I SUCK At Writing Filler Chapters Oh But I Wanted It To Be Slow Burn Didnt I? 🙄😔

hey, im so sorry i haven been posting lately, i’ve had a lot of problems at home and i haven’t had the motivation to write :(

Happier than ever

Ex!Suna Rintarou x Singer! Reader SMAU!

Voleyball player Suna Rintarou and famous singer Miya Y/n did not end in good terms, what happens when Y/n’s career starts growing and they have to meet each other?

TW: Exes to lovers, angst a lot of angst, jealous!Suna, kinda insecure! Suna, heartbroken! Y/n, fluff at some point, humor

INTRODUCTION

cell mates | hell habitants

001- kiss on the lips

002-clinically insane

003-wattpad

004-fangirl

005 - 10 things i hate about you

006 - get laid

007-

A/N: hello, its me again, im sorry i know i never finish the stories that i start, but im planning on continuing every story i haven’t finished, i just cant do much without wifi rn, for now enjoy!

003-wattpad

ex!suna rintarou x singer!reader

mt list

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im not sure i like this chapter, also this is probs the only time theyll see each other for a while cause i love slow burns and i just dont want it to go too fast

so, kenma and kei def could go they just wanted y/n to go

suna isnt in denial anymore like y/n is, he knows shes the love of his life

i couldn’t not talk about matthew im so normal about him🩷

y/n used to get food for tooru or the whole team but she didn’t want to after suna joined the team

i love me a good slow burn enemies or exes to lovers with a lot of angst and then fluff at the end so get ready and i also love miscommunication LMAO

but also expect a lot of humor filler chapters bc i love crack smaus and bc i started this story impulsively and do not have it planned yet LMAO

im so normal about suna

also i got the idea of akaashi getting discounts from another au i just cant remember which one

taglist (OPEN)

@lvc-lv @renardiererin @3lectraheart @nyxlai @beckxisxinxlovexwithxjin @wooasecret

obsessed w haikyuu smaus also sorry i havent written im moving houses and have no wifi and shitty data😁😁😁

IM SOBBING SO HARD

If I Kiss You, I’m Sorry Part 8

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘈 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘑𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘠/𝘕 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘮 𝘪𝘴, 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘢𝘬𝘦… 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵.

News of you and James’ breakup spread like wildfire. By the following morning it seemed as if everyone knew. And by the third day, they were done pretending they didn’t.

If you thought you had eyes on you before, it’s nothing compared to the attention you’re getting now. Everybody seemed to have questions. Who broke up with who? Is Lily going to make a move now that James is single? More importantly, who are you going to be dating next? It’s no lie that everyone was shocked when you and James became an item. That was a pairing nobody saw coming. And if James Potter of all people had a chance, doesn’t every other boy in school?

It’s almost frightening how quickly everything went back to normal. You went from spending every moment of free time with James, to walking right past him without so much as a glance in his direction. It was like it always had been; with you not noticing James and him stealing glances at you whenever he could. Only it was worse than before because James went from daydreaming about being with you, to actually being with you, to losing you.

The marauders are hanging about the courtyard planning their next prank when they hear a name that gets all of their attention.

“Y/N!”

James automatically turns his head, but the tree he’s leaning against blocks you completely from his view.

“Hey…” you greet cautiously, coming to a stop in front of the dark haired Hufflepuff. “Garrett, right?”

“Actually it’s-yeah! Garrett!” he confirms, pointing to himself, surprised that you knew his name.

“What’s up?” you ask with a laugh.

“Oh! I just wanted to say that I was sorry to hear about you and James…”

“Oh…It’s okay.” you shrug. “These things happen.”

“I must say, I was shocked when I heard the news.” Garrett continues. “You two really seemed in love.”

James holds his breath, wondering what you’ll say.

“Eighteen is an inconvenient time to be in love.” you sigh with a tense smile. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh absolutely.” Garrett nods. “Love is overrated. Which is why I was thinking, why not go out with me?”

“Sorry?” you ask, looking at Garrett with a confused frown.

“Yeah! You and me, we’d be the hottest couple Hogwarts has ever seen!”

“Um, well I just got out of a relationship.” You remind him. “I’m not really looking-“

“For love. Yeah, I know. And I’m not offering it.” Garrett tells you with a smirk.

Anger courses through James as he listens to the conversation. He gets up, prepared to go over there when Sirius puts a hand on his chest, keeping him in place.

“It’s not your fight anymore, mate.” Sirius tells him with a grimace.

James glares at him before sighing, nodding his head in defeat as he leans against the tree again. As much as he hates to admit it, Sirius is right. It isn’t James’ place anymore to get involved.

“I’m not looking for anything right now.” you reiterate with a shake of your head.

“Come on! You’re that quick to shoot me down? At least give me a chance.” Garrett whines with a fake pout.

“Garrett,” you sigh, trying to think of something to say.

Remus, feeling bad for both you and James, decides to just put everyone out of their misery. He doesn’t miss the grateful look from James as he pushes himself off of the tree, turning the corner and coming to a stop right beside you.

“You don’t have a chance.” Remus tells Garrett with a polite grin. “And clearly no shame either.”

“I beg your pardon?” Garrett asks, looking between you and Remus in confusion.

“Do you really need me to insult you again?” Remus asks, tilting his head to the side. “Was the first time not enough? Or were you just to stupid to realize it?”

“What a fucking prat,” Garrett mumbles to himself as he walks away.

You sigh in relief before giving Remus a grateful smile.

“Thanks for saving me.”

“Don’t forget you’re single now. The guys are gonna be all over you.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “It was nice while it lasted.”

“What? Being left alone or being in a relationship with James?”

“See you around, Rem.” You say, giving him a sad smile before walking away.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You’re not the only one getting more attention than usual. It seems as if every boy in the bloody school has something to say to James. The amount of times he’s heard “I can’t believe you let her get away” and “Thanks for blowing it” is unreal. Someone even shamelessly asked James what he did wrong, so that they don’t “make the same mistake”.

And then there’s Lily, who’s made it her life’s purpose to be everywhere James is, much to the marauder’s annoyance. He was hoping to get some time to himself today at Hogsmeade; he was looking forward to it! But of course, things could never be that simple. James had just finished ranting to Sirius and Remus about how Lily had crashed his solo Hogsmeade trip when Peter burst into the room.

“What are you doing?” Remus asks when he sees Peter digging through his chocolate stash.

“I’m taking your fudge flies. I’ll pay you back.” Peter says, holding up the carton package in victory.

“No.” Remus says, snatching the box back. “If you wanted more sweets, you should have gone to Hogsmeade yourself.”

“I had other plans,” Peter whines, trying to grab the box. “But I need them!”

“Here. You can have this.” Remus offers, handing Peter a chocolate frog instead.

“No,” Peter shakes his head. “I don’t want that.”

“You like these!” Remus argues.

“It has to be fudge flies.” Peter insists, still trying to steal the box back.

“Why?” Remus groans in exasperation.

“Because they’re Y/N’s favorite!”

The dorm goes silent at that, everyone freezing before turning their gaze to Peter. Peter seizes the opportunity, snatching the box of fudge flies out of Remus’ hands and holding them to his chest.

“Wormtail…are you still hanging out with Y/N?” Remus asks, cautiously throwing a glance to James.

“Um…no?” Peter offers.

“Wormtail…” Remus calls.

“What do you want from me? I’m a child of divorce, okay?!” Peter defends.

“Peter,” Remus groans. “For the love of-“

“I can’t believe you!” Sirius tells him. “Y/N’s the one who broke up with James in the first place. And here you are, fraternizing with the enemy.”

“I’m fraternizing?” Peter repeats incredulously before pointing at James. “James went to Hogsmeade with Lily!”

“How do you even know that?” Sirius asks in confusion. “It literally just happened!”

“I didn’t plan on it!” James interrupts. “She just showed up!”

“That’s such a load of bull! Lily told Y/N she was going to Hogsmeade with you!” Peter tells him, still holding the box of fudge flies to his chest.

“What?” James asks, confused. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure! I was with her when it happened! She was helping me with my alchemy assignment since you lot kept forgetting.”

“Lily said she was going with me?” James asks, more to himself than to Peter. She said that Marlene and Dorcas ditched her at the last minute. Was that a lie she said just to get close to him?

“What did Y/N do?” James finds himself asking before he can stop himself.

“Nothing.” Peter shrugs. “She said she hoped you’d have a good time together but then-“

“Then?” James asks, urging Peter to continue.

“Nothing.” Peter says, avoiding his gaze.

“Wormtail,” James sighs. “Just tell me.”

“I don’t know…she got really quiet after that.” Peter tells him. “She seemed sad.”

“She has no reason to be sad.” Sirius scoffs. “She’s the one who broke up with him in the first place.”

“When was this?” James asks, ignoring Sirius altogether.

“Thursday?” Peter mumbles with a shrug.

“Peter!” James groans. “If I had known Lily was plotting to go to Hogsmeade with me, I could’ve done something to stop it! Why didn’t you say anything sooner?!”

“I forgot!” Peter shouts.

Everyone starts arguing at that point; Sirius calling Peter a traitor, Peter defending himself for still hanging out with you, Remus saying that they did technically forget to help Peter with his assignment in the first place. While all the screaming is going on, James digs through his trunk before approaching Peter, handing him a packet of sour slugs.

“Here. Take her these, too. If she eats too much chocolate, she needs to have something sour.”

“How do you even know that?” Sirius asks.

“Because she’s my-“ James starts, only to cut himself off, shaking his head with a sad smile. “Was. She was my girlfriend.”

Remus gives James a sympathetic smile as Peter cautiously takes the candy from him.

“Wait! Not my fudge flies!” Remus groans as Peter runs out of the room.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

James waits for Lily to be distracted before he slips out of the party. Ever since the break up, she’s made it a habit to be close to him. She crashed his Hogsmeade trip, she changed her schedule so they could do rounds together, she even started sitting with the marauders in the great hall. And James hates it because when Lily’s around, you’re all he can think about.

James takes a seat on the bench and undoes the clasp of the locket, spinning it around in his hands as he remembers all the time you used to sit out here together, taking about anything and everything.

Only a few minutes later, Lily manages to track down James and he sighs. So much for having some time to himself.

“There you are!” she calls as she gets closer. “Do you wanna go back inside?”

“I don’t wanna go to the stupid party.” James sighs sadly. “I want her back. I want her to want me back.”

“Who?” Lily asks, taking a seat beside him on the bench. “Y/N?”

“It’s not fair. I saw her first! Y/N had always been my little secret. She was this incredible thing I’d known about but everyone else seemed to miss. The treasure hidden in plain sight. The fortune of a lifetime that was somehow only visible to me.” James rambles, all the alcohol in his system making him miss you more than usual. “I saw her before everyone realized her worth. I loved her when nobody noticed her. And now everybody does! And she can have anyone and for a while that was me and it’s just- it’s not fair! It wasn’t nearly enough time.”

James hiccups, the firewhisky finally getting to him and Lily realizes in that moment that it’s you. Maybe at one point James did want her. Maybe he never wanted her at all, and he asked her out because he saw much it annoyed her. But one thing’s for certain, the only person he wants now is you. And sure, the attention James gave to Lily in sixth year was nice…at times. But she’d never forgive herself for being the thing that keeps you two apart. That being said, she bumps shoulders with James and gives him a comforting smile.

“You guys will be okay.”

“You really think so?” James asks with a hopeful smile.

“Yeah,” Lily nods. “You and Y/N have a love like you see on the big screen. And I’ve seen enough romantic comedies to know you’ll end up together.”

“Thanks, Lily.” James smiles.

“So what’s inside?” she asks, gesturing to the locket in his hand.

“Wanna see?” James asks, opening up the locket and handing it to her.

“Aw!” Lily laughs, looking at the picture of you and James. Lily watches as you look up at James with a smile and look away, only for James to immediately do the same thing. “It’s cute.”

“It was our first date,” James says proudly. “Our first official date.”

“And how was it?” Lily asks, handing the locket back to him.

“It was…the best day ever.” James sighs, closing the locket and putting it back on.

“Prongs!” Remus calls, “Are you out here?”

“Alright, let’s get you back to your friends.” Lily sighs, standing up. “I don’t know how to deal with you when you’re like this.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Y/N.”

You look up with a smile, only to frown when you see who called you.

“What do you want Michael?” you ask, hastily shoving your things back into your bag.

“You know what I want.” he says simply, causing you to scoff. “Are you going to make me ask again?”

“You didn’t even ask me the first time.” You remind him, standing from your seat. “You ordered me.”

“Same thing.”

“It really isn’t.” you shake your head. “But my answer hasn’t changed. I won’t marry you.”

“Y/N, I am a pure blood, high status wizard. I’m expected to marry a pure blood witch with a high status in the wizarding world.”

“By all means, marry one! I’m not the only pure blood girl.” you scoff. “There are others.”

“None as beautiful as you. A Gray such as myself deserves the best. And you, my dear, are the best.”

“Well I deserve to marry someone I love, and that isn’t you.”

“And who is?” Michael asks with a laugh. “Potter?”

You glare at him as he continues to laugh.

“Princess, he left you. If he doesn’t even want to be in a relationship with you, what makes you think he’d marry you?”

“Michael, stop it. You’re being mean.”

“I’m being honest.” he says, slowly walking towards you, backing you up against the wall. “There’s a war coming, Y/N. Marry me and I can protect you. Don’t you want to be on the right side?”

Before you know what you’re doing, you’ve slapped Michael. Head still turned to the side, he huffs in amusement before turning his steely gaze back to you.

“I’m not afraid of the Dark Lord.” you tell him with a defiant shake of your head. “And I’m not afraid of you.”

“You really should be.” Michael says, putting his hands on your shoulders and pushing you up against the wall. You let out a surprised gasp, trying to shove him off to no avail.

“I did warn you that I would run out of patience.”

“Get off of me.” you demand weakly, giving his chest a shove, though it makes no difference.

“You’re in no place to give commands, princess.” Michael chuckles darkly.

Michael takes a step closer, invading your personal space, and that’s when you start to panic. You don’t know if he’s going to try to kiss you or hit you, and you don’t know which thought scares you more.

You’ve always prided yourself in being a brilliant witch. There are several defensive spells you’re able to perform with and without your wand. Unfortunately for you, you can’t remember a single one. At this moment, you’re just a scared, defenseless girl. And what do scared girls do? Run.

You stomp on Michael’s foot as hard as you can, and when he takes a step back, you push him away from you, grabbing your bag off the desk and running out of the room. Reaching the end of the hallway, you turn a corner, only to bump into a hard chest. Stumbling back, you look up and see James standing in front of you. James frowns in concern when he sees that you’re holding back tears.

“Are you okay?” he immediately asks.

Putting your head down, you try to walk past him but James grabs your wrist, keeping you in place.

“What happened?” he tries again.

“Nothing.” you shake your head, still avoiding his gaze. “I’m fine.”

“Obviously you’re not.” James argues. “Did someone say something to you?”

You silently shake your head, still trying to pull your wrist free from his grasp.

“Did someone do something to you?” James asks.

Immediately you freeze, looking up at James with wide eyes. Behind him, Remus, Peter, and Sirius all share a concerned look.

“What happened?” James asks again.

You open your mouth but no words come out, unable to tell James what happened. You feel embarrassed and ashamed that you weren’t able to fight Michael off. And if that wasn’t bad enough, you feel selfish for wanting James’ help even when you know that you no longer have that right.

“Nothing happened!” you yell, pulling your wrist from his grasp and running away. James watches you go with a worried frown.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Having just left study hall, James is headed back to the common room when he happens to overhear two Slytherins talking.

“Have you heard? Apparently Gray has gone and asked Y/N to marry him once school is done.”

James stops in his tracks. Marriage? But you’re so young. And you’re not even dating Michael!

“Did she accept?”

“Well, he didn’t really leave much room for argument.”

“What’d he do?”

“Nothing too bad. Just scared her a bit, I think.”

James seethes as he hears this. That’s probably why you were fighting back tears when you bumped into him in the corridor the other day. James spots Michael in the distance and immediately starts walking over there. As soon as James reaches him, he shoves him harshly.

“Stay the fuck away from Y/N.” he orders.

“Why should I?” Michael asks, fixing his jacket.

“Because I fucking said so.”

Michael huffs in amusement.

“I mean it.” James tells him. “Don’t look at her. Don’t talk to her. Don’t even fucking think about her.”

“She’s not your girlfriend anymore, Potter.” Michael reminds him. “You have no claim over her.”

“That has nothing to do with it.” James shakes his head. “You’re a right prick and I won’t let you hurt her. So I’m telling you, for the last time, to stay away.”

“I don’t know.” Michael sighs. “I think she liked it when I was rough with her.”

James glares at him.

“Maybe that’s why she dumped you.” Michael continues. “Maybe she likes being pushed around.”

James sees red. Before he knows it, he’s pulled his fist back and clocked Michael right in the face. Michael winces as he touches his nose, glowering when sees blood on his hand.

“You’re dead, Potter.” he growls before swinging at him.

Michael and James continue to land blow after blow on each other before eventually Professor Gasly comes along and pulls them apart.

“What is going on?” He yells, looking between Michael and James for some sort of explanation.

“James threw the first punch!” a Slytherin shouts.

“But Michael started it!” A Gryffindor interjects. “He practically assaulted Y/N and then bragged about it!”

Michael tries to defend himself but is immediately shot down by Professor Gasly.

“Shut it. Not a word from you until you’re sitting in front of Dumbledore.”

Professor Gasly looks at James and rolls his eyes.

“Go clean yourself up.”

“Yes professor.” James says, turning around and walking away.

Having been tucked away in the courtyard enjoying the weather, you saw the whole confrontation with Michael. You watch James head into the castle and weigh your options before eventually following after him.

James knows he should probably go to the bathroom, or to his dorm, or even to Madam Pomfrey. But more than anything, he just wants to be alone. That being said, he walks into the first empty classroom he sees and takes a seat on the chair, groaning as he does. He sighs in annoyance when he hears a knock on the door.

James looks up and is surprised, as well as the tiniest bit relieved when he sees you standing there. You sheepishly hold up the damp washcloth in your hand.

“Can I help?”

Unable to form any words, James nods his head with a smile, only to wince when the cut on his lip starts bleeding again. You come to a stop right in front of James, and begin gently wiping his face with the washcloth, stopping every time he winces.

“I’m so sorry.” you whisper.

“Don’t be.” James says softly with a shake of his head.

“This is all my fault.”

“It’s not.”

“You got hurt because of me.”

“I got hurt because I started a fight with Michael.”

“Because of me.”

“Because he’s an absolute tosser.” James insists. The last thing he wants is for you to feel guilty. “It was only a matter of time before someone put him in his place.”

You sigh before eventually nodding your head, giving him a small smile. James takes in your features, desperately trying to memorize them. It’s been so long since he’s seen you up close. Heaven only knows when he’ll get another opportunity. His eyes zero in on your lips before he clears his throat, looking away.

“You can go.” he tells you, standing up and taking a few steps away to put some distance between the two of you. “I can take it from here.”

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

“Honestly? No.” James laughs with a shake of his head, back still turned to you. “And you should know that.”

“Pardon?”

“You have no right.”

“To what?”

“To make me love you!” James shouts, turning back around to face you. “To hold my hand and kiss me breathless and cheer for me at all my matches and look at me with those mesmerizing fucking eyes of yours and then just walk away like nothing happened!”

You look up at James with wide eyes, his outburst having caught you off guard.

“I was supposed to be over you!” he continues to yell. “I told myself it’d never work between us! I-I convinced myself it’d never happen! I moved on! And then you come along with your bouncy hair and radiant smile. And you listen to me, and you support me, and you’re the only person who really gets me and it’s not fucking fair!” James shouts before sighing. “None of this is fair. Knowing what it’s like to be loved by you and then losing you isn’t fair.”

“You…love me?” you ask, confusion clear in your voice.

“Yes!” James confesses. “More than anything.”

“But Lily…”

“Just a sad, pathetic attempt to get over you.” James tells you with a defeated shake of his head. “Nothing more.”

“But I heard you.” you continue. “With your friends. You were talking about not giving me the wrong idea and-”

“Darling, no.” James crosses the room in an instant, grabbing your hands as he stares into your eyes. “You misunderstand. We were talking about telling you how I felt about you, how I still feel about you. But I know this was supposed to be fake. I didn’t want you to hate me for ruining everything.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” you assure him. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I’m sorry.”

“You have no reason to apologize.” James tells you. “I would’ve thought the same thing… What were you doing out there anyway?”

“Hm?” you ask with wide eyes before looking away. “Oh! Um, I was actually coming to talk to you.”

“Oh? About what?” James tilts his head to the side as he watches you curiously.

“I was actually coming to tell you that I thought…I was falling in love with you.”

James’ eyes widened at that. He didn’t know what you were going to say, but he sure as hell wasn’t expecting that. He had dreamt about you falling in love with him more times than he’d like to admit. He hoped and prayed and wished on every shooting star he ever saw; but to actually hear you say that you love him was something else entirely.

“R-really?” James asks breathlessly.

“Yeah,” you nod, still nervously avoiding eye contact. “But I’m not anymore.”

“Sorry?” James asks, confused.

“Falling in love.”

The look James gives you is one of utter devastation, so you’re quick to clarify.

“I’m far past that now, I’m afraid. I’m completely in love with you, James.” you admit, giving him a nervous smile.

“Don’t say that. Not if you don’t mean it.” James begs. “Please, darling. I will never recover.”

“It’s true,” you tell him. “I love you.”

James crashes his lips onto yours, one hand cupping your jaw, while the other gets buried in your hair and you wrap your arms around his shoulders as you kiss him back. When James finally finds the strength to pull away, you’re absolutely breathless. He is too, chest heaving as he gazes into your eyes, hands still cupping your face.

“I love you too. Godric, do I love you. I can’t believe I tried to fight it for so long. It’s you Y/N. You’re the one for me. It’s always been you. It will always be you.”

“It was never you for me.” you admit, causing James to let out a surprised laugh.

“Sorry?” he asks.

“I never in a million years thought I would ever be friends with you, let alone like you.” you continue.

“Wow,” James laughs. “You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

“But falling in love with you was the easiest thing in the world. And I only regret not falling for you sooner.”

James gives you a soft smile, eyes full of love as he gazes at you.

“Sorry I took so long.” you apologize with a sheepish smile.

James is momentarily brought back to third year, when he was sitting in Charms and everyone was laughing at him; when he looked to his left and saw you, really saw you for the first time…when everything changed.

“Don’t be.” he shakes his head. “I would’ve waited forever for you.”

“Would you really?”

“I waited this long.” James says, causing you to roll your eyes in amusement. Oh, how he’s missed this.

“Go out with me.” James asks. “For real this time. No ulterior motives, no lies, no misunderstandings. I want to be able to love you honestly, openly… I want to love you wholeheartedly.”

“I do, too.” you tell him with a nod.

“It’s a bit too soon for ‘I do’s’ don’t you think, love?” James teases.

“I’ve changed my mind,” you tell him with a shake of your head, trying to free yourself from his grasp. “Let’s break up.”

“Yeah right!” James says, tightening his hold on you. “I’ve already lost you once. I’ll be damned if I lose you again.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Look at them,” Sirius groans. “Absolutely disgusting.”

Remus looks up from his book, seeing you and James having your own conversation, whispering to each other as you smile and laugh amongst yourselves.

“Leave them alone, Padfoot,” Remus sighs.

“I just don’t understand why they have to be so touchy, feely, kissy all the bloody time!” Sirius continues to complain.

“Of course you wouldn’t understand.” Remus says, turning the page of his book. “You’ve never been in love.”

“Hey!” Sirius exclaims, throwing an exploding bonbon at him. It hits Remus on the side of the head then falls to the ground where Peter picks it up and unwraps it, plopping it into his mouth with a happy grin.

“You should be happy for them.”

“As if!”

“Okay, happy for him.” Remus tries again. “He went from borderline stalking Y/N, to dating her.”

“Oi!” James calls, looking up in offense.

“I never stalked her!” he shouts before turning to look at you. “I never stalked you, love. Honest.”

“Right,” Remus scoffs. “You just stared at her all the time, and hexed any guy that talked to her, and snuck sweets into her bag when she wasn’t looking.”

“Wait…the sweets in my bag, that was you?” you ask, looking between James and Remus. James nods his head with a shy smile while Sirius laughs.

“Godric, I didn’t know it was that bad! What else did he do, Moony?”

“NOTHING!” James shouts, face turning a brilliant shade of red.

“I can’t believe you didn’t notice.” Remus tells Sirius. “It was kind of obvious.”

Sirius blinks several times, before shifting the attention to you.

“Yeah, Y/N. I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

“wha-me? I didn’t know!” you defend.

“You didn’t know?” Sirius repeats skeptically. “According to Moony, he stared at you all day everyday. You honestly didn’t notice James’ eyes glued to you?”

“I didn’t notice James at all!” you stress, causing the boys to laugh.

“Love,” James whines, burying his face into your neck in embarrassment.

“But it’s fine because now he’s all I can think about.”

“So it’s safe to say it all turned out okay in the end.” James says with a proud grin.

“You make it sound as if this was your plan all along.” Sirius huffs in amusement.

“How do you know it wasn’t?” James asks, crossing his arms.

“Your master plan was to admire her from afar for years and then ask her to pretend to be your girlfriend in your last year of school, hoping she’d develop real feelings for you?” Remus asks incredulously.

“It’s called playing the long game, Moony.” James says with a nod, causing you to laugh.

“You’re an idiot.” Remus mumbles, getting back to his book.

“Unbelievable.” James says with a shake of his head. “I’m not gonna sit here and listen to this. Darling, would you like to go on a walk?”

You nod your head with a smile, grabbing James’ hands so he can pull you up.

“You don’t really hate them being together, do you?” Remus asks Sirius.

“Nah, I just like teasing him.” Sirius says, nodding his head. “Look at them, Moons.”

Sirius, Remus, and Peter all watch as James pulls a bouquet of flowers for you out of thin air. You grab a daisy from the arrangement and tuck it behind his ear and nod proudly at your work before you tilt your head up and pout your lips, silently asking for a kiss, which James is more than happy to give you.

“What they have is real,” Sirius tells him. “How could anyone be annoyed by that?”

help me, the only reason why i haven’t posted a second chapter to my jason fic is bc idk why i always have to name my stories after songs, like the stories i have written in wattpad all have a song as a title AND I CANT FUCKING THINK OF ANY SONG WHICH I CAN BASE THE CHAPTER OFF😭 like i have a general idea of what to do with the fic but i have no idea of what to write in this chapter and which song i could base it off from😭

Hi! I don't know if you are still taking requests, but if it's so, can we please get an Atsumu x reader one shot, specifically, a one shot where Atsumu is scared of commitment, and reader just wants to get married, and due to Atsumu's fear of commitment, she wants to break up. Then he regrets later and tries to win back reader, realising that deep in his heart, he cannot live without her.

I'll leave the ending to you^^!

Hiiii I'm still taking them yes!

Anon? Anon? Did ya get on my brain or something? Hooooly moly this plot is so good let me kiss your mind smooch~

Pairing: Timeskip! Atsumu x Fem reader

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings & content: grammar - Atsumu has an avoidant/anxious attachment style lol - overthinker reader- petnames - Reader owns 2 cats - Sometimes it's not about the screams, it's about what your words mean

He used to get into problems because of his "Big mouth" (Osamu's words, not his)

Being harsh on someone from the team "whatever"

Lying on Aran's or Samu's face (usually little things tho, like pudding)

Or right now, when after his girlfriend of 2 years showed him a video of a wedding dance and he dismissed it as:

"A pretentious celebration, don' understan' whats the fret about it"

"Well we are not dancers but still it is fun, don't you think Tsumu?"

"Ah 'm talkin' 'bout the wedding"

A needle falling could be heard after that butch of information

"Uh what?"

He just looked at you with an almost bored expression

"I'm not cut for that pretty, all that married lifestyle an' stuff 's just..... Boring fer me"

Your mood obviously shifted drastically. Of course, you weren't expecting that the man you love with all your heart and soul would overrule something you showed interest in such a cold way

"So what you are saying is..... You don't wanna marry me?"

He shifted his gaze from his phone to your face, cringing a little at your pretty obvious disgruntled expression

"We don't know what will happen tomorrow doll we jus' better enjoy our time now"

The shock travelling through your body made you shiver.

"'m jus' sayin'... Ya kinda lose some freedom when ya get married. It's complicated"

You opened your mouth but there was no sound going out of it. You really really didn't expect the evening to turn like this

Then there was set an uncomfortable silence

"Angel?"

"I'm sleepy Tsumu, goodnight"

The bed felt colder even when an hour later he joined you to bed. His arm circling your waist not representing the same love you thought about

The next morning he left with a kiss onto your forehead, an "I love you" and a promise to come back for dinner

It was a custom at this point in your relationship, but this time it felt fake

Why was he still with you if there was no prospect of the future?

Was wanting a wedding too much? Did he plan on to leave you at some point of your life?

The dampness in the pillow signaled you to get up and get ready for the day

For some people it would be dumb or insignificant. A wedding only being a legal paper, a contract, a figure, something done out of selfishness to secure an income or stuff like that

But for you, it was almost your dream since you were little. Glimpses of white, with little brown and gold details, maybe your pet as the ring bearer, and your future husband in all his glory smiling or even crying at the sight of you, like a princess out of a fairy tale. Vows evoking eternal love, promises of care and devotion. A signal of how much you loved that person.

Now that image was not going to be filled with Atsumu's figure nor your cats.

The pang on your chest made your eyes fill with tears again. You had never thought Atsumu would have such an strong opinion about marriage, to think that you two were not on the same page pained you to the brim to the point you had to sit down

You wanted to be selfless, you did. But what would possibly be holding him back that much? Wouldn't he even agree to a civil wedding?

"(...) all that married lifestyle an' stuff 's just….. Boring fer me"

It wouldn't be a lot more different to what you had now... Did that mean that he was bored now?

"Ya kinda lose some freedom when ya get married"

Were you that type of girlfriend tho? A controlling one? No, you were sure about that, so what type of freedom was he talking about?

Your thoughts weren't taking you anywhere, but you were sure about something

You didn't have a future with Atsumu

Meanwhile, on the MSBY's gym, a very restless Atsumu was trying his best to not let his personal life affect his work

But how could he not? When you, the girl he loved so much it hurt, asked for marriage

It's not like he despised the celebration itself, but to him it meant a big step he wasn't ready to take. No now, probably never

Why would you want to change what you had until now? The fact that you seemed so hopeful about it pulled the strings on his heart.

If he was honest with himself he kind of knew this conversation was to come soon. You were watching even more romantic shows that involved characters with healty depictions of marriage instead of the usual comic gag

Or sometimes caressing his ring finger

Still, he wasn't ready. So he hoped he could work things out, you always found the way to do it and while he was terrified of the long term feeling, he just knew he loved you and that was enough

Or so he said to himself

"I know you have a loud mouth but you could have word it in another way Miya"

"I panicked Omi ok?!"

Of course Sakusa noticed the change on his team mate and Atsumu felt he had to talk about it to someone. The raven haired man being his best option so he let all the story out

Sakusa sighed and finished packing his stuff

"I'm just saying Miya, usually this type of disagreements don't end fine"

"Are ya trying to cheer me up or make me feel like garbage?"

"Your words, not mine"

Atsumu could only look at his friend with a mix of a frown and a pout

"I'm surely not the one to tell you this but.... What are you so afraid of?" And like that, the curly man went out of his sight

Atsumu was left sitting on a bench fiddling with his fingers, wondering and thinking about it

While his parents marriage ended in divorce it didn't end bad, they actually did a good job Co parenting the twins.

His dad had shared that they simply felt out of love after so many years, so there was this lingering fear of "Maybe things aren't meant to be forever even if they are really good" What if that happened to him too?

He was sured he loved you, the butterflies in his tummy and the lovesick glances he pulled everytime you looked at his direction were proof of it.

But, what if?

He wanted to be happy as long as life could let him be

He sighed once again this time against your shared apartment, a weak smile forming into his lips watching the "welcome" cloud shaped rug you had insisted to buy the last trip to the supermarket

His nerves were eating his heart out but he knew it wouldn't be intelligent to run away to Osamu just like he did whe he was little. He wanted to properly apologise and show you clearly his fears (maybe he should start going to that therapy Bokuto was talking the other day)

"Angel I'm home!"

Total silence

Huh? That was weird? You always had music even if you were working in your laptop

Maybe you were taking a nap, sure

"Doll?"

He almost got a heart attack when he opened the door of your bedroom and found you siting on the edge of the bed

"Jesus Christ baby! Ya were as quite as a mouse oh my God"

While he clutched his shirt over his chest he noticed you hadn't answered to him. Worried he looked at you and man, he swore his heart skipped a beat

You were wearing your prettiest clothes, something you only wore in his or your birthdays. Something reserved to memorable occasions

But your composure lacked that welcoming and prideful aura you would carry in that outfit. Your smile was rigid, your posture almost as if you weren't welcomed.

He cringed internally trying to decode your demeanor

"Baby yer scaring me...."

"I wanna go out today if that's OK with you?"

"Eh?"

Your voice, soft and gentle. But not like you talked to a frightened animal, no. It was the tone you used when you don't want to upset a beast

His heart wrenched in his chest. You had never spoke to him like that

"'Course I want ta, W-whats the occasion?"

He didn't like how thick the air was becoming. How it was like all of his senses were prepared for the worst

"Just because" You laughed softly and kinda dry

He tried looking at your eyes, but your glance moved from one thing of the room to another, evading him

"OK, I'll be ready in a minute, wait fer me"

When he cleaned and dressed himself up you went out. He tried holding your hand several times while walking, but you avoided it

His chest felt constricted and he tried and tried until you finally held his pinky with yours. But the touch was barely there and honestly? It was killing him

You dined at you both favourite restaurant. Not too fancy not too "family inn". And it was your place, a fact that was making him feel even worse

And it wasn't better for you, your apettie was in the floor and you ate for the sake of your stomach, not having the energy to eat anything at all through the day.

At the end, he knew something was definitely up when you skipped dessert. Your most favourite one only being made in this place. He had to do something and he had to do it now

He proceed to pay the bill against your wide opened eyes and took you out. This time holding your hand entirely with his, taking you back home

It was at the stairs you halted and he let go of your hand, missing its warm

"What's on yer mind doll, please...."

He looked back at you and his breath hitched when he saw your uncommon impassible face with big tears running down your cheeks

But what made it worse, and what made him dizzy was the sentence that went out of your now wobbling lips

"This is the night I'm letting you free 'Tsumu"

"W-what?" his own voice turning shaky and breathy

"I kinda wanted to be selfish and spend a last night with you"

You had to take a deep breath, hiccups making your speech a tad bit difficult to deliver

"I just wanted to be with you a last time"

Last

Last

"I love you Atsumu, but we don't.... We don't have the same goal, we don't have the same mindset" You smiled weakly at him while he just looked at you in shock

You could almost swear there were a bunch of tears forming on his eyes

"And it's ok really but... B-but" You couldn't help the whine that came out, your pain, sadness, and everything else being put on a silver plate for your lover to see

"I just can't do this if I know you won't love me same as I do"

"I LOVE YOU!"

You gasped and flinched at the sudden raise of his voice. But more than anger there was desperation and grief into it

"I love you so so much its insane and I'm sorry, I-I'm sorry"

He was almost full on wailing like a child, just like when they're taken away form their parents on the first school day

Or how he cried when his dad went out of the door

"I'm terrified ya know? Terrified that all of this we've been living is just meant to end and I just-"

He looked up trying to stop the tears, unsuccessfully

"I don't think weddings are dumb or that I would lose something. But I'm so so afraid of what will happen if we settle down"

You were surprised of yourself when you cradled him into your arms. His own circling your waist immediately and holding you as if you were to disappear at any second

"What if you go away someday? What if I go away? What if this is just some cruel destiny's game?!"

His mind was fuzzy, feeling that your departure was seconds away stirred his fight or flight response

If his time with you was meant to end he didn't want it to be now, the overcrushing feeling of losing you now was greater than his fear of compromise

Right now, he was convinced he needed you more than oxygen, more than the sun, more than his own life

"Tsumu"

"But Please stay, don't leave. I don't ever want to have last things with you. At this point I don't even care"

When he looked at your eyes you could sense all of his renowned devotion

"I hurt ya and you suffered because of that. I swear it won't happen again.... Promise..."

After several minutes you both could only try to control your shaky breaths, dry the remaining tears and hold each other

"Marry me...."

"What?"

He pulled away, giving you just enough space to see directly at him

"Marry me....not right now but I..... I can only think of how miserable our life's are without each other and why would I mess up all we've done, all we've lived over a fear I can work on....."

Your eyes watered once again

"I don't wanna impose-"

"Yer not imposing..... I decide I wanna do this"

The strength of his arms were finally giving you the confort they meant to be

"If yer willing to be with this.... Broken piece of man..... Please stay by ma side"

He held your face with delicacy, as if you were the most delicate gem

And for your delight, you now recognised your beloved stare

"I wanna give myself to ya, make ya happy"

"Cuz you're definitely worth the try"

Not my brain fully functioning to do this instead of my grade paper

Writing angst for Tsumu is soooo satisfying as I said before. This was probably my fav rq until now (prob cuz I'm happy with the result)

Hope you like it! 💙

Natdu

This was life changing

genius. [akaashi keiji x f!reader] chapter three.

>>You struggle to pay rent on your limited graduate student salary, and your worst enemy agrees to help you out.

or

You realize you need to find a partner for your faceless porn account, and Akaashi Keiji is the only man who meets all your requirements.<<

series status: [ongoing]

previous. || masterlist. || next.

a/n: so much to say and so little time to say it

[feel free to buy me a cup of coffee!]

When you come to, you’re completely slumped over Akaashi, your head buried in the crook of his neck and his arms hanging loosely around you. He’s breathing hard, jostling you where you lie flat on top of him.

“Shit,” he breathes, lifting one hand to his hair and curling his fingers into the locks. You make a small noise, one that’s neither awake nor asleep, and he taps his other hand on your back lightly. “You good?”

You nod groggily and try to lift onto your hands. Your arms shake, so you adjust, but the motion has you both flinching, because Akaashi’s still inside of you. “Fuck,” you whisper to yourself, oversensitive, and he drops both hands to your hips, breathing out shakily while he lifts you off of him. You start to fall sideways onto the bed, but he catches you, throwing his body toward yours and catching you so that you don’t hit the mattress too hard.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he says, a furrow in his brow when you glance up at him. “I put you through a lot.”

“Yeah, you tend to,” you joke weakly, your head lolling to the side as he sits up. You both sigh hard, Akaashi barely managing to crawl to the end of the bed for your phone and both sets of underwear before he returns to his spot. “Thanks,” you mumble when he hands everything to you, and, as you’re sliding your panties on (and ditching the bra, because you can’t be bothered right now), you look down at the sheets. “The bed’s dirty.”

“Don’t care. Need a nap.” He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, groaning. You curl up on your side next to him, your eyes heavy and your muscles aching. A nap sounds glorious.

Before you can drift off, however, his words are ringing through your head.

‘You know me better than that.’

Your eyes crack open, and you stare at the side of his face. His head is bobbing slightly as he starts to fall asleep, eyes flickering open and shut, and you feel distantly bad for interrupting.

“You’re really not doing it on purpose? Any of it?” you whisper, half-hoping it doesn’t wake him at all.

His eyelids flutter, and he turns his head groggily to meet your gaze. When he sees you looking, he turns onto his side, achingly slow, until he’s facing you, too. And then he shakes his head, the exhaustion clear in his every move.

“Not at all,” he whispers back, surprisingly open with you in his tired state. “Are you?”

You frown slightly, confused. “What could I be doing on purpose?”

His eyes slide shut for a moment. “Everything.” 

You get the feeling that what he’s just admitted is bigger than what you have the space to process right now. So you just shake your head, too, and echo his words back. “Not at all.” 

“Okay,” he breathes, after a pause that’s so long that you’d wondered if he’d fallen asleep. “That’s settled, then.”

“I don’t think anything’s settled.” You could probably stop whispering, but the world outside is starting to grow dark, taking this room with it, and the only light in the house comes from the kitchen, so far away from the space between you and Akaashi. And his pinky is brushing up against yours, twitching as he falls asleep, but he’s reaching sleepily for it anyway, hooking your fingers together just before his breath evens out. You’re not sure that he realizes he’s done it.

You want to let him sleep – you want to sleep. But you need his answer. So you squeeze your pinky against his once, and his brows twitch as he wakes again. He hums softly, marking his attention.

“What do we do?” you ask, your words as vague and unclear as your head feels. He swallows, unknowingly shifting marginally closer to you. 

“Told you,” he breathes, a little slurred. “Not doing it on purpose. Jus’ happens.” He lets out a tired sigh and shifts again. “Everything jus’ happens…” 

“So, what d’we do?” you say again, eyes flitting all over his face for an answer.

“Nothin’,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “Nothin’ to do but let it happen.”

You stare at him so long that he falls asleep again, his head tilted toward yours. You wonder if you can do that – just let it happen. Whatever that means – whatever it is. You wonder if you can just give in to Akaashi Keiji like that.

‘You know me better than that.’

You suppose that’s alright. Because he’s giving in, too.

When you finally drift off to sleep, it’s with your forehead pressed against his and his finger curled around yours.

–

Keiji flies up in a tangle of limbs and a gasp that wakes you. 

“Shit-” His eyes fly to the window, seeing that dawn’s well past come. You groan, still curled up on your side, and his head whips around to the bedside table, his phone snatched up in an instant. 

It’s almost 7am.

“Fucking shit-” He rolls out of bed, missing his footing and tumbling right off of it. He hits the floor in a pile of his own body, groaning and shaking it off as best as he can, and you sit up quickly, caught off guard by his crash landing.

“Akaashi-”

“Shit, fuck-” He trips over his own feet, still half-asleep, and tries to locate his clothes. “It’s almost 7. I have to get home and shower and get my shit. I have to teach at 9.” He snatches his shirt off the floor and pulls it on, letting out a frustrated groan when he realizes it’s on backwards.

“Take an Uber. I’ll pay for it,” you try, but he just shakes his head, rushing to twist the shirt around.

“Need my bike later–wait.” He looks at you, in his boxers and his half-on shirt and his crooked glasses. You stare back, in your underwear and your bedhead and a pillow pressed to your chest in order to hide your body from him in this new daylight. “We only filmed one thing.”

Your eyes go wide, and you’re breathing ‘fuck’ as you stare up at him. He looks around the room, blinking hard. “What do we do?” he asks, still standing there like an idiot.

“I’m free tonight if you want to come back,” you offer. He nods – he thinks he’s free, too.

“Yeah, that works.”

“Okay, then take an Uber home, since you’re just coming back,” you push again. “And leave your shit here.”

“Okay,” he sighs, searching for his jeans. “That’s fine.”

He finds them on the other side of the bed, entirely unsure how they’d gotten there, and starts to hop into them. There’s a moment of silence, one where he goes through the mental list of his things – wallet, keys, phone – before you’re speaking.

“Akaashi.”

“Hm?” he hums, taking one last hop to get his jeans up to where they need to be before he’s wrestling with the zipper.

“You said last night that there’s nothing we can do except let things happen.” Keiji pauses with his fingers on his zipper, back turned to you and eyes flicking down at nothing while he thinks. Had he said that? “Did you mean that?” you ask quietly.

He tugs his zipper up and does the button, blinking rapidly. His ears start to warm with some unknown embarrassment. “I suppose I did.”

“So… are we just gonna…” You don’t finish the question, but he hears it, anyway, and his heart flips in his chest. 

Are we just gonna keep doing this? Whatever we want?

He glances over his shoulder at you, turning slightly while he tightens his belt around his hips. “What is it, huh?” he asks, a soft smirk lifting on his lips. “You attracted to me, Freak?”

You scowl, but he sees the interest in your eyes. It’s the same interest that plucks at his nerves now, as he’s doing up his belt and staring down at you where you sit, naked in the bed that he’s fucked you in twice this week.

“I think you know the answer to that,” you bite, but it’s lacking its usual edge. You’re nervous. 

He doesn’t have it in him right now to fuck with you, because he’s nervous, too. “Yeah. I do.” He scoops up his phone and runs his fingers through his hair. “Okay, I have all my shit, I think.”

You tap quickly on your phone with an uncertain nod. “Okay,” you say after a moment. “Uber will be here in two minutes.”

He nods, rushing to the door. “Thanks,” he breathes, and then he stops himself with a hand on the door frame. He shouldn’t leave like this. 

Backing slowly into the room again and eyeing you where you sit, he sighs. “Freak.”

You look up from your phone, frowning. “Is that just gonna be your new name for me-”

“I’m attracted to you, too.”

Your mouth drops open, and his splits in a smug grin that hides how terrifying it had been to admit that. 

“But you probably figured that out, didn’t you?” he asks quietly. When you just swallow and nod shallowly, he nods back. “So, yes. We’re ‘just gonna’.” He quotes your unfinished question and offers no ending. The rest of it sits between you, the silence empty and full at the same time.

You let out a long breath after a moment. “Okay,” you whisper. 

The sound of it – of your agreement to the unsaid proposal he’d just made – makes his fingertips go numb.

“Okay,” he breathes back. “I’m gonna go.”

“Okay.”

As he sits in the back of the Uber, Keiji tries to remember what he’s in such a rush for.

–

The time between October 25th and November 11th passes in a blur.

You and Akaashi find a flow, one that’s surprisingly easy. He comes over twice a week, as planned, and the world around you – outside of you – reduces to nothing but the things that happen inside the walls of your apartment. You both leave everything behind and enter into the suspended disbelief that carries you through this arrangement. 

He bends you over every surface in the spare bedroom and forces you to forget who you are, not that that’s hard with the way he handles you. You talk back as often as you can, because the way his eyes light up when you do tells you he likes the challenge. That no one challenges him quite like you. You bump heads throughout the day, over and over again, only to fall into each other at night in a way that’s wonderfully in sync – two pieces of different puzzles that fit together as though they’d been made that way. 

You start to think after a while that every argument you find yourself in with Akaashi Keiji only serves to make this thing between you stronger when you’re alone. Because on the days that your tension is particularly bad, you find it that much easier to give in to him. On the days when you’re particularly combative, he’s that much more eager to mold you into what he wants. Easy, like putty under his fingertips, you give for him – and he gives right back, just like he’d promised.

He still won’t let you touch him, not in the way that you want. After two weeks, he still won’t let you show him how to get out of his own head. He spanks you, ties you up, bends you in ways no one ever has before and makes you do things that would be completely humiliating if not for the fact that it’s him making you do them. You know that – you’re aware enough to know that it’s because it’s him.

That it’s always been because it’s him.

So even if he won’t let you do the one thing you keep asking for – tears in your eyes, a pout on your lips, anything that might make him give in to you – you can’t find it in you to be too upset. Because a deal is a deal, and Akaashi Keiji’s good for his word. And in return for giving him what he wants, he fucks you in your favorite position, once and then twice more in the same night, because you’re just that good at listening.

You listen to him, no matter the request, and he makes it worth your while without fail.

It bleeds into your everyday life without either of you realizing it. 

Not the sex – never the sex. But things are different now. That suspended disbelief reaches, aching and stretching, into the corners of your days, touching the tension between you and then slipping away before you have a chance to recognize that things are changing.

Akaashi sits in the back of the LEM meetings now, where no one can see him. He lets other people take the round table, slipping in at the last second and taking a seat against the wall instead of coming five minutes early like he always does. He does it on purpose – you know he does, because he makes two choices. 

The first is that – on days when you don’t present – he sits right behind you and taps his foot ever so lightly on one of your chair legs, just to remind you he’s there. And when you inevitably inch forward, he’s quick to adjust, because the universe had cursed him with long legs and he’s more than willing to use them. If you grow annoyed enough to turn and glare at him, you’re always unlucky enough to catch the smirk tugging at his lips and the heated look in his eye, because he gets off on you snapping at him. 

You both know that now, and he’s not ashamed to admit it, anymore. Not to you.

The second – much, much worse – comes on the days that you do present. Because you’re forced to speak to a group of your peers and advisor for twenty minutes straight. Twenty minutes where Akaashi Keiji sits in the back of the room and undresses you with his eyes. His long, dark eyelashes flutter as his gaze travels across your body, and his bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth without hesitation. His head tilts this way and that, giving him the angles he needs to ogle you. 

A few seconds on the hem of your skirt, giving way to thighs that, when pressed together like that, hide the marks he’d left only the night before. A few seconds on your throat, because, if he strains his eyes enough, he can see the traces of himself there, purple and slathered in concealer. A few seconds on the buttons of your blouse, the same buttons you’d had to sew back into your shirt because he’d accidentally ripped them off in his rush to undress you last week. 

But maybe that’s your fault for wearing one of your roleplay blouses to campus that day. Maybe you’d done it on purpose. Maybe, over the last two weeks, you’d come to anticipate the shiver of nerves that would run down your spine when your day to present would come back around. Maybe you’d started to look forward to the way he would inevitably grill you with questions after spending twenty minutes flustering you, because – as you’d come to learn – Akaashi Keiji’s preferred form of foreplay had always been psychological.

Maybe that’s what you get for choosing him.

Maybe that’s why you’d choose him again in a heartbeat.

It takes too long to notice that other people are starting to see it, too. That, when Bokuto digs through your fridge and holds up a container of kung pao chicken in confusion, your stuttered excuse of having Akaashi over to grade exams together hadn’t passed over with Kuroo as well as you’d hoped. That, when Akaashi beckons you away from lunch to go to Syntax lecture together, Tsukishima’s eyes follow you out of the dining hall, watching you two walk closer together than usual. That, at Bokuto’s parties, Yachi had started to realize that Akaashi was careful with her personal space on that couch, but not yours.

It takes too long to notice those things, for both of you. Because you’re both too busy noticing each other.

At night, Akaashi doesn’t text you anymore. He just logs on to xxxvids .com and pings you, no matter how many times you tell him to stop being weird. He pings you there and takes up most of the time you could be spending responding to other messages, talking about absurdly normal things like grading and dissertation progress. It adds to the suspended disbelief, and you think that maybe you both know it. He always drops a five-star review at the end, and, after a week of it, he starts gifting you the in-chat badges and stickers that cost money. He sends them without hesitation, the money adding up so quickly that you start to threaten to block him. 

‘You won’t block me,’ he always messages back. ‘You like my attention too much.’

You hate how well he knows you.

So you start to text him your solo videos before you post them. Because you know him, too. Because you know that all you have to do is attach a cheeky message – ‘since you liked it so much the first time ;)’ – before he comes running, your phone ringing angrily every time.

‘You better cut it out,’ he always says. 

‘What’re you gonna do, punish me?’, you say. Because you know that he will.

You know that Akaashi will always give you what you want, no matter how far you push his limits outside of the bedroom. Because as long as you give him what he needs when it matters, he’ll do just the same.

That understanding becomes real in ways you hadn’t predicted, much too soon.

–

Keiji tugs on the collar of his turtleneck in annoyance, the fabric rubbing against his skin in a way that irritates him. He passes through the mass of people in the dining hall, grimacing when his shirt sticks to his skin, the heat a bit unbearable.

It’s still too warm out to be wearing something so clearly meant for winter, but he’d been in a rush this morning, and he hadn’t had time to cover up the hickies you’d left on him two nights ago. He’d cursed you and your family line when he’d spotted the marks in the mirror, because he certainly did not have time to cover them up with the concealer you’d bought him. He’d picked out the first high-neck item he could find in his closet, which just so happened to be this awful wool sweater that’s heavenly in the cold and absolute hell any other time.

You’re already at the table with Bokuto when he finds you, and he sees your eyes drop to his neck. Your eyebrows go up with interest, and you’re hiding a smirk, because you know exactly why he would ever have chosen such a bad outfit for today’s weather. He sits with a sigh, his loudly clattering tray one of the many micro-decisions he’s making to let out his irritation today.

“Hi, Bokuto,” he says quietly, only acknowledging you with a nod of his head. You nod back, seeing when he rolls his eyes subtly at you. It makes you smile, so you turn it on Bokuto, because that’s more natural than smiling at Keiji.

“Kou, have you heard back from the Expo?” you ask, giving the larger man all your attention. Keiji’s eye twitches slightly, and he digs into his lunch, trying not to let you see. But he knows you have, because you always do. 

Sometime in the last two weeks, you’d picked up on the way his shoulders tense when you talk to Bokuto, on the way his jaw clenches and unclenches when you touch him. On the way he’s just that much meaner in bed afterward.

He’s not stupid enough to believe he’s not a little bit possessive. He’d felt it enough times over the last few days. 

It always starts with an annoyance that strums in his veins when his best friend hugs you – because there’s a heat map on your body that only Keiji can see, one that shows him all the places he’d put his hands the last time he’d fucked you. And he has to sit there and watch Bokuto’s hands cover it all up. 

It’s worse when Bokuto lingers, friendly and unassuming, in your personal space, because Keiji knows you won’t smell like you afterward. He always tenses when it’s not your perfume in his nose when you pass him by. His mind goes blank when it’s Bokuto’s cologne instead, stronger than his own and not at all suited to your skin.

It always leaves him feeling like a fucking dog, overcome with some strange urge to pull you close – in public or otherwise – and drown you in things that smell like him. His cologne, his shirts, his coat, he doesn’t fucking care. It irritates him. And you’d noticed.

Of course you’d noticed – because you’re annoying like that. You’re annoying enough to feed into it, giving Bokuto extra smiles and extra sweetness when Keiji’s around, because you know that, the next time you’re alone with him, Keiji will make you cry and beg for forgiveness.

And it doesn’t matter how many times he reminds himself that it’s not his business to be jealous. It’s not his business to be possessive, because there’s nothing for him to be possessive about. You’re not his. 

But you lean into it. So he does, too.

You lean into it now, touching your fingers down on Bokuto’s arm when you ask him about the conference. It starts on Friday, and the results still aren’t out yet. It’s concerning, enough that it’s made everyone more high-strung than usual – conference results coming out with less than a week for speakers to prepare is unheard of.

But Keiji’s not thinking about that. He’s thinking about the fingers you have on Bokuto’s wrist, wondering if you remember that, two nights ago, you had those fingers wrapped around his-

“No, I haven’t!” Bokuto exclaims, snapping Keiji out of his growing frustration. “It’s so weird and annoying! Have you?”

You shake your head, pouting slightly, and Keiji’s rice spoon shakes in his clenched fist. He’s really not in the space to do this today.

“We haven’t, no. Our advisor’s starting to get a little pissed,” you say in faux contemplation. You press one fingertip to your bottom lip and tap thoughtfully a few times. Keiji wonders if it’d be okay for him to throw himself across this table and tackle you.

When your eyes slide to his, catty and challenging, he loses his mind.

Dropping his spoon in the metal bowl with a jarring clang, he leans back, sighing performatively. “God, I think I chose the wrong outfit for today.”

Bokuto looks him over, nodding enthusiastically, but Keiji keeps his eyes locked on yours. You know to be wary of him, at least – your eyes narrow, and his even out, your challenge accepted.

“Yeah, dude, you really did. It’s way too hot to-” Bokuto goes quiet, staring. His eyes are locked on the place where Keiji has a finger hooked into his collar and is tugging it down, presumably to air out his warm neck.

His warm neck, where there are some rather you-shaped love bites marking his skin.

Your face drops, mouth hanging open and eyes wide as you stare at him. Keiji doesn’t react, because Bokuto’s looking at him, not you, but he does turn his gaze on his friend and tug on the collar a few more times with a relieved sigh.

“So hot in here. I made a mistake.”

“Dude.” Bokuto stares, open-mouthed, and then reaches for him, yanking the collar all the way down and exposing Keiji’s hickies completely. “Have you been sleeping with someone?!”

Keiji stares you dead in the eyes when he says–

“Just someone from my department.” He watches your gaze turn deadly, and he smiles politely at the glare you shoot him, turning back to his friend. “I don’t think you’d know her. It’s really casual.”

Bokuto immediately turns to you, and you fix your expression with impressive speed.

“Do you know who it is?” he asks excitedly, practically vibrating in his seat. “Y/n, please tell me you know who it is. Please, please, please-”

“Uh-” you stutter, laughing nervously and shaking your head. “Our department’s pretty big, Kou. And I’m not really in the habit of getting in Akaashi’s business.” 

It’s a solid save, Keiji will give you that. But he can’t help but smirk, because he can tell you’re not going to be letting this one go any time soon.

“Um, but-” He plasters an embarrassed grin on his face, nudging Bokuto in a way that’s meant to be sheepish. “We’re keeping it kinda quiet, okay? So don’t tell anyone?”

The man’s eyes go wide, and he’s nodding very solemnly. “Yeah, I totally get it. I won’t say anything!”

Your chair screeches when you push it back, standing to full height. Keiji watches you with disinterest.

“I just remembered,” you say through gritted teeth. “We were supposed to go over that handout before lecture. Should we go?”

Keiji just lifts his brows and looks down at his lunch. “I’m still eating.”

Your nostrils flare, and a rush of excitement flies down his spine. Picking up your bag, you smile sweetly down at Bokuto. “Sorry, Kou. Let’s get dinner tonight?”

Keiji can’t wait to get you alone.

He and Bokuto watch you go, Bokuto waving and yelling ‘see you tonight!’ across the crowded room. Keiji eats his meal silently, watching when Kuroo, Tsukishima, and Yachi break through the mass of bodies and make their way over to the table. The two men are stealing glances at each other as they walk, but Keiji’s learned that if he minds his own business, then Tsukishima tends to do the same.

And it’s important to him that Tsukishima does the same.

“Was that Y/n we just saw?” Kuroo asks as he sets his tray down. Bokuto nods bouncily.

“She said something about a handout that she and Akaashi need to go over.” He looks down at Keiji, who’s stuffing his mouth full of food at record speed. “Shouldn’t you go with her?”

Keiji nods, cheeks stretched to their limits as he tries to swallow it all. “Mhm,” he says, grimacing as the food goes down and then shoveling more in. He picks up his bag as he’s still eating, swinging it over his shoulder and snatching his tray up. “Gotta go-” He chokes a bit, barely recovering as he’s waving goodbye over his shoulder. He feels Tsukishima’s eyes on him for only a moment before the sensation passes, and he’s grateful he and the blond have come to a silent agreement.

He makes a beeline for the door, all but bursting out in a run as soon as he hits the sidewalk. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he yanks it out, heart pounding at the thought that it’s you.

[2:38PM]

Bokuto: DONT WORRY AKAAAASHI!!! 

Bokuto: I WONT TELL ANYONE ABOUT YOUR SECRET SITUATIONSHIP!!!

Keiji laughs to himself, pocketing the phone again as he heads straight for the Linguistics building. 

He only makes it to the corner before he’s being dragged around the side of the dining hall and slammed against the brick wall.

“You asshole-”

He closes his eyes and laughs, your voice washing over him in a giddy wave. “This doesn’t look much like a Syntax handout-” 

“You told him.” You lean in close, and he meets your eyes with ease, the grin tugging at his lips satisfied.

“No, I didn’t,” he says. “I told him I’m fucking a girl in my department. It could be anyone.”

“He’s gonna figure out it’s me-”

Keiji takes your face in his hand, squeezing tight and pulling you close, not unlike the way he’d done it in the stairwell two weeks ago. There’s something about the way you’d said it – like you really don’t want Bokuto Koutarou to find out you’re hooking up with him – that makes him angry. Irrationally so, because it’s not his place to be angry at all. But still, he grabs you. He grabs you, and then he turns you around, pushing you up against the wall with his body.

“You wanna play with me, Freak?” he mumbles, his voice cold as he stares down at you. “You wanna flirt and touch and smile at him like that when I’m around?” Your eyes are heated, so different from his own, and he wonders if you realize that it turns him on when you look at him like this. He leans down, close enough that he watches your eyes drop to his lips in a slight panic, because every breath you let out passes through his lungs next. 

He hopes you feel it in yours when he whispers, “Then I’m gonna play with you, too.”

Your gaze hardens on his, but he’d felt the shiver of anticipation that had just wracked your body. It eggs him on, makes him want to do worse.

“If you wanted to fuck Bokuto, you should have asked him instead,” he says, his voice hard. “But you asked me. Not him.”

Your eyes flick between his, and then your gaze clears of its anger. Keiji’s brow furrows.

“You’re jealous,” you whisper, amazement coating your words and sticking to him like honey. He scoffs, shaking his head. 

“I’m not fucking jealous-”

“You’re so fucking jealous, Akaashi-”

“Y/n,” he growls, pushing you up harder against the wall, but you just stare up at him, a wild look in your eye that makes him completely and utterly nervous. “I’m not jealous.”

“Well, you’re something,” you breathe, the smile on your face unable to be stopped, even with the way he’s squeezing your cheeks together. “What’s wrong, huh? Worried I might not just be yours to play with?”

His veins run cold, and there’s a terrifyingly significant part of him that wants to take you right here, just to prove a point. To make you scream right here, in public, so close to the dining hall where anyone – maybe even someone in particular – might pass by and discover you. It makes him crazy.

You make him crazy.

“If you fuck anyone else–” he whispers, cold and hard and laced with a threat. “–then this is over. You hear me, Y/n?”

He thinks you’re going to be angry. He’s saying something completely irrational. He’s being possessive and gross and terrible, and you should be angry with him. It’s not his place – none of this is his place. You can fuck whoever you want to. It was unspoken that there would be no one else, but it was never part of the rules. You should be kicking and screaming and fighting him with everything you’ve got.

But you don’t. 

“I hear you, Akaashi,” you just breathe, staring up at him with wide, twinkling eyes. You look excited, like you’d been waiting to bring this out of him. Like you’d wanted this from him, because there wouldn’t be any other reason that you would–

Keiji blinks, realization filling him. “You… aren’t attracted to Bokuto, are you?”

You grin wide, evil and wicked as you search his eyes. “God, you’re possessive.”

He wants to crawl into a hole and die.

–

You don’t see Akaashi again until Tuesday morning. He’d sat through Syntax lecture the day before with his head in his hand, ears burning and phone buzzing uselessly in his pocket with the teasing texts that you were sending him. He hadn’t checked his phone once, because he could see you typing and, based on the shit-eating grin on your face, they weren’t texts that he was safe to check in public. He’d booked it from the lecture hall the moment your advisor had stepped away from the podium, and he hadn’t answered any of your calls. At some point he’d just turned his phone off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be worried about it, because, like clockwork, he’d pinged you online.

[9:07 PM]

tokyohandsome: i hate you.

tokyohandsome: youre the worst thing thats ever happened to me.

You’d just sent him another text to his phone, a voice note of you laughing and asking if he would still give you five stars even if you don’t message him back. He does exactly that, and then he texts you back –  a middle finger emoji.

You look forward to seeing him on Tuesday, but every thought of Akaashi Keiji leaves you when you check your email in the morning.

[06:22 AM] Notification of Conference Acceptance – Poster Presentation

You stare at the email, a mix of excitement and dread swirling in your gut. You’d gotten in. You’d gotten into the conference. A poster presentation isn’t as much of an achievement as a full talk – you’d have to stand around in the poster session for an hour just talking to whoever would be willing to drop by and listen for a few minutes, instead of having the attention of a dedicated audience for twenty minutes plus a Q&A session – but an acceptance is an acceptance. It’s an accomplishment and a point of pride to be accepted to conferences, especially to one like Ling Expo.

Ling Expo, which starts in three days.

Three days to make a poster, with teaching responsibilities, pilot data to analyze, and a dissertation chapter due to your advisor tomorrow afternoon.

Right. Okay, then. Time to get to it.

–

You don’t think you’ve ever had a day quite this bad before. It’s barely 11am, the LEM meeting something that you’d consider a break right now, and you feel like you’ve been put through hell. You’d spent the morning analyzing data and trying not to cry when your code for the analysis had returned an error message for the sixteenth time. You’d gone through your advisor’s comments on your last chapter draft, trying not to cry again when you’d seen the major revisions he’d left in the margins for the section you haven’t done yet. And then you’d taught your Semantics class, trying not to cry again when someone had asked a question that you’d just answered four minutes prior.

By the time you flop down at the round table in the lab room, your head is screaming and you’re about one minor inconvenience from sobbing in front of everyone. 

When Akaashi silently sets a steaming hot latte down in front of you, you think you might start sobbing anyway.

You look up at him, eyes wide and bloodshot. You don’t see that everyone else is looking at him too, the whole room falling silent as they watch him act out of character. “Why?”

He doesn’t look much better than you. “Poster or talk?”

You blink. You hadn’t told him you’d been accepted. “Poster.”

He smiles, not like he’s proud of you but like he’s satisfied that he’d been right. “I got a talk.”

The room relaxes – he’s just gloating. Your advisor laughs low next to you, almost like he’s relieved that the universe isn’t turning on an odd new axis. But you keep your eyes on Akaashi’s, because you can see he’d meant it for what it really is.

He’s checking on you.

He takes the seat on the other side of your advisor, and you hear him breathe a sigh of relief when he sips from his coffee. You try yours, feeling your life come back to you just a little bit. 

Your advisor casts a look around the room, clearing his throat as he surveys you all.

“Based on the varying states of despair I’m seeing, we got a few acceptances to Ling Expo.”

The group of you laugh, and you feel that interesting wave of camaraderie fall over you that always comes around the time of this conference. That reminder that, even if you’re all different people working on different research, you’re just a group of twenty-somethings who landed in the same school, in the same department, working for the same advisor at the same time.

At the finish line, you’ll be vying for the same jobs – the same research positions, the same professorships, the same industry careers. But for now – for one weekend a year – the ten of you in this room represent the man at the head of the table, and, as brutal and unrelenting as he can be, there’s a reason it’s his lab group that gets invited to the biggest conference in Japan every year.

There’s a piece of you that’s glad that things between you and Akaashi had smoothed out this year – that, even if you still wage an academic war with him every chance you get, things between you will be different this weekend. Because, of the ten of you, there are exactly two PhD candidates in the room. Only two who will be watched above the rest, because only two are on the job market at this very moment, their competence on display in front of the brightest linguists in the country.

Two, who sit on either side of the head of the table at this very moment.

The stress comes down on your chest harder than before.

“I know it’s really short-notice,” your advisor says, shaking his head and staring down over his bifocals at his laptop screen. “The organizers have been a little scattered this year, but I guess it happens to the best of us.” And then he claps loudly, you and Akaashi flinching at the noise. “That said, they didn’t book enough rooms for everyone, so we’ll have to do some sharing.”

You nod emptily, too caught up in your mental to-do list for the rest of the day to really register what he’s said. It’s happened before, anyway – the larger, interdisciplinary conference always ends up drawing massive attendance records across all departments. You’d had to share a room two years ago, with a girl who works for one of the top three translation companies in the world now.

If you manage not to fuck up this weekend from the sheer lack of preparation, you might impress someone long enough to land a similar job.

Your mind lingers on that for the next few minutes, the pressure to represent your advisor well weighing down heavy on your shoulders. You should start your poster after this meeting – if you skip lunch, you might be able to finish it before the Syntax lecture. And – if you aren’t stopped for questions by students on the way out – you might be able to troubleshoot the data code for the rest of the day. You could probably afford to order takeout for dinner. That way you don’t have to waste time cooking, and you can even take a break afterward by hauling your stuff down to the coffee shop by your apartment and working there on the dissertation draft until morning. Oh, but there’s grading that needs to get done by Thursday night, and you won’t have time tomorrow-

“-eiji and Y/n. And I think that’s it.”

You blink, turning to your advisor. He’s already looking back at you, eyebrows raised.

“That is fine, right?” he says, smiling innocently. You hear the scattered snickers of your lab-mates, and you can only look over the man’s head at Akaashi. He’s staring back, eyes guarded and ears tinted pink.

Sharing a hotel room with Akaashi?

“What?” you say dumbly. “Sorry. I was doing damage control in my head for my workload.”

It eases Akaashi’s tension, his shoulders relaxing as he laughs with the rest of the room. Your advisor nudges you good-naturedly. 

“You and Keiji are together for room placements,” he repeats. “I know it’s not ideal, but we’ve got an odd number of guys and girls, so we need one co-ed room.” He looks between you lazily, as though his logic had been obvious. “And you two know each other best, so…”

Somehow, Akaashi looks more guarded now.

You’re not sure you’re in a place mentally to unpack everything this man’s just said. So you just nod along, ignoring the look of surprise Akaashi gives you when you only mumble ‘yeah, that makes sense’. 

“Great!” you advisor beams at you, returning to the rest of the group. “Now, about the presentation schedule-”

You tune out for the rest of the meeting, certain you must have fallen asleep with your eyes open, because Akaashi’s nudging your shoulder as he passes behind you on the way out. You blink, seeing that it’s already noon.

You rush to your office, barely hearing when there’s a knock at your door two hours later. A dark head pokes past, but you just keep your eyes locked on your double monitor setup, your fingers flying across the keyboard of your laptop as you fill in the text boxes of your poster.

“Y/n.” You just hum at the call of your name, watching the screen fill up with the literature review you’d boiled down to just a few bullet points. The dark head becomes a whole body, tall in the doorway of your office. “Y/n, it’s time for lunch.”

You blink, only pulling your eyes away from the screen because you’d filled in the whole section and could afford the break in your concentration. Akaashi’s at the door, staring down at you expectantly. When you don’t move to join him for lunch, his eyebrows go up.

“You have to eat.”

“Oh,” you say, shaking your head and going back to your screens. “I’m good. Too busy.”

“To eat?”

“To eat.”

He sighs hard. “Are you going to lecture after?”

You nod absentmindedly. “Have to. ‘s my job.”

“And you’re not going to eat?”

“Akaashi,” you say with a distressed laugh, turning to him again. “Please. You’re killing my concentration.” You gesture generally to the door. “If you don’t go eat soon, you’ll be late to lecture.”

He only steps further into the room, glancing out into the hall before shutting the door behind him. When he rounds your desk, it’s to examine what you’re working on. You recognize that, only weeks ago, you would never have let Akaashi Keiji see the state of your workspace.

But now, you just let his eyes fly across your laptop and monitor, too tired to do much more than lean back in your chair with a sigh. You’ve got the poster template up on your big monitor, zoomed in to the 300% mark so you can fill out the boxes. Your laptop screen is split in two, one side filled with a previous version of your talk slides and the other taken up by your dissertation chapter, the glaring red strikethroughs and lengthy comments left by your advisor popping out against the text.

He doesn’t comment on the state of your draft — on the mistakes and lack of understanding, on your flaws as a researcher, your places of improvement. He doesn’t comment on all the ways you don’t match up to him, even though the difference between your poster presentation and his talk presentation speak loud enough for both of you.

He doesn’t comment on your shortcomings or the state of your stress, loud and angry and visible in everything about you. He just sighs and crosses his arms and says —

“Do you want to cancel tonight?”

Your blood runs cold. 

You forgot he’s supposed to come over tonight. You didn’t count him in your schedule.

Still, the idea of not seeing him makes you feel weird.

You don’t look up from your screen. “Only if you’ve got too much going on.”

You leave it up to him. You want him to say he’s free, that he doesn’t want to cancel. You don’t want to cancel, even though the extra five hours would probably save you from drowning just a little bit. But you don’t want to tell him that — you don’t want to tell him that the thought of him cancelling makes your stomach hurt and your chest twinge with disappointment. You don’t want to show him that you’d rather throw yourself into worse stress tomorrow rather than giving yourself more time tonight.

 You don’t want him to see how badly you want to see him tonight.

“I’ve got time tonight,” he says quietly, and you don’t turn to look at him, even though you really want to. Even though you can hear that there’s more in his voice than the words he’d said. Because you know he doesn’t have time, either.

“Okay,” you say, nodding once and then sitting up to return to your poster. “If you don’t go eat now, you’ll be late to Syntax.” 

He leaves without another word.

When you join him in lecture, he drops a banana and a protein shake in your lap. You eat silently, swallowing over the lump in your throat.

–

Something’s not right.

By all counts, everything is fine. Everything’s as it should be. Akaashi has one hand planted firmly on your bare waist, the other locked tight around both your wrists as he keeps them pressed to your stomach. It feels good, the way he’s pushing his hips into yours – it always feels good. Never once has sex with Akaashi not felt good.

But now – even as your back is arching against the mattress and your legs are spreading further to let him in, the silence filled with the sound of your breathless pants mixing with his – something’s not right. 

It’s not him that’s not right. 

But it is. 

It’s the way he’s staring down at you, cyan eyes cold and detached. It’s not new, and normally it works wonders for you. Normally, it plucks at a strand of pleasurable desperation in your soul, one that wants to please him and give him anything he wants, even when he doesn’t tell you what it is. 

Tonight, that strand is plucked over and over, harder and faster until it’s wound tight. Tight enough to snap, because the way Akaashi Keiji’s disinterest is pulling at you is starting to hurt.

“What’s with you, huh?” he mumbles, half-distracted as his eyes roam your body and linger on how your breasts bounce when he thrusts hard into you. “You’re not so bratty tonight. You losing interest?” 

You shake your head, the string pulling at your spine. “No, it’s not-”

“If you’re losing interest-” he starts, cyan eyes snapping to yours. Filling with looming disappointment, like you’re not doing enough for him tonight. Like you’re not doing enough to keep him here. “-then I’ll lose interest, too.”

You’re not enough.

You feel your face twist before you can stop it, brows pinching together hard and eyes squeezing shut. Your mouth drags down in a deep frown, and your chest stutters as you try to keep a sob in, your eyes burning with tears all at once.

“‘m sorry,” you gasp, wanting to hide behind your hands but finding them trapped in Akaashi’s grasp. “I’ll try harder, I promise-” You cut off, body jerking as you sob, tears hot and angry as they fall down your cheeks. Your nerves are frayed, shocking and sparking at your skin and forcing every new sob to the surface. Your breath comes short, and you can’t find more no matter how hard you look for it.

You notice too late that Akaashi’s stopped moving.

You want to play it off, want to feed into his dacryphilia, if only to save face. “I can do better, baby-” you try, but it comes out weak and pathetic. Covered in the kind of tears that couldn’t possibly do much for him. “Just tell me what to do-”

“Y/n.”

You gasp, not expecting the hard edge of his voice or the sound of your name. Your eyes fly open, vision blurry and eyes stinging. He’s staring down at you, his own gaze full of alarm. “What’s your color right now?”

Your chest caves in.

“Yellow,” you cry, shaking your head and tugging at the restraint on your wrists. He lets you go, and you slap your hands down over your face, crying hard. “Yellow, it’s yellow-”

It’s red.

But you don’t want him to think it’s because of him – it’s not because of him, and you know that. You know, even in your anguish, that it’s because of how stressed you are. You can feel it in the cruel voice that taunts you, whispering that you’re not enough. Not enough for this program, not enough for your advisor, not enough for your dissertation or the field or anything else that you absolutely need to be enough for.

You’re not enough for Akaashi, either, but that’s not his fault. He hasn’t done a single thing wrong.

So you tell him your color is yellow.

But he hears it for what it is. 

Hears you for what you mean, even when you don’t say it.

You sob when he pulls out of you, because you don’t feel like you’re enough to keep him here, but you don’t try to convince him to stay. You just cry into your hands, your frayed edges made more jagged by the wail of your own voice, viciously loud and echoing off the walls as you curl up in place and let the sobs wrack your body.

You hear him moving around the room, hear him swear under his breath, hear your phone hit the bedside table. And then the mattress moves, shifting with his weight as he clambers back over you.

“Hey.” His hands find your biceps, palms steady and warm on you. He pulls you up, and you let him move your body however he wants. You just cry, embarrassed and hurting and wanting so desperately for this whole thing to be over. “Come here-” He lifts you into his lap, maneuvering you until you’re sitting chest to chest with him, legs wrapped around his waist. 

You throw your arms around his neck and press your body to his, crying loudly into the crook of his neck. His chest is warm against yours, and you can feel the fabric of his boxers sliding against your thighs. And his arms are strong and anchoring, belting around your waist and pulling you as close to him as you can physically be.

Akaashi Keiji feels safe, and you so very badly want him to stay.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, face hidden in his neck. “I’m so sorry - you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It’s okay,” he says, and you feel him speak more than anything else, his voice low and vibrating in his chest and in yours. He’s pulling the comforter around you both, and you’re safer still, wrapped up in this little bubble with him. “It’s okay. I was too mean tonight-”

“No, you weren’t!” you argue, angry with yourself for making him doubt this. “You weren’t too mean – everything was fine-”

“Y/n, you’re crying in my arms right now,” he jokes, but his hold on you never falters. He only pulls you closer. 

“But it wasn’t you,” you say, shaking your head against him. His throat is warm, and you can feel his heartbeat on your cheek. It pulses hard with anxiety, and you hate that you’ve done that to him. “It was everything else, I’m just-” Your tears are still flowing, but your chest doesn’t hurt so much. Your breath is easier to find. “I’m just not in a good place tonight.”

“I know,” he mutters. You feel his lips pass over your shoulder. “I know you’re not, but I still wasn’t nice enough. I should have been nicer.” His mouth is warm as it pushes gently against your skin. “I should have read you better,” he whispers.

“That’s not your responsibility,” you protest weakly. But his fingers are drawing warm shapes in your back, and you’re coming down from your peak of stress-crying, and all you feel now is extreme exhaustion.

“Yes, it is,” he breathes with finality. His lips are against your ear now, and his breath is sending waves of shivers down your spine – it usually sets you on edge, but in this moment it calms you, the feeling of him pressed against you completely as he whispers in your ear. “I have to know how to read you – how to know what you need from me.”

Your brain, worn and frayed, likes the sound of that.

“Okay.”

He stays quiet for a moment – mere seconds where he sits completely still with you in his arms. Where your chest presses firmly against his, your heartbeat slowing to match his, and then both of them slowing together, back to normal. Where your face presses to his skin, and his face presses to yours, the two of you breathing in time.

The thing that had slid into place and locked tight all those weeks ago – when you looked into Akaashi Keiji’s eyes the first time you’d slept together, the first time you’d gone over the edge with cyan in your mind – rattles now, chains jangling against your spine and pushing hard behind your ribcage. In the spot where your soul sits.

“Okay,” he says.

And then he stands, taking you with him. He wraps you up in the comforter and takes you, completely naked and wrapped around him like that’s all you know how to do, out of the room and into the living room. He pads through the room with you obstructing him in every way, and he does it with ease, pushing his way into your pantry and snatching the box of pop-tarts off the middle shelf.

He drops the box haphazardly on the coffee table and takes a seat on the couch, careful not to hurt you but still rough – certain and final – about the way he turns you in his lap. You sit with your back against his chest, swaddled and a little confused but otherwise allowing him to do as he pleases in any way he pleases. Your mind is too hazy to make any decisions, too cloudy to question his. Your brain is too hot, the jagged edges of your judgment too muddled and eroded away for you to do anything except trust him.

You leave your life and your body in Akaashi Keiji’s hands, because it’s Akaashi Keiji who knows what to do with them.

When he turns on the nature channel silently and comments ‘series about whales today’ with a half-interested hum, you start to cry in your hands again. He lets you, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin the only indication that he’s got his attention wholly on you.

He takes one hand off of you after a moment, only to hand you a pack of strawberry pop-tarts. And then to pick up his phone, previously discarded on the cushion. You watch through strawberry pop-tart and blurry vision as he orders Chinese food – wonton soup and two orders of dumplings.

Comfort food.

You cry harder, one hand clasped over your mouth as you listen to the narrator talk about whale migration. When Akaashi’s done ordering, he tosses his phone down and pulls you close again, letting you turn halfway so you can bury your face in his neck.

“Ready to talk?” he mumbles, soft and coaxing. You’ve never heard him speak to you like that before.

“Just stressed,” you whisper weakly, unable to give him more. Too tired to say more. 

His thumb pushes warmly against your hip on its path around the circle. “Ling Expo?”

You nod. “Dissertation, too.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding once. “I saw his comments on your draft. Er–” He laughs lamely. “The size of the comments, rather.”

You don’t respond. You know he’s further along in his dissertation than you are – he’s probably past the point of major foundational issues. It feels like you’ll never get there.

“Just feels like nothing I do is good enough.”

You don’t question why you tell him that. You just recognize that you’re comfortable enough to.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just nodding and keeping his eyes on the TV while he runs his thumb across your skin.

“I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” he finally says. You keep quiet, curled up against him and wondering where this is going. “I feel like you know that,” he adds. “But I just… thought I should make it clear.” His fingers find your hair, tangling tight and pulling you away with a firm hand so he can look at you. His nose brushes yours while he flicks his eyes between yours, searching you. Reading you. And then he shakes his head.

“I didn’t mean what I said. About losing interest.”

You’re enough for me.

Your throat tightens and your eyes well up, and his mouth is tugging into the ghost of a smile. “Don’t cry again,” he whispers.

“I’m gonna cry again,” is all you say.

He’s kind enough to let you hide your face from him again before you do.

When he has to go downstairs to get the food, there’s a hole gnawing at the center of your chest. 

That’s new.

You sit in silence, wrapped up in blankets and staring emptily at the TV. Thinking about the anxious knot in your stomach – about the angry tug of emotion in your throat, threatening to force tears into your eyes again.

When Akaashi slips back through your front door, the knot eases and the emotion mellows out.

That’s definitely new.

You eat in silence while staring at the TV – you in your swaddle and Akaashi in the jeans and hoodie he’d been wearing earlier – and then you stare at the TV some more, your mind turning over and over on itself as you try to figure out where this feeling had come from. The one that needs him.

After an hour, he says something quietly about getting home. You just apologize for cutting the filming short, and he offers to come over tomorrow. Your chest pulses with unplaced emotion. 

He leaves. 

You sit on your couch and stare at nothing, the TV off now. 

The knot is tight and making you nauseous. The emotion is rolling up into a painful lump in your throat. Your eyes burn with tears that won’t fall.

–

Keiji sighs and pulls his fingers through his hair, tugging tight and searching the shelves of the convenience store. 

He doesn’t know why he’s here. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. There’s nothing in this store that will make you feel better. He keeps picking random shit up – cookies, chips, snacks that he thinks you might like – and putting them back, uselessly trying to find something to ease your stress just a little bit. The clerk at the front is starting to stare at him, a bored teenager with judgmental eyes watching him be indecisive in the middle of the store.

He feels like throwing up. His head is hot and there’s an irritated pull in his gut, like he’s forgotten something. He keeps closing his eyes, willing it to go away, but every stupid snack he picks up and puts back down – a claw-machine stuck on repeat – makes the feeling worse. 

He picks up a can of coffee. Stares down at the label. Puts it back.

You only drink almond milk.

He needs to get home and shower, to use the rest of the night to work on the slide deck for his Ling Expo talk.

He walks one aisle over and surveys the sweets again. Picks up a package of cookies. Stares down at the label. Puts it back.

You like oatmeal, not oatmeal raisin.

He needs to grade and work on his dissertation chapter. 

Over to the far wall, the last shelf before the freezers. Picks up a bag of chips. Stares down at the label. Puts it back.

You don’t like this brand of shrimp chips.

There are a million things he needs to do.

His eyes drift slightly to the right, to the pints of ice cream lined up behind the lightly frosted freezer door.

You do like cookies and cream.

He stares at it, at the label that stares back at him, and the tug in his gut yanks hard at his nausea. 

He’s not going to get anything done like this.

Reaching over with an irritated sigh, he rips the door open and plucks the offending pint of ice cream off the shelf. He takes it to the clerk, too embarrassed to make eye contact.

“Girlfriend upset about somethin’?” the teenager asks.

Keiji doesn’t answer him, glaring down at the counter while he pays.

–

There’s a knock at your door thirty minutes after Akaashi leaves.

You’re curled up in the middle of your bed in oversized clothes when it comes, stomach turning as you try to sleep. Disappointment seeping through your skin, because you feel like something’s missing.

When the knock sounds, you turn in bed, surprised. You climb out slowly, padding through the apartment to the front door and peeking through the peephole.

Your heart sends a pulse of electricity through your whole body. You pull the door open, eyes wide.

“Akaashi?”

He stares down at you, lips pursed with frustration and ears tinted pink. He thrusts a hand out, a plastic bag dangling from his fingers.

“Here.” 

You take it, peering inside. “Ice cream?”

“Yeah.”

You blink up at him. “Thank you?”

He just nods. You wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. He just lingers, staring down at nothing.

And then he takes a step toward you, and his eyes meet yours.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You let him in wordlessly. He sets his shoes neatly in your foyer before moving to his spot at the couch and dropping his bag right where it was half an hour ago. He turns to look at you, scratching awkwardly at the side of his head.

You almost miss the way his eyes flick toward your bedroom curiously and then down at your pajamas.

Your bedroom. Not the spare room.

Your eyes well up when you realize that he means to stay the night. 

He exhales in disbelief, but you just cross the room in three strides and throw your body against his, arms wound around his neck and face lost in the collar of his hoodie.

He scoffs, even as his arms snake around your waist. “You’re such a crybaby,” he mutters, but any mockery he makes of you is overshadowed by the way he lifts you off your feet, pulling you closer. The bag falls from your hand, hitting the ground, and you wrap your thighs around him and lock your ankles behind his back.

He takes it as permission and carries you to your room without another word.

When he drops you to your mattress, it’s followed up by the shedding of his jeans and hoodie and the press of his body to yours, warm and safe and terribly confusing – because your body is used to this in a different room, in a different context. Not in your own bed, and not for any purpose that allows you to keep your clothes on.

But Akaashi just clambers toward you, hands rough on your body as he pulls you toward him. You hug him close, heartrate picking up when he throws himself between your thighs and wraps his arms tight around you, his face burning when he presses it to the crook of your neck.

You hold him like that, crying into his hair and feeling shivers race down your spine when he presses one kiss to your throat, and then another.

“Just go to sleep,” he whispers. “Everything’s fine. Just go to sleep.”

It takes you almost an hour to drift off, because your heart won’t calm down, but neither will his. It’s loud against your torso, and you can only imagine how annoying your own must be in his ears. You can only imagine how embarrassing your body’s being right now, because every brush of his lips against your skin makes your pulse beat just a little bit harder, and you know he can feel it.

You know he can feel it, but he keeps kissing you, anyway. 

His heart skips against your body, too. But he keeps kissing you, anyway.

You’re asleep before you can piece together that the aching nausea and the disappointment under your skin have faded away.

–

You wake up on Wednesday morning without an alarm.

It’s weird, because you always need an alarm. You always set an alarm.

But there’s a shift in the mattress beside you, so you don’t need one today.

You turn, peeling one eye open and staring up at the man leaning against your headboard. 

He hasn’t noticed you yet, because there’s a paper in his hand. A paper covered in sticky notes and highlighter and handwritten comments.

Your handwritten comments.

You watch him for a moment, watching the way he squints down at your comments and turns the pages this way and that so he can read the sideways ones better. His glasses sit on the end of his nose, and his hair is askew from sleep, pillow creases on his face and neck. The sunlight filters in through your sheer curtains in a way that makes his skin glow, but he sits in an otherwise dim room, not a single light in sight as he reads your thoughts on his work.

You blink groggily, and a thought crosses your mind – distant and strange – that it might be nice just to stay here like this. You, curled up in your comforter, watching Akaashi Keiji read quietly in the early morning light in your bed, shirtless and disheveled and entirely at peace with you.

You wonder if it would be too much to ask.

Akaashi sighs quietly and shakes his head at something you’d commented, and you can’t help but alert him that you’re awake.

“Somethin’ you don’t like?” you ask, watching him blink and turn to look down at you. 

He sighs again, shaking the paper in his hand with slight frustration. “Why don’t you say any of this shit in LEM?” When you don’t answer, he shuffles through some previous sheets, searching the margins and then pointing. “Like this. Why didn’t you tell me that these counter-examples exist? This is important data.”

You smile to yourself, too sleepy to argue with him. “I was worried that you’d thought of it already and just hadn’t written it there. I didn’t want to look stupid bringing it up to you.”

He cuts you a glance. “I’ve never thought you looked stupid.”

“No?” you say, smiling when he rolls his eyes. “You talk to me like you think I might be.”

“I don’t,” he sighs. And then he gestures to something you’d scratched into the edges with massive red question marks. “I think you’re the only one in that room who could think of this.”

“You really think I’m smart?” 

It’s a remnant of last night, that insecurity. You tell yourself that it has to be, that you wouldn’t be asking him something so vulnerable otherwise. It’s too personal, asking him to evaluate your intelligence when it’s the one thing you’re measured most critically on.

“Yeah,” he says plainly. Answering you plainly, like he’d never thought twice about it. “I do. And it pisses me off when you don’t.” He sighs again and then shuffles to the edge of the bed, waving the paper at you again. “I’m keeping this. I need it.”

The thought that he could ever need something from you makes your heart lodge uncomfortably in your throat. “Okay.”

“It’s 6:30,” he adds, standing and stretching his arms high above his head. You watch him, eyes lingering on his chest and the way his boxers slip under his hip bones when he lengthens his body like that. You tamper down the urge to put your mouth on those two spots, to press kisses there that taste like comfort and early morning. “Just so you know.”

“Okay,” you say again simply, wishing so dearly that you could just stay here. Knowing you could never ask him to stay here with you. “What time do you teach?”

“Nine.” He eyes you a moment, long enough for you to wonder if he’d seen you watching him wistfully. “I don’t have clothes here.”

“Oh.” The thought of him leaving makes your chest hurt. You recognize the feeling from last night. “Do you need to go back to your place?”

“Yeah.”

Oh.

You swallow, pushing away the odd, aching panic that’s rising in your chest. You don’t want him to leave. 

Akaashi chews on his lip. You reach for your phone slowly, like you want him to stop you. “Do you want me to call you an Uber?” you ask.

“Sure.” He swallows, watching you a moment. “Do you-” You lift your eyes. He looks away. “Do you want to go with me?”

Your nerves sizzle and snap, but the anxiety is washed away instantly.

You don’t know what to do with these feelings.

“Okay,” you whisper, staring up at him with wide eyes. His eyes flick to yours nervously, and then his lashes flutter as he looks away.

“Okay. Get dressed.”

You listen, that strand of desperation plucking away at you in ways that it really shouldn’t. 

Neither of you says anything about the pint of melted ice cream in your living room.

–

When Keiji shoulders his door open, it’s with a panicked glance around his apartment. He’s normally tidy, but this week has been especially difficult, and he doesn’t need you seeing the extent of his stress in the way he stops taking care of his space.

You stand awkwardly in the foyer, glancing around and then back at him. He’d noticed on the ride here that your face is more flushed than usual, that your eyes linger on him more than usual. He wonders if you feel the same strange need to be near him, or if there’s something else going on.

Because his eyes keep lingering on you, too.

He feels an itch under his skin, one that prickles and irritates him until he’s with you. He’d felt it this morning, when the threat of leaving your apartment without you had been on the edge of your conversation.

It had started last night, in that stupid convenience store.

Even now, as he ushers you into the room and gestures for you to sit on the couch, he feels weird about leaving the room. He’s only going to shower, for fuck’s sake. He needs to shower, because it’s already 7:15 and he still needs to prep for his class. But he lingers, rushing into the kitchen to make coffee in order to buy more time.

“You can raid my pantry if you want,” he calls from the coffee machine, hurriedly scooping coffee grounds into the basket. “You can eat whatever you want – it won’t take me long to get ready.”

“Okay,” you say, much closer than he’d expected. He turns, surprised, and finds you lingering at the entryway. Glancing at him and then away, flushing with embarrassment as you hover for no reason.

The thought that you hadn’t even wanted to be a room away from him makes Keiji’s skin burn with desire.

Something’s off. Something’s new, and he doesn’t know how to handle it.

You drift past him into the room, opening cabinets at random and peering inside with blank curiosity. Peering inside this little piece of his life, not necessarily searching for anything in particular but curious all the same. Keiji’s chest swells with emotion – a need to be nearer to you, closer to you than this.

He feels insane.

He shouldn’t need you the way he does.

You open the pantry door, leaning halfway inside as you poke around. “‘s really neat in here. Only you would be this neat.”

He’s got his hands on your waist before he can process that he’d crossed the room.

You gasp, eyes wide as he spins you around. “What-”

He shuts the door to the pantry by pinning you against it. Your breathing picks up when he presses flush to you, but your fingers are in his hair regardless. Your body opens up for him regardless, welcoming and familiar and trusting.

He wants to ruin you for anyone who’s not him.

Keiji drops his mouth to your throat, pushing his lips hard to the pulse point and breathing you in. You shiver, your head dropping back against the door. He tugs your hips against his to make a point – a point he probably shouldn’t make.

“‘Kaashi-” you gasp, and his entire body lights up with dangerously frayed nerves, the knot in his chest sparking and hissing with the threat of worse.

He doesn’t feel close enough to you. He wants more. 

Your fingers tug through his hair hard, and he groans quietly against your neck. He feels when your skin warms, feels when your fingers start to tremble. He’s making you nervous, nervous enough to shake in his arms. 

It’s a dangerous realization, the fact that he can make you feel this way. 

He knows that once you figure him out, too – because you will – he’ll be done for.

“Akaashi, we can’t,” you whisper.

He hadn’t considered fucking you in his apartment, but the fact that you had makes him want to cancel his class and keep you here all day.

“I know,” he breathes, his head spinning and his face radiating heat against your skin. “I know, I just-” He sighs hard. “Fuck.” 

There’s a low noise that climbs up your throat, one that he feels more than hears, and a part of him – the irrational part that wants to fuck you against this pantry door right now – wants to ask if you want to shower with him.

God, he doesn’t want to be apart from you, not even for that.

“You have to shower,” you mumble quietly, like you’re reading his mind and coaxing him gently away from the thought. He hopes that you’re coaxing yourself away, too.

“Okay,” he says, swallowing hard. He doesn’t want to let go – especially since you’re not letting go, either. “Okay. I should go.”

“You should go.”

He’s not convinced.

“I should go,” he says again, a little stronger. Stronger, because his hands are slipping under the hem of your shirt and pulling you closer instead of pushing you away.

“You should go, Akaashi,” you say, too, but it’s weaker this time. You’re weak to him – weak for him.

He’s so fucked. 

“Y/n,” he breathes, a warning inlaid and his pleas embarrassingly audible. Begging you to be strong with him, because he can’t do it on his own.

Your fingers slip out of his hair and clamp down on his shoulders, and you manage to peel him off of you. “Akaashi,” you say, your tone wavering but sharper than before. You’re trying. “You have to shower. We’re gonna be late.”

He meets your eyes and regrets it instantly, that swimming feeling filling his head and his face burning that uncomfortable, sticky hot again. 

“Yeah,” he whispers shakily, swallowing hard. “You’re right. I have to go.”

Your eyes drop to his lips, filling with a yearning that’s painfully clear for him to see.

Fuck.

He pushes off of you, backing away quickly and scrubbing at his brow. “Yeah. You’re right,” he repeats, louder this time. It doesn’t help, the thought of kissing you slamming into him hard enough to make him dizzy. “You’re right.” He turns away, padding quickly out of the kitchen and leaving you in the kitchen. “I’ll be back.”

The time away from you doesn’t help clear his head.

He just spends it thinking about kissing you.

–

Akaashi’s acting as weird as you feel.

The walk to campus happens in silence. When you walk into your usual coffee shop together and immediately run straight into Yachi, he flushes hard and mutters something about ordering first before making a beeline for the counter. You know there’s nothing you could say to save that moment – not with Hitoka staring knowingly into your soul – so all you’re able to do is smile weakly and chat with her in line, three customers behind Akaashi. She doesn’t pry, and you wonder briefly if all of your friends can see what you and Akaashi are trying so hard to hide.

He keeps it up throughout the day. But so do you.

So do you, because the way he’d acted in his apartment – taking up your space like it’s his own, like he’s unable to do otherwise despite trying – makes you think it’s okay to feel this way. To feel like you need more, even if you’ve already taken too much.

In your office, finalizing your dissertation draft and sending it off to your advisor, your mind is muddled, drifting often to the office just across the hall and the man sitting just inside. Your head is staticky, fuzzy, and you have to fight not to go over there. You have to fight, because half of you feels like you’ll be able to concentrate better on your work if he’s around, but the other half of you knows there’s no chance in hell of getting anything done if he’s in the same room.

It turns out there’s no need to fight, because he makes a decision for you.

A knock comes to your door an hour before lunch, the silhouette on the other side of the frosted glass all too familiar. 

The way he drags his eyes over your form when he walks in and then glances back into the hall with his bottom lip caught between his teeth makes you shiver visibly. He sees it – you know he does, because his eyes fly right back to you, heated and examining. Like he’s looking for something. 

When he mumbles ‘change of scenery’ under his breath and then crosses the room to fold into the chair on the other side of your desk with his laptop, you know he’s found it. The two of you don’t speak, but you can feel him watching you while you work, and you’re moving with a slight wobble in your step by the time you head to the dining hall.

At lunch, he sits right across from you, in Bokuto’s usual spot. You don’t say anything about it, not wanting to draw attention. Not wanting him to know how much you notice him.

You don’t say anything about the way he presses his knee between your legs, either. It shakes you to your core, that gentle nudge of his knee against the inside of yours. Your body sparks with nerves, but you don’t say anything, because he’s still talking to Tsukishima about jobs as if he hasn’t just rattled you of your ability to act normal at lunch. 

You say nothing, just letting his body heat nestle between your knees and trying your best not to burn at the feeling. His eyes flick to yours just briefly enough to mean nothing to everyone else – but it means everything to you, because he drops his gaze to your mouth before he looks away, and suddenly you’re back in his apartment, pushed against his pantry door with his mouth less than a breath’s distance from yours.

He swallows hard and returns to the discussion Tsukishima’s having with Yachi, Bokuto and Kuroo caught in their own conversation about the conference this weekend. You breathe deep and try to respond to Kuroo’s comment about the group meeting up at the hotel bar in everyone’s free time, but then Akaashi’s shifting across from you. He stretches his leg out under the table and takes up your personal space with purpose, and your words are lost in your throat.

It’s a reminder that Akaashi Keiji is possessive.

You wonder if he realizes how much you like when he’s like this.

You make it through lunch, somehow, and then walk in silence beside him to the Syntax lecture. You make uncomfortable eye contact with your advisor when you enter the lecture hall – uncomfortable, because he’s flicking his eyes between you and Akaashi and then smiling to himself as he turns away. 

You promise yourself that you’ll make it through lecture without incident, but that goes out the window the second Akaashi shifts and bumps his thigh against yours, halfway through the class.

Your breath catches in your throat sharply. He bumps your leg again and then leaves it there, thigh pressed firmly to yours. Only a moment passes – a moment where you trick yourself into thinking it means nothing, for your own sake – before his hand is sliding across your thigh, heat searing through your jeans.

You stiffen, scanning the room nervously. But you always sit in the very back of the hall, so no one’s able to see what’s happening. No one’s going to catch anything Akaashi does, which you’re confident he’s already calculated. Still, you don’t want to risk anyone glancing back, so you don’t speak to him.

You just wrap your fingers around his wrist, squeezing tight in warning.

He just slips his hand between your clenched thighs, curling warmly around the curve of your thigh and digging his fingertips into the plush give of your body. Your skin erupts in goosebumps, and you become needy almost instantly. The way he rubs circles into your jeans with his thumb makes you needy. The way he handles your body with ownership – the way you’d let him handle you last night, like you belong to him – makes you want him much more than you should. Makes you want him physically, but also in ways that you never had before. Not before last night.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. And then you shiver, because you realize that he’s hard in his slacks.

Oh.

He meets your eyes when your body reacts to him, and that gnawing, yearning feeling in your chest worsens.

His eyes are glazed over, distracted and hot. Distracted by the same terrible neediness that’s plaguing you.

Oh.

He looks away, squeezing your thigh again before moving his hand away and tugging his cardigan down over his tented pants subtly. Your chest swims with disappointment for the moment it takes him to extract his phone from his pocket, and then it fills with hope. 

Your own phone buzzes in your bag a second later.

[3:44 PM]

Akaashi: am i still coming over tonight?

Oh, dear god.

–

“That’s it, princess.”

Your mind fogs over with the feeling of him – of Akaashi’s voice in your ear, of every whisper that heats your brain that much more. Of the tingles that had started plaguing your every nerve the moment he’d started this – this praise – and simply don’t seem to be anywhere near easing up.

You rock your hips back where you sit in his lap on the couch of your spare room, arching your chest forward into his and breathing roughly when his arm curls tighter around your waist. You’ve got both hands on his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him like it’s your only link to sanity, and he’s using the hand he doesn’t have wrapped around you to push and pull at your hips, guiding you against him whenever you’re unable to do it yourself.

You feel full of him, warm and safe and muddling every thought that crosses through your mind while he fucks you. He fucks you slow, slow enough to trick you into thinking that it’s you who’s leading here. He fucks you slow and whispers that cursed praise in your ear and against your throat, knowing without ever having asked that it’s what you need from him tonight.

“Just like that, baby,” he breathes, his cock twitching against your walls when you moan to yourself, genuine and quiet and just for him. “You’re doing so good, fucking me so good.” You whimper into his hair, struggling to remember that there’s a camera and that you have a job to do. That your sounds can’t just be for him. That your pleasure can’t only be his.

But you want it to be, even just this once. You want to be his, just this once.

“‘m close,” you whisper, feeling that familiar, welcome tug under your navel.

“Come for me,” he breathes back, his lips brushing against your cheek. “Give it to me. You can do it.” 

You can’t help it. It’s entirely out of your control, spurred on by this entire week and the way he’s treated you. The way he’s handled you, in ways only he can. By the need you’ve been feeling, acknowledged and echoed tenfold in him, too. You really can’t help it.

And, looking back later, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

“‘Kaashi,” you whisper against his temple, your pleasure washing over you in waves that are so close to what you need.

Akaashi stops moving his hips before you can get there.

Your heart stops at the same time.

He lifts his head, leaning back just enough to look you in the eye. Your breath cuts short, and you let him search your face – eyes flicking between yours before they fly across your other features. You let him search you, because you can’t bring yourself to hide anything.

“What did you say?” he whispers, alarm in his expression but not in the way you’d expected. Alarm that checks you, alarm that betrays a lingering anticipation in eyes that you can only see because you’ve spent so long learning him.

You purse your lips together, too scared to say it again.

He doesn’t need you to.

He just drops his gaze to your mouth, shoving you right back into that moment in his apartment, and all you can do is part your lips in surprise. All he needs to do is lift his head, just a few more centimeters.

He tastes like quiet desperation, the kind that’s been building for far too long.

He curls his fingers into your hair and swallows audibly, his lips still on yours even as he tugs you closer. You’re more than happy to follow his lead, breath stuttering nervously against his mouth. 

Each push of his lips against yours is more heated than the last. Until his grip on the back of your head stings a little, until the pass of his tongue over the seam of your lips makes your stomach flip and your limbs go a little more numb. Until he’s angling his head against yours and pulling you close, his grip tightening and his body shifting under you.

You don’t realize he’s putting you on your back until your skin meets the soft sheet on the couch, until he’s hooking a hand under your knee and keeping your legs spread while he pushes his hips against yours, his lips warm and urgent. 

You flush nervously, your head going hotter than before and your thoughts scrambling without warning. You can’t take it – the feeling of his mouth on yours while he fucks you, the feeling of his moans traveling down your throat whenever your walls clamp down around him, the most turned on you’ve ever been.

That familiar tug comes back stronger than before, rushing you to the edge with each push of his lips and each pass of his tongue against yours.

And when he murmurs your name into your own mouth, quiet and soft and tinged with warning, your fingers and toes go numb.

“Say my name again,” he breathes, angling his hips in a way that has you seeing stars. “Please. I’m really close.”

You pull your lips from his and wrap your arms around his neck, pushing your mouth close to his ear and moaning quietly when his thrust has your head bumping gently against the arm of the couch.

“Come for me, baby,” you whisper, your own orgasm following close behind when you hear how he moans in your ear, quiet and just for you. “Please, ‘Kaashi – I need it. I need you.” 

He groans into your skin, and you bask in the warmth that he fills you with, his hips stuttering and your name pressed into your throat. You fall quietly over the edge with him, different from before. It washes over you this time instead of hitting you hard, in waves that feel like comfort and sun on your skin. In waves that make you all the more aware of his hands on your body and his breath fanning over the crook of your neck, of the way he whispers your name on the last push of his hips against yours. Of the way you whisper ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’ against his shoulder absentmindedly when you come.

It’s hazy, the way you fall with him. And you realize, with your heart pounding and your head swarming sleepily with gratitude, that it’s just what you needed to put all your broken pieces back together.

That Akaashi Keiji puts all the pieces back together.

Would you consider either doing a Dabi x childhood friend or Jason Todd x childhood friend?

YES TO BOTH OMG EJFBKDBSKS i love love love that idea anon!!

Ill post them as soon as possible YIPPIE

(ill probably finish season 6 and 7 of mha before posting the dabi one bc MY MAN DESERVES JUSTICE and i need to have every detail of his backstory FRESHHH)

brain storming bc i decided i was gonan restart my fic and do it correctly also im turning it into an OC story