Akashi Seijurou x fem!WifeReader! oneshot
The delivery
The contractions had started just before dawn.
At first, Y/N thought it was another false alarm — she’d had them for weeks now — but the sharp ache that followed made her grip the edge of the kitchen counter. Akashi was already awake, half-dressed in a crisp white shirt, preparing to leave for a meeting when he saw her stiff. The look on her face was enough.
Within minutes, he had her wrapped in his coat and carried her to the car himself, ignoring the driver’s offer. The sky was barely gray, quiet but heavy with rain. The windshield wipers beat a rhythm faster than his heart.
“Breathe slowly,” he murmured, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping hers. “I’m here. Just breathe with me.”
She nodded, sweat starting to bead at her temple. “It’s okay,” she whispered back between breaths. “We’ll be okay, Seijuro.”
He said nothing, only pressed a kiss to her hand before driving faster.
Hours later, the sterile scent of the hospital clung to his clothes. Akashi had faced world championships, corporate boardrooms, and his own inner demons — but none of it compared to this.
The doctors spoke in controlled tones. Words like complications, blood pressure, monitoring kept slicing into him. His composure, usually untouchable, wavered when one nurse rushed out to call for a specialist.
He wasn’t allowed into the delivery room at first. He paced the hallway, the cold fluorescent light making his reflection in the window look foreign — sharp red eyes burning, jaw clenched.
Then the door opened, and a doctor called him in.
Y/N was pale, her breathing shallow. Her hand searched weakly until he clasped it, lowering himself to her side.
“Seijuro…” her voice trembled.
“I’m right here,” he said, leaning close. His voice cracked slightly. “Don’t talk. Focus on your breathing.”
The machines beeped irregularly. The doctor said something, but he barely heard it — his eyes fixed on her face, the same face he once saw under cherry blossoms the day he asked her to marry him.
Then, faintly — a cry.
First one. Then another.
A boy. A girl.
The doctor announced it through a mask of relief. The nurses moved quickly to check the newborns, but Akashi couldn’t look away from Y/N. Her eyes were half-lidded, exhausted, her skin slick with sweat and tears.
For a terrifying moment, she didn’t respond to his voice. And in that moment, his left eye flickered — gold brightening, red dimming. That fracture of his soul — the fear of losing another person he loves — clawed back from somewhere deep.
He whispered her name again.
Her eyelids fluttered open. Her hand rose weakly, fingertips brushing his cheek.
“You… look scared,” she murmured, voice faint but warm.
He caught her hand, pressed it to his lips. “You scared me.”
Her smile was small but certain. “You’re a father, Seijuro.”
When she said it, the tremor in his eyes settled. Both irises — the same deep crimson — shone again.
And when the nurse placed the babies in his arms, one by one, he finally exhaled.
The house was quieter now — too quiet for Akashi’s liking.
He’d arranged for the twins’ nursery to be soundproofed just enough that their soft whimpers didn’t echo through the hall, but it made every small sound from the master bedroom sharper: the rustle of sheets, the steady rhythm of her breathing.
Y/N was finally home after a week in the hospital. She was still pale, her body weak from recovery, but her eyes had that same calm glow — a quiet strength that kept him grounded.
Akashi stood beside the bed, sleeves rolled up, feeding her soup with the same precision he’d once used to shoot free throws.
“Seijuro,” she whispered, laughing lightly between spoonfuls. “I can feed myself.”
He frowned, almost imperceptibly. “You’re not supposed to move. Doctor’s orders.”
Her lips curved. “Those were your orders.”
He hesitated, then said softly, “They were correct.”
The tray beside him looked more like something out of a luxury restaurant than a recovery meal — organic vegetables from Kyoto, bone broth simmered for eight hours, imported mineral water chilled to exact temperature.
He’d even replaced all the utensils in the house with BPA-free silver cutlery “for purity.”
When she caught him disinfecting the doorknobs for the third time, she sighed. “Seijuro,” she said gently, “you can relax. I’m not made of glass.”
He set down the sanitizer and sat beside her, brushing a few strands of hair from her forehead. “I almost lost you,” he said simply.
Her expression softened. “But you didn’t.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward — just full of things neither needed to say.
Later that night, he checked the nursery. The twins were asleep — the girl’s tiny hand curled around her brother’s sleeve.
Y/N appeared behind him, leaning on the doorframe. “Looks like they already have your sense of teamwork.”
He turned to her immediately. “You should be in bed.”
“I wanted to see them,” she said, smiling tiredly.
He sighed but helped her into the armchair by the crib. She sat down, eyes misting over as she watched the babies. “I still can’t believe they’re ours,” she whispered.
He crouched beside her, resting a hand on her knee. “Everything that’s mine has always been yours.”
When she finally fell asleep again that night, her head resting on his shoulder, Akashi didn’t move for a long time.
He just stayed there, tracing soft circles over her hand with his thumb — the same hand that had reached for him in the delivery room.
For the first time since the day he lost his mother, Seijuro Akashi felt truly at peace.
The early spring sunlight poured through the wide Kyoto windows, scattering gold across the tatami floor.
Y/N blinked awake to the faint sound of laughter — soft, breathy, and unmistakably Akashi’s. It was rare, gentle, and only the twins ever managed to pull it out of him.
She pushed herself up slowly, her strength finally returning after months of recovery. The faint ache that had once lived in her body was gone now, replaced by something lighter — peace, maybe.
Down the hall, she found them: Akashi kneeling on a blanket spread across the living room floor, wearing a white T-shirt and sweatpants, both babies balanced on his lap.
Their little boy was tugging on his father’s sleeve, while the girl reached up and caught a strand of his crimson hair.
Akashi smiled faintly, letting her tug it again. “You’ve inherited your mother’s determination,” he murmured.
“Or your stubbornness,” Y/N said from the doorway.
He looked up immediately. “You should’ve called me. You’re still—”
“I’m fine,” she said, crossing the room with that quiet grace he loved. “You’ve been up early again?”
He nodded. “They wanted breakfast before the sun did.”
She knelt beside him, taking the boy from his lap. The baby yawned, then pressed his small face into her shoulder. She smiled, rubbing his back in slow circles.
“I still can’t believe how much they’ve grown,” she whispered.
Akashi’s eyes softened. “Every day feels new.”
For a moment, neither spoke — just the hum of the morning air and the soft coos of the twins.
Then Y/N leaned against his shoulder. “You’re doing well, you know. As a father.”
He blinked, surprised. Compliments still caught him off guard when they came from her. “I have good teachers,” he said quietly.
She laughed softly. “Flattery doesn’t suit a genius.”
He turned, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It suits a husband.”
Hours later, after breakfast, Akashi found her standing at the window. The twins were napping, sunlight spilling over the crib.
“You were right,” he said softly from behind her.
She turned. “About what?”
“That life can be ordinary and still be perfect.”
Y/N smiled. “You only just realized that?”
He slipped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You keep proving it to me.”
Outside, cherry blossoms began to fall. Two petals drifted through the open window, landing in the cradle between the twins.
And for a long, perfect moment, everything was still — their laughter, their breathing, the small sounds of the home they’d built together.
The kind of peace Akashi once thought he’d never find again.
FIN
