to lay on the ground. you felt your breath escape you as he hovered above you. you gulped.
“for me? you became a manager, for me?”
you didn’t make eye contact with him, feeling a bit embarrassed now.
“maybe i did…”
tsukishima chuckled to himself. he placed his hand onto your cheek, causing your goosebumps to stiffen. he rubbed his thumb against your cheek.
“well im glad you did.”
kei began to move closer towards you. you could feel your heart pound out of your chest, and you heard it too. he licked his lips and just as he was about to meet yours…
“oh and by the way y/n…i have the keys.”
kei pressed his lips against yours as you felt a wave of electricity rush through you. you couldn’t contain yourself, instantly wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him even closer. tsuki grazed your torso, feeling up against the soft fabric of your clothes.
“kei-”
“shhhh, don’t spoil it.”
“i-i need you-”
you both jolted your heads over to the sound of the supply closet door opening. you rushed back to a presentable position and adjusted yourself.
“there you two are! see i knew something was wrong when you didn’t come back for the team huddle. glad i needed to put the ball carts away before i locked up the gym or else you would have been stuck here all night,” said tadashi. you sighed.
“yeah good thing you did…”
you got up from the floor and began to make your way out. you felt a hand grab your wrist and pull you back.
“don’t think i didn’t hear you. we’ll finish this later,” whispered kei. you have him a smirk.
