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HAPPY MOTHERS DAY | AKAASHI KEIJI

SUMMARY → your boyfriend wishes you happy mothers day... but you’re not a mother, or are you?

PAIRING → akaashi keiji x fem!reader

A/N → this took longer than expected bc i had no clue how to make this and was too embarrassed to send the script to my friends to do this with. ANYWAYS, happy late mothers day!

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST → @lovinnoya @suga-tofu @tanakasimpcorner @lonelyweeb77 @tanakasprayer @bakugoubiddies @kloudyisdepressed

   streetcorner ᵕ̈         akaashi keiji x gn reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : a small accident throws    ⋮⋮  your usual morning routine off , just ⋮⋮  a bit . . .

📋 content      ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮      ♡ # 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 🥛      ♡ # 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 - 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘱       ♡ # 1.5𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴

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💬 kuroppiii ─ “ first writing post i ’ ve done in a while ! i ’ m hoping the concept comes off as cute as it did in my head ... ”    

a train rumbled overhead. the shadow it casted on the buildings around you had a continuous line of square windows that let the morning sunlight though. the rapid speed at which they moved on the concrete walls reminded you of a film strip. for such a brash pairing of sensations, it was quite a fond noise that accompanied everything else in the mornings. 

every morning for you has been the same, for what feels like forever. venturing a hand from the warm pocket of your wooly jacket, you tug at the scarf wrapped securely around your face to cheerily create a cloud of hot breath in the cold air. you then realize that in reality, it’s only been a few months you’ve been experiencing mornings like this. but the time that’s passed since you emptied out your last box of belongings has been eventful, after all. 

you’ve found a substantial job at a hole-in-the wall restaurant, of which the owners were extremely welcoming of you to your new city life. they were an old couple. they were definitely traditional, but still managed to be fun. you can’t think of a dull time at the restaurant since you were hired. they loved to play upbeat old-fashioned songs as you prepared to open up shop, and the elderly woman always invited you to sing along with a lively step that somehow outshone yours as a young individual. and overall, you found them quite adorable, too. they almost fawned over you, and were flustered with themselves at the most minute sign you felt out of place.

although it’s temporary, it’s definitely a job you want to keep for a while, you think. it’s location isn’t even very far. that’s why you usually opt to walk there. along the way, you’ve made it a habit to stop by the bakery just outside your apartment building. after taking a tray you either delve your tongs straight to the chocolate croissants, or––on the rare occurrence there’s none left––you settle for custard bread. after the cashier wraps up your order, you’re on your way. the brown paper is almost immediately ripped open once you exit the bakery, though. you try not to let the nice cashier see that part.

by the time your pastry has been reduced to nothing but a few mere crumbs, you’ve reached the drink machine. the drink machine humbly stands alone at the curb of a fork in the road and is lined with buttons that have always remained green, you assume it’s because you manage to catch it after it’s very early morning refill. it’s visibly quite old, some of its labels are almost entirely scratched off and there is bits of rust if you really pay any mind to it. but what makes it special, is that it’s one of those drink machines that offers cold and hot options for its beverages. 

it also conveniently has a trash bin sitting next to it. that’s where your brown bakery paper ends up. from there, you happily click one of the green buttons. the beverage isn’t always the same, but as long as it’ll get you energized, it’s what you’re sipping on for the rest of your walk to the restaurant.

you watch the brown paper for this morning lightly floating down into the virtually empty trashcan, the only thing on your mind being the push and pull of either drinking a latte or tea from the machine in front of you. your hands work without even thinking, taking out your subway card with your eyes focused on the cartoonish design you had picked for it months ago. you find it funny because you rarely use the train on daily basis. it still serves a purpose: paying for your morning fix.

your body works almost as if it were on some kind of autopilot. you swipe the card without even bothering to check if it registered. you replace the card to it’s rightful spot in your wallet before reaching out your hand. you’ve finally chosen what you’ll be drinking this morning: a warm latte.

the green button under the canned latte on display behind the plexiglass gives way to a satisfying click. but at that moment, someone else’s hand flies into you line of sight, pressing on the button immediately to the right–the cold latte.

you and the stranger jump back from the machine. comically enough the both of you are still blankly holding your wallets, and small puffs emerge from your open mouths in the cold air.

he’s quite tall, you have to tilt your head upwards to look at his surprised expression. he’s also got a heavy tan coat, fitting for the weather as of late and quite fashionable, you’d have to admit.

he’s also undoubtedly handsome.

his widened blueish-greyish eyes, framed by sophisticated-looking rectangle glasses, complement this handsome appearance very well, you think. 

but shortly enough, you both hear a metallic rattle coming from the machine’s insides. the two of you turn your heads to stare as the sound comes to an abrupt, and concerning, stop. anyone could tell you that it definitely didn’t sound good.

then, the stranger shoots down into a bow.

“i'm so sorry,” the man rushes in apology. soon, you almost break your back returning the bow. 

“no, no, i'm sorry, i should’ve been paying attention,” you insist, aggressively shaking your head.

“i was in a rush, i should’ve slowed down,” he blabbers before you decide to speak up again in response with something along the lines of how surely enough his reasons for rushing were completely valid unlike yours.

anyone could see where that conversation was going to end up.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

after exchanging numerous apologies on both sides, the two of you decided to ask a nearby shop owner for advice on what to do. entering a small clothing store, the lady at its desk was generous enough to call a service worker for the both of you. she, however, was not generous enough to let you two loiter in her radiator-heated shop.

you both remained near the machine, waiting for the worker to arrive. in the time that passed, you hadn’t even given the man next to you any thought. your mind was occupied with how to make up for being late to the owners of your workplace, and also yearning for the heated inside of the shop once again.

a white van with a friendly and inviting service design pulls up, and an incredibly old man makes his way out of the driver’s seat. 

“this drink machine is a very good one,” the man awkwardly comments, “it’s one of the few around here that have the hot drink option.”

“yeah,” you hum. you debate continuing the conversation––possibly commenting an ‘i find that special about this machine too!’ or really anything you could’ve mustered up. but an untimely pause already asserted itself in the time you’ve been thinking of what to say, so you almost give up. the worker is still digging around in the drink machine’s wires, you can hear the small clinks of metal because it’s so quiet. you’re both still standing there, awaiting the verdict of the machine’s condition when another train finally rumbles by, finally filling in the silence.

“it’s a shame we’ve broken it for the morning,” you quickly say after the thundering track noises fade away, side glancing him as you speak light-heartedly, trying to alleviate the awkward feeling between the two of you. to your relief, you can hear him crack a soft chuckle. you look to your side to see him smiling at you, nodding in agreement.

“yeah, a real shame.”

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

the vending machine on the corner got fixed thanks to the incredibly old service man. you feared you would get fined because frankly, you don’t have all that much extra money to spend at the moment (and you wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of a stranger who looked so refined and good-looking). but the old man, like your employers, was as much of a nice man as he was old. he even got you and the stranger your desired drinks from the machine’s inner supply before locking it back up again.

after the service worker hopped back into his van, you and the nice cold-latte-man bid your goodbyes and went your separate ways. 

upon your arrival at the restaurant, the old couple almost ran over you once you stepped foot in the door. you were bombarded with questions of “what happened?”, “did something happen to you?”, “are you alright dear?”.

a smile couldn’t help but spread on your face and you managed to take a sip of what last remained in the canned latte. you grabbed a hold of the old woman’s hand and spoke to the both of them, explaining your dilemma with the broken vending machine and the handsome stranger (yes, you informed them on the man’s appearance, and their not-so-subtle excited reactions made it all the worth it).

they finally let you go, satisfied and at ease knowing you didn’t get seriously hurt on your way to work. now being able to freely move, you go to grab your apron and start today’s work shift. but before you can forget, you toss the empty latte can into the trash bin behind the counter.

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  streetcorner ᵕ̈        akaashi keiji x gn reader ( pt. two ) ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : even in winter , you think    ⋮⋮  you can warm up to something a little ⋮⋮  different in your routine

📋 content     ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮     ♡ # 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 🥛     ♡ # 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 - 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘱     ♡ # ~3.5𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴

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💬 kuroppiii ─ “ after four years since the last part WE ‘ RE SO BACK !!!! ( lmk if you want me to start a taglist for this series . thinking of maybe like two or so more parts <3 WE ‘ LL SEE THOUGH ! ) ”

that happened on friday. you didn’t think much of it, just a random event in the many days that string on and on...

you return to your routine like nothing happened. two days have passed and the weekend spent on your own (as it normally is)–either in your apartment doing chores or food prepping for the week ahead, or out running errands at the various shops nearby–is over. 

now, it’s monday. and you have another whole workweek ahead of you once again.

as you’re walking down the sidewalk toward the street corner vending machine and finishing up your chocolate croissant, like you’ve done countless morning before, a calm voice calls out,

“you can pick first this time, i'll wait my turn.”

what a coincidence: it was the handsome stranger, from last week’s broken vending machine incident. he was wearing the same tan coat, and the same glasses. he looked at you with those same blueish-graying eyes, but this time you noticed them creased a little at the edges as he subtly smiled at you.

flustered at meeting him again, you politely gave him a quick bow, “thank you! um, yeah, wouldn’t want to break it again, like on friday...”

you fumble with your wallet to quickly swipe your card so you don’t have to keep him waiting, suddenly feeling a little self conscious that the stranger might see the bright cartoon character design on it. you select your choice: a warm latte, again.

you and the stranger quietly stand beside each other as the machine dispensing your drink sounds off, the soft sounds of morning in the city surrounding you. you wondered if you should say something to fill the silence–you already referred back to last week’s incident so maybe you could complement him on something. maybe his tan coat, or the glasses, or... 

huh. you didn’t quite know what else you could’ve talked to him about. 

granted, your interaction had been a bit more focused on the broken machine than really processing the person you broke it with.

but maybe, you could quickly find something to talk about. you try to sneak some glances at him but to your dismay, it seems the stranger has the same idea, and a few times in the handful of seconds it takes for your drink to be delivered to you, the two of you meet eyes. but then you two would quickly look off to something else on the street corner when you did so.

you did notice he carried with him a little backpack, ‘a university student?’ you thought.

he was wearing shiny-looking shoes, ‘hmm... too professional for a university student.’

you look back up at his glasses, ‘a professor, maybe–? oh shit he saw me looking–”

a little sigh of relief leaves your lips as the clunky noise of your drink falling down saves you from the silence. you look away and swoop down to slip your hand in the dispenser. you relish in the warmth of the can in contrast to your chilly hand. upon straightening back up once again, you turn to the stranger and bow,

“thank you–! um...? ” 

“have a good day– uh...”

you two speak over each other. and both of you are forced to trail off because, well, you don’t know each others names yet.

you offer him your free hand,

“l/n.”

he looks down at a it for a moment, but then takes it,

“akaashi.”

akaashi... that’s a nice name.

you nod, “thank you akaashi-san, i hope you have a good day as well!”

you see as you leave, he nods at you before he takes out his card to order the same thing he did yesterday: a cold canned latte.

،   ビー   ✧   プ   🌱 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗽 ... 

tuesday. strange, how you would normally love the silence of your morning walks, but in the silences with akaashi at the vending machine these past two times he’s been at it with you, you almost can’t bear the quiet.

you crack open your latte, a satisfying sound that filled the cold air. after taking a sip, you ask him the question you rehearsed in your head on the walk from your apartment to the drink machine, “akaashi-san, i’ve never seen you around here before, are you new to the area?”

a soft tumbling sound can be heard from the inside of the machine, and akaashi bends down to pull out his drink. (he had let you buy yours first, again. and they say chivalry is dead!) 

he pauses in the middle of opening his drink to give you an answer, “not necessarily. i live in the area, but usually i take a different route to work.”

mentally, you note: ‘so he’s working. good to know he’s not still in school. good to know i wouldn’t be some kind of cougar by talking to h–’

the sound of ripping metal as he finishes pulling the tab and snaps you out of your thoughts, “but i discovered this route is much faster so it– well, i get to catch up more on... on sleep in the morning by taking it.”

you laugh at his sheepish confession and in your mind you debate whether the redness on his face is from the cold or from shyness. ‘how cute,’ you think.

“ah, i see! so i assume you work late, then?” you ask, but receive no immediate answer. you look akaashi in the eyes and you can tell they’re trained on your croissant. you assume he wants to ask where it’s from.

“there’s a bakery nearby, um,” you spin around, trying to pinpoint a general direction the bakery would be from where you stood, finally shooting a finger in its general area, “it’s probably only a few blocks down, maybe a few turns and you’re there! it’s not terribly far.”

your sudden movements snap akaashi out of whatever trance he was in, and he quickly nods his head, “that’s good to know, thank you–”

you hear a grumbling sound. he must’ve skipped breakfast today.

“yeah i,” he clears his throat, “i’ll try to visit as soon as i can.”

،   クリ   ✧   ック   🌱 𝗰𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗸 ...

another day, wednesday to be exact. you already have your drink. he’s about to get his.

“akaashi-san, why do you drink cold lattes every morning? in this weather?”

you’ve been wondering about it for the what was almost a week now. you just couldn’t fathom it, especially with your favorite feature of this vending machine in particular: the warm drinks. 

to your surprise, he laughs lightly at your question. and you quite like his laugh. it’s subtle, but is sounds so genuine.

he picks his cold can from the machine, “it wakes me up in the morning, i guess.”

you hum and swirl around your drink in its can a bit, “what do you even do that’s got you wanting to sleep so much, anyway?”

“i’m an editor. just an editor,” he replies before taking a swig from his drink, “nothing too fancy–a magazine.”

“ooh, which one?” you ask excitedly. maybe the old couple that employs you had it somewhere in the restaurant, and maybe then you could find more to talk about with him in the mornings.

“ah–” akaashi readjusts his backpack strap and his eyes suddenly start shifting around, “just uh... a youth magazine. literature. yeah! it’s about youth– or, um– young adult literature.”

‘why’s he being so nervous?’ you thought. you take another sip from your coffee, ‘”young adult literature”... oh! maybe he’s talking about those romance novels i always see in passing at book store window displays. is he the romantic type, then? maybe he’s embarrassed. oh, i shouldn’t have asked–”

“... ahh, okay!” you decided not to push further, “well that sounds fun. is that what you studied in school?”

“yeah, yeah...” he replies, his gaze shifting down to his shiny shoes, “i studied literature.”

then there came a lull in the conversation. 

... and you realize how dull your life seemed to be in comparison to this person you’ve happened to cross paths with. 

at least, when you thought about how he probably had a bunch of friends from his editor’s office, and they probably went out for karaoke and drinks like what you saw in shows on tv. maybe that’s why he’s always in such a need for caffeine in the morning–from going out late with coworkers the night before. he must be really smart, too, having to read through so many articles for a magazine. he probably even gets his name printed on each volume for what he does.

meanwhile you, you were just a cashier and waiter. not to get it twisted, you loved your employers and your job and your routine–but, you really didn’t have much else than that since you moved into the city. you were the only employee there, and your friends were still all back home. for the first time you realized: you felt kind of alone. kind of sad, when you thought of it.

‘please don’t ask me what i do for work, please don’t ask me what i do for work, please don’t–’

“so what do you–?”

the nearby train blazed by not too far off from where you two stood, cutting akaashi off before you had to reveal you didn’t have nearly as an interesting life as he did. the passing of the train, like it had just a few days prior, signaled an allotting of time you both had not intended.

akaashi quickly pulls up his coat sleeve to check the time on his watch–a very shiny one, you can’t help but notice. you set a mental note for yourself to look up how much editors make in japan on the internet later once you get behind the counter at work.

“oh, i’m sorry but i’m gonna be late,” akaashi says, taking another quick sip from his can.

“no! no, it’s fine, i should probably get going too,” you reassure him.

you both hurriedly give each other quick bows before you head off, each waving to each other with your latte cans in grasp.

،   クラ   ✧   ック   🌱 𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸 ...

today is thursday. you woke up and the first thing you thought of was: akaashi. 

it’s been almost one week and you hate to admit it, but he was the closest thing you have made to a friend other than your old couple employers since you made your move into your little apartment.

‘maybe it’s time to actually try to make a friend,” you thought as you laid in your bed, and in your subconscious you had an additional thought: ‘a really smart and good-looking friend at that.’ 

but you quickly dismissed that line of thinking. you were just some person he bumps into on the street at the vending machine each morning, you had to remember that. and as if you needed a boyfriend right now. you barely have any normal friends.

so, you find yourself at the bakery this morning as you stand in place, the tongs in your hand hovering over the last custard bread on shelf. you were lucky today that they didn’t run out yet. and usually, you’d savor this little victory for yourself but... 

you thought of your hopefully-soon-to-be-friend akaashi again. you remember the one time you were finishing your croissant in front of him, and his stomach grumbled a bit. of course! he must skip breakfast sometimes because he sleeps in from how late he was hangs out with his other actual friends at night. it all checks out now.

you quickly placed the custard bread on your tray and then reached over to grab a croissant the next shelf over. you were going to give him a share of your breakfast today.

you went up to the nice cashier lady and said, “this will be all. and! could you wrap them up separately? one’s a uh... a gift!”

clutching the two brown bags in your hand, you checked the time on your phone with the other. dealing with your inner turmoil at the bakery on whether it would’ve been weird to bring akaashi some bread or not cost you some time. you hoped you’re not late to seeing him at the drink machine, or that he didn’t already eat breakfast this morning, or that he thinks you’re some weirdo he just met trying to poison him with this food from out of the blue–

“l/n-san! good morning, i was wondering where you were,” a voice called out to you, waiting by the vending machine on the street corner. you could tell it was akaashi by his silhouette the morning sun drew around him, a small puff of cold air emitting from where his mouth had just spoken.

you felt relief wash over you as you smiled back at him, but that quickly became replaced with anxiousness as you glanced back down at the second brown bakery bag you were holding at your side.

as you approached him, his drink was already open and he was taking a sip, “sorry, i already got my drink. i know i usually let you get yours first but–”

“for you,” you cut him off, holding out the bag of custard bread, “... if you haven’t eaten breakfast already, that is.”

for a moment, akaashi stood there stunned, his can frozen in the air by his mouth. you felt yourself try to retreat into the warmth of your winter scarf, starting to regret this attempt at forming some kind of bond with the man. why would he take random food from a stranger anyway? what were you thinking?

you start to trip over your words, eyes darting everywhere to avoid his, “it’s custard bread, from– from that shop i mentioned earlier this week? i think it’s the best thing they have there and there was one left on the shelf today and i thought you might like to try it! i mean you don’t have to take it, i can just save it for later and–”

“i haven’t had breakfast yet today, actually,” akaashi finally admits. when you look back at him, he’s smiling at you as he takes the bag from your hands. your hands slightly brush and you quickly shove yours in your jacket pocket. ‘is the sun sunnier today? it feels warmer, when does spring start again?’

“thank you, l/n-san,” he says, rustling with the brown paper bag–opening it much neater than you ever do, actually–and taking the bread out.

“it’s no problem, akaashi-san,” you return with a grin, happy he appreciated your gesture. you proceed to pay and retrieve your warm coffee for the morning, as he takes bites from his bread and comments on about how good it is. you’re about to hum in agreement when–

woosh!

it’s the much louder hum of the train. you’re both late to your jobs, again. 

“the train,” akaashi mumbles through the last piece of bread that sticks out of his mouth, dramatically rolling his eyes, and you can’t help but laugh a bit at his reaction. he crumples up the brown paper and sets his sights on the trashcan beside you and next to the drink machine. it’s a little bit of a ways off but from his spot, he tosses it past you toward the trash can. and to your surprise, it actually makes it in.

despite how mundane the little trick was, as he goes to turn toward the road he disappears to when he leaves you in the mornings, you think to yourself, ‘how cool.’

“sorry for making us late again!” you call after him before he fully rounds the corner.

you see as he finishes the last of the custard bread and shakes his head, turning to you as he walks backwards, “don’t worry about it, thanks for breakfast l/n-san, and don’t forget about yours too!”

he lifts his can, first gesturing to the untouched croissant bag in your hand, then up at you. you hurriedly crack open the can in your hands to return the gesture with a nod. once he’s gone, you’re left with you, your chocolate croissant, and your reflection in the window of of the vending machine–a dopey smile on your face.

،   クラ   ✧   ック   🌱 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸 ...

friday. it’s been a week since you and akaashi broke the drink machine, and you’re astonished at how quickly you’ve grown attached to the cold-latte-drinker. god, maybe you really are that lonely.

‘but a friend is definitely a good thing’, you reason with yourself. it’s made getting up in the morning a little bit easier, knowing you get rewarded with a little chat in addition to your daily caffeine fix.

this morning, akaashi is there at the machine before you–again. 

as you walk up, you take a glance at the time on your phone. you’re definitely not late... did he get there earlier?

“morning,” he greets you, and you notice his hands were both shoved in his coat pockets.

“morning!” you quickly get a hold of your wallet to get your drink, so that he could finally get his, “did you not get your drink yet? you really didn’t have to wait for me, i didn’t even mind when you got yours before i arrived yesterday, seriously–”

“here.”

you turn to see akaahi’s hand has come out of his tan coat’s pocket, and is extending out a canned latte at you. you glance at him briefly, and he’s chewing on his bottom lip slightly in what you suppose is impatience–or could it be a bit of nervousness?

you reach out and take hold of the can. it’s warm.

“what about you? did you not get your drink yet–?”

“yeah, i did. see?” he brings an identical can out from his other pocket. you go to touch that one. that one is cold. of course.

you smile up at him and take your warm can for the morning and you both crack them open at the same time, taking a sip at the same time, too.

“it’s for thinking about me when you were getting breakfast yesterday,” akaashi explains, “so now we’re even.”

you shake your head politely with a little laugh, “there was no need to get even, akaashi-san, i just–”

“keiji.”

darting your head towards him, you watch as he fidgets with the aluminum tab of his can. a small smile on his lips, he repeats, “keiji. you can call me keiji, if you want, that is.”

you grip onto your can a bit tighter to feel its warmth, maybe in an attempt to distract you from the warmth fluttering around in your chest,

“y/n. if you want to, as well.”

then the train blares past, but only the sound of keiji’s name echoes in your head.

“i guess that’s our cue,” keiji says after the sound of the train fades away, and you happily nod. you two part, drinks in hand.

you wave back at him, “see you later– keiji!” saying his name felt like cotton filled your mouth, but it was cotton candy that lingered on the tip of your tongue.

“see you, y/n!”

maybe making new friends was as hard as you first thought when you moved here.

،   ああ   ✧   ああ   🌱 𝗮𝗵𝗵𝗵𝗵 ... 

it’s your last task before closing up and getting out of work for the week: taking out the trash.

usually you don’t have the unceremonious duty to fill up the dumpster out back behind the restaurant, but the old couple who owns it have noticed you’ve suddenly started to turn up late for work the past few days. 

you haven’t had the courage to admit that it was because you were so caught up befriending that same guy from the drink machine on monday, so you’ve taken up your trashy assignment quietly and without protest. 

it was only fair to the old couple, you already knew how much they do to take care of the establishment when it was just you three running it every day.

you reach down under the counter to empty out your little cashier trash can, when you catch a glimpse of the brown bakery paper that was once wrapped around the croissant you ate that morning.

funny, you’ve never had to spot it in this trashcan before, accompanying the empty can of your morning drink in there as well.

‘oh... that’s right.’

this morning you didn’t follow your usual routine of eating the bread first so you can throw it into the garbage at the vending machine. no, you were too busy talking to akaashi–or, keiji that you had to eat your breakfast on the route from the drink machine to work, instead.

the subtle change in your routine felt... different, in a way. 

but maybe different was something you needed in your life.

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  stickers ᵕ̈        boyfie!akaashi keiji x gn reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : where does he   ⋮⋮  get them from ?

📋 content     ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮     ♡ # 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵 🥛     ♡ # 1.4k 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴

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akaashi always handwrites you notes on special occasions. the first one you had the pleasure to receive was for your one-month anniversary. you had seen his handwriting on the assignments you’ve worked on together or the exams he’s gotten back, but that was the first time you saw his written words dedicated to you.

you’d be lying if you said that first note didn’t make you tear up a little bit.

he always uses a black, fine tip ballpoint pen when he writes his notes to you. his handwriting is practiced and wispy—you can tell each stroke flows through to the next yet it’s not rushed, it’s careful. you know that because his words indenting ever so slightly through the paper they’re written on is evidence he’s a little heavy-handed as he translates his words to you through ink. it shows he really means those words you read off the page.

and another charming detail about your ever-growing collection of “keiji notes” is that they have stickers on them. small ones, blink-and-you’d-miss-it ones. in the margins, or in the corners, or even right by where he signs his name—laying claim to the inky confessions precededing it.

but for the life of you, you can never seem to find where he keeps them. the stickers, that is.

you’ve been together for a little over a year now—a year filled with many, many stickered notes—and yet you’ve never seen a single sticker sheet in his possession.

not in his bag…

nor his locker…

not in the drawers of his room’s desk…

nowhere!

and other than where he kept them, you had plenty of other questions. how many did he have? where’d he get them from? when did he get them? you spend so much time with him yet have never seen with your own eyes him buying them.

it was like a special mystery to you; something yet to be discovered in you and akaashi’s relationship that kept it fresh as long as it remained a secret. to preserve this little bit if whimsy, you never voiced out your curiosity. a silly part of you was convinced if you dared to even mention the stickers, next thing you’d know, they’d stop appearing in your precious notes from akaashi.

so you let it be. you accepted it without asking your questions—occasion after occasion, note after note…

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

that was until one day: a friday night in winter as soon as school got out for the week, when the two of you were at a local corner store, splurging on snacks for a cozy night in with akaashi at his house. you had lost him in the fluorescent-lit aisles in your excitement to assemble the ultimate date night feast for the two of you.

after you’re finished carefully selecting the ramens and drinks and chips you concluded would perfectly accompany the queue of movies you and akaashi had picked over the past week’s lunch breaks, you start to roam the aisles to reunite with him.

peeking over the mountain of cheap treats you have balanced in your arms, you finally spot him in the very corner of the store, intently looking over a section of an aisle, “keiji, i’m ready to check out now!”

hearing your voice, he quickly turns around and you catch a sheepish smile creep onto his face as he leaves what he was checking out to make his way over to you. he immediately starts gathering some of the food items you have piled up in front of your face in his own arms to help alleviate your load.

with each new small snack pack akaashi took on, you get a clearer view of which aisle the two of you were standing in—it was the stationary aisle.

you look further down to where your boyfriend just was. he was looking at the corner store’s sticker sheet selection.

so that's where he gets them from.

“you think we’re really going to finish all this?” akaashi’s voice snaps your attention back to him. now with his own arms holding up a dozen or so items, he starts heading toward the self-checkout.

without getting a moment to further think about catching your boyfriend red-handed (sticker-handed?), you start trailing close behind—pointing out something along the lines of how he always pays for your date night food expenses, and so he could simply ask you to return some of the items back onto the shelves if he was so concerned.

and as the items get scanned (beep… beep… beep!) and akaashi packs them into the provided ‘thanks for shopping with us!’ plastic bags (all for him to carry out the doors of the corner store himself, so that you don’t have to worry about lifting a single finger), he defends himself with something that sounds vaguely like, “you’re too cute for me to resist. that’s not my fault!”

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

you both make your way back to akaashi’s place under the street lights, alternating between periods where you can see each others faces lovingly looking at each other and small stretches of time where you have to rely on your voices to communicate that same emotion.

akaashi always had a way with words, written or otherwise. he’s quiet with his volleyball teammates or when he’s in class. with you, however, he makes sure your voices always mingle in his ears no matter what—always asking you to elaborate on things to hear your voice more or telling you about all the mundane things about his day that reminded him of you.

but while he thought he may have diverted your continuously flowing conversation away from the corner store sticker incident, he thought wrong.

“how many stickers do you have?” you quickly ask in a hushed voice as soon as your back-and-forth banter reached the smallest lull, beating akaashi to the punch with one of the questions that have been floating in your mind for so long.

“hm?” his voice perks up.

“stickers. like the ones on the notes you give me…” you trail off, as it feels weird acknowledging the childish touch to the heartfelt paragraphs you’ve been receiving for so long.

you’re both passing through between street lights, but you can almost hear akaashi’s smile grow in the dark as he asks, “you saw me in there looking at them?”

“yes!” now you’re in the light, and his smile is in fact there, making your heart skip a beat. but you push that thought away—he can’t charm his way out of this one—as you push him further, “now tell me! how many do you even have?”

“hm…” the rumble of his hum slices through the chilly night air as he thinks, “i have a few holiday ones, for when i write cards for the team—santa hats, birthday gifts, volleyballs, stuff like that."

“the stickers i get don't look like that,” you comment questioningly.

akaashi agrees with you with another calm hum, “yeah, well… i only really started buying the cuter stickers when– when i started going out with you, so—"

you feel your face warm up despite the cold breeze gliding past the two of you going down the street, “you still haven’t answered the question: how many?”

your boyfriend sighs and shakes his head lightly, “fine, let’s just say i have enough to keep making you notes for the rest of our lives. does that finally answer your question?”

very much delighted at his answer, the corner store bags clutched in akaashi’s hands rustled as you suddenly fling your arms around his shoulders once you reach the next street light.

akaashi lets out a huff at the sudden embrace but when he turns his head to face you, you can clearly see his smile hasn’t faded away one bit—just as content with the notion of his answer as you were.

“you really mean that?” you tease in a whisper, fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck.

“of course i mean it,” he whispers back. he means it like he means every word he’s written to you on the page. he means it like every moment of every day he spends with you.

you lean in for a soft kiss, feeling your smiling lips against one another. akaashi’s hands are still occupied with the bags, so your arms hug him tighter and closer before you two finally pull away.

“where do you keep them?” still so close that your lips brush against akaashi’s as you speak, you try to question even further.

“oh, i can’t tell you that.”

“why?”

“can’t have you finding them and spoiling them for yourself. some of those will be for our wedding one day, after all.”

   streetcorner ᵕ̈         akaashi keiji x gn reader ( pt. three ) ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : maybe sometimes you    ⋮⋮  have to take " different " into your ⋮⋮  own hands . that way it ' ll feel much ⋮⋮  better , no ?

📋 content      ♡ # 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 🐄      ♡ # 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 🥛      ♡ # 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 - 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘱       ♡ # 3𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴     ♡ # 𝙘𝙬 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 +     𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 , 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧

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💬 kuroppiii ─  " y/n lowkey tweaking but can you really blame them ? "

you were wrong. “different” wound up being quite bad.

two weeks. two weeks.

you haven’t seen keiji— no, akaashi at the drink machine for two weeks.

14 days. 10 work day mornings. two weekends.

that first weekend went by, and you did your chores and errands with what you hate to admit was a little bit of "pep" in your step. because getting through your usual lineup of weekend responsibilities felt like they were leading up to something, knowing they counted down to a first-of-the-week workday—or more specifically a workday morning—spent with your new friend.

but then monday morning came, and you found that although the canned beverage you always get out of the street corner vending machine was warm, by your side at that machine was filled with nothing but the cold winter air.

‘he must’ve partied really hard this past weekend with those work friends. i’ll give him a bit if he’s running late,’ you so innocently thought.

10 minutes passed, and he still hadn’t shown up. not wanting to start off your week showing up late again, you decided to leave the street corner and head to work. you’ll probably see him the next day, anyway. one day without your little morning chat wasn’t going to be the end of the world...

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

tuesday.

you stuck around for 15 minutes. no sign of him or his tan coat or his glasses or those shiny professional-looking shoes.

'god, i hope he's not sick. it's all those cold lattes in this freezing weather. i warned him about that!"

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

wednesday.

the train passed. nothing.

ting! ting! ting!

nothing but the sound of you nervously pulling on the tab of your drink greeted you this morning. your drink was long gone by then, and so was your hope you'd see him again.

you tossed the can in the trash bin, pulled your scarf higher onto your face, and hid away from the waking city with your hands snug in your coat pockets–embarrassed you had gotten your hopes up so high.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

that thursday–yet another day where you faced a solitary morning–your frustration at the whole situation festered and bubbled over in the form of working overtime at the restaurant.

because walking home alone from a shift was one thing, but knowing the next morning you'd be met with the same solitude–when you had just had a taste of what it was like not dealing with loneliness picking away at you every day–made the whole journey back to your apartment that much worse than it ever was before.

you were on your hands and knees, scrubbing away at the hardwood floors until you saw your dejected reflection. you wiped the tables down until they were spotless. you made sure the kitchen was in pristine condition for the old man and woman to enjoy cooking in it the next day.

tick, tick, tick

the aged and rusted clock on the wall by the cash register mocked you as you continued brewing over your situation.

you definitely came off as a creep! bringing him food unwarranted? but he had bought you your drink in return? oh, and had given you that drink with the casual drop of his first name. as if you two were really friends!

but why? maybe he was just messing with you. maybe he sensed how much of a loner you kind of really are. maybe he would seriously opt to take the longer way to work just so he didn't have to deal with you in the mornings anymore.

was he even telling you the truth about his work? was "akaashi keiji" even his real name?

what drove you crazy the most was how easy it was for him to infiltrate your days for that short week, preventing them from droning on by simply showing up at a street corner on your way to work.

'how pathetic', you thought about yourself.

it wasn't until he came along that the reality of your sacred routine became apparent to you. you had been convincing yourself for weeks that it was fine but no, you guessed it was true–you felt alone in this city.

he effortlessly cracked the foundations of the motions you went through each day to stay sane, and what? then he just gets to disappear out of nowhere?

leaving you with nothing but... well, yourself. alone. again.

“different” wound up being quite bad, and painful, and lonely

but so did going back to "normal", apparently.

you sat at the counter of the restaurant, the clock in your hands still ticking away, but now you had cleaned it all up. it looked as good as new.

at least you had the old couple's reaction as something to look forward to the next morning.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

on friday you sat behind the register as you watched the customers come and go. in the small restaurant booths they sat across from each other–some couples here, some suit-and-tie-clad groups of office workers there, maybe the occasional group of friends still in their school uniforms.

you observed as they smiled at one another and laughed together. it was like each booth was its own bubble for the people to escape mundane reality with for even just one meal.

then they would come up to you, your time watching through a window over as your existence at the resister marked a snap back to reality for them. you–standing all by yourself amidst the rest of the lives that continued on in this city, as you took their money and counted out their change before they would leave and never give your existence a though ever again.

when that got to be enough for you, you even tried watching whatever sappy drama channel the old couple liked to keep playing on the old boxy television as it sat on a small shelf high up in the corner of the room. but that didn't really help either, the people on screen were also happily interacting with loved ones and friends.

the workday continued on like that until closing time, when the old couple decided to stick around for a bit, even as you attempted busying yourself with overtime tasks to avoid walking home.

they put on the restaurant's old karaoke machine, and you happily watched as they sang and danced together with the minimal movements that their age allowed them to enjoy on a friday night.

at one point, the old woman even urged you to stop spraying and wiping down the restaurant windows, and you sang and danced to a few songs along with them, too.

the walk home that night wasn't actually too bad–the scenes of you and the owners' little party replaying in your head as you walked down the street, softly smiling to yourself as you didn't even realize you had passed the drink machine on the street corner.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

saturday morning you wake up and stare up at your ceiling. you heard the sound of cars and trains pass by, and small city birds sing to yawning street cats just outside your window.

usually by now, you would be done grocery shopping and would be moving onto meal prepping for the week ahead. but your thoughts kept swirling around that stupid soft spoken guy, the one who always pressed the vending machine button for a cold latte in the middle of winter.

akaashi keiji. akaashi keiji.

before you knew it you were tapping away at your phone's keypad.

a-k-a-a-s-h-i...

you looked him up on every social media app you had downloaded on your phone.

k-e-i-j-i...

but damn, all the accounts you came across were either definitely not him or were privated.

you huffed and let your head sink back into your cool pillow. why were you still trying? you had to accept your one week of mornings with him was just some spontaneous and cruel string events the universe just tossed at you for its own amusement, one to come in and change the trajectory of how you felt about your whole life–that's all.

outside, you can hear the screech of a cat and the beating of bird wings, assumably after being scaring off by the cat. softly, you laugh to yourself picturing the scene in your mind.

then your thoughts drift to the stray cat that used to linger around your childhood home. it was grey and had a white belly. you and your friends would coddle it after school, or would give it a brief petting as you would stumble onto the back porch after a night out in-between semesters during university.

this was all before you moved away, that is.

god, you were homesick. but it wasn't like you could simply move back in the blink of an eye. you worked hard to get a place for yourself in the city. you've worked hard as you figured out what you want to do with your life. you just wish figuring it out wouldn't have to be so lonely.

but then, you thought of an idea.

you looked at your bank account to check the costs. it was definitely an expense you'd have to make up for, but that old couple was generous in that they always paid if you went overtime. more late nights meant you'd probably make back the money–and blow off even more steam–fairly quickly.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

the next day, sunday, you decide to get a cat...

you recalled in your contract that your apartment allows it, so why not?

who needed a good-looking stranger to keep you company on a daily basis, anyway?

you set out on getting it the basics (treats, food bowl, a bed, a litter box, etc.) since you could always get more later depending on what your new feline friend might be like.

during that first half of the day, you drifted from store to store, picking out the perfectly humble items to greet your cat as soon as it arrived in its new home. your eyes always ended up glancing over any display rack of magazines you could find in the stores, maybe subconsciously searching for a certain combination of kanji on the covers' credits–but you never spotted it.

upon finally arriving at the pet store, the worker warmly greeted you at from the front desk and you asked if he could direct you to the cats. now you find yourself standing in front of a tall cat tree, a dozen or so cats of different colors and patterns jumping from one perch to another or adamantly scratching their claws at parts of the tree's fluffy material.

you didn't want an exact copy of the one from home, per say (it undoubtedly would've made you even more homesick), but then your eyes landed on one particular cat. it was a calico, and it was peacefully curled up a little ways away from the chaos of the cat tree. sunlight beamed through the pet shop's big front window and fell straight on the cat, making it and it's white, orange, brown, and black patches almost appear luminescent.

finding yourself crouching down to look at it closer, it sensed your new presence, and lazily opened one of its eyes amidst it's nap. you felt a familiar warmth stir up in your chest at how cute the calico was–a sensation you last had felt a long, long time ago.

"that one's a boy," you hear the worker pipe up behind you, seeing your interest, "he likes to keep to himself, so he's not a troublemaker or anything, either."

"i'd like to give him a home, then," the words fall from your lips as you stare directly into the glowing hazel iris of the calico's eye staring back at you.

once you and your new cat made it back to your apartment, you didn't even really food prep or finish the laundry for the week ahead like you probably should have. instead, you became enamored with just observing your new friend–one you hope wouldn't ditch you like the last one did.

smiling, you watched him as he sauntered around to survey the furnishings of your living space, you spent time with him as you gently ran your hands along his fur.

you thought to yourself as you grew fonder to the cat more and more by the second, 'you'll can keep me company in the mornings for now on.... or and at night when i get home from work... and even the weekends!" (something your last "new friend" would never have been able to do, anyway.)

it took a bit to decide on a name in your head, but finally you cooed at the calico as it hopped next to you on the couch where you were sitting, "it's you and i now, yamato!"

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

the second week without akaashi, you purposefully avoided the drink machine. you figured out a different route (granted, the first time you tried it on monday, you were late to work because you got lost). subsequently, you kind of gave up on coffee for a while (granted, you felt a tad bit more tired on the day-to-day if you had to be honest).

but each morning instead of caffeine, you were met with the lovely presence of yamato sauntering around as you went about the apartment getting ready before heading out to work. thankfully what the pet shop owner said was tried and true: yamato never gave you any problems the first week he spent with you in your apartment.

you had to account for the chores you didn't get to on that weekend, when you were moping around and getting a cat. but again, yamato was there to keep you company as you were sweeping the floor around the couch, or leaning over to hang up laundry on your tiny balcony, or tossing together whatever you had in the fridge to constitute as small dinners for one to greet you on the nights you came back from long days at work.

busy, busy, busy is what you made yourself.

the old couple at the restaurant were a great help in this, as well. the months you've spent with them meant they grew more comfortable having you around, they'd always subtly complain about something breaking or in need of renovation, and of course you would offer to help to stay longer. (you always loved seeing the delight that radiated off of them when you would stay to help, and sometimes you would wonder if they ever had any kids or grandkids of your own. you never bothered to ask though, maybe that was a bit too personal.)

one particular day, however, was especially grueling. the restaurant got much busier than usual because of a festival that was being help nearby. one hungry festival-goer after the other popped into the small establishment–every seat would be taken up, dishes continuously were being served out, and there was barely any wiggle room to do it all because the customers opted to wait inside to dodge the cold weather outdoors.

your employers urged you to go home and rest as soon as it was all over, and though you'd usually find an excuse to work overtime for not just the pay anymore but to spend more time with the old man and woman, tonight you found yourself happily obliging to depart early.

a night spent watching tv with yamato curled in your lap didn't sound too bad, after all.

as you walk through the streets, you feel your eyelids physically giving up on you. your efforts of the past week trying to make your life work out in at least some way was finally catching up to you. but you thought of yamato, and how bad you felt he'd been left alone to his own devices at home on the long days you've been working late.

you owed it to your new furry friend to stay awake for that movie tonight.

caffeine. that should do the trick, you thought. but you didn't want to enter a 7/11. you always hated how the the lights would be too bright, and tonight they would probably give your waning brain a headache, when you just wanted a calm evening to yourself and your cat.

but the only other way of obtaining some form of liquid booster at an hour like this would be some kind of vending machine. there were none on your new route back from and to work, though. it was a fact that's been great in avoiding thinking about the events of two weeks ago, but not when you were actually craving your usual latte right now.

it was what, almost midnight? what harm could there be visiting that old warm-and-cold-option vending machine on the street corner near your apartment building, anyway? at least you wouldn't have to be seeing it in the daylight–a handful of remiss memories attached to a scene like that.

so you make some turns and you're nearing that exact spot. you rub your eyes in exhaustion as you round the corner, but as you look up, you see a figure already standing there, swiping their card at the machine.

the faint lights from the vending machine display illuminate the front of them, and you notice a pair of glasses blocked out by the display's light reflecting off of them. the light forming little shapes on the top of the person's shiny shoes. a tan coat.

"keiji?"

the figure, startled, turns to face you. you still can't really make out their face in the dimness of the street corner alley. they don't say anything for a moment.

you idiot, you think to yourself. part of you wants to book it, because there's no way that could be him–he has no business being here so late.

but the other part of you keeps your feet in place on the pavement. you feel it again, a small ounce of hope, that a friend has returned into your lonely little life.

"y/n?"

that voice. that's definitely him.

clunk!

you hear his drink tumble into the vending machine's slot, and the familiar sound brazenly fills the street. but the two of you don't flinch.

what was he doing back here?

🗒⋆ *. ୨୧⋆｡ taglist (1/30 at time of publishing) : @cloudybillows (just send me an ask if you’re interested! xx)