Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Everyone knew about Akaashi and Bokuto. It was in the air—the quiet intimacy between them, the way Akaashi’s gaze softened when it lingered on Bokuto, in the effortless way Bokuto fit himself into every corner of Akaashi’s life, as if the idea of a world without him simply didn’t exist.

They weren’t together, not officially. But they moved around each other as if they were, and no one questioned it.

Akaashi had known for a while now—long before he had words for it—that his feelings for Bokuto weren’t just admiration. They had settled in deep, creeping in through the spaces where friendship should have ended. It was in the moments when Bokuto’s hand brushed against his without thought, the way he always leaned in close when he spoke, as if Akaashi was the only one worth listening to. It was in the way Akaashi found himself memorizing every shift in Bokuto’s expression, every change in his mood before even Bokuto himself noticed.

People talked, of course. Kuroo, most of all, never missed an opportunity to nudge them toward what he claimed was inevitable. “You two are practically mated already,” he’d say, with that knowing smirk, like he was in on some secret the rest of the world was too slow to catch up to.

And Akaashi had let himself believe in it, just a little.

Call him a romantic, but he had been waiting for confirmation—his second gender results. If fate had any sense of fairness, he and Bokuto would be a fated pair, an alpha and an omega, meant for each other in a way that went beyond choice. He imagined the moment in vivid detail: telling Bokuto, watching his golden eyes widen with realization, feeling the weight of an unspoken promise settle between them. The bite, the bond, the certainty that they would be together for life.

It was the kind of story people told about fated mates. And Akaashi had never wanted anything more.

Besides, Bokuto’s family already loved him. Whenever he visited, Bokuto’s sisters practically smothered him.

Just the other day Akaashi had gone over, as he often did, to force some level of academic discipline onto Bokuto. They were sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room, the low table between them covered in open notebooks and textbooks. Akaashi tapped his pen against the edge of a practice test, staring Bokuto down.

“You need to study, Bokuto-san.”

“But I wanna play volleyball after school!” Bokuto whined, slouching dramatically. “Besides, I always do fine on tests anyway—”

“And imagine how good you’d do if you actually studied.”

Bokuto groaned, but before he could protest further, two loud gasps echoed from downstairs, followed by the rapid thud of footsteps on the stairs. Akaashi barely had time to react before the door flew open and Bokuto’s sisters tackled him.

“Keiji!” Natsuki cried, throwing her arms around his waist.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming today?” Kaori scolded, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pressing her cheek against his hair.

“Oi! Hands off!” Bokuto squawked, but the two female alphas ignored him completely, too busy fussing over Akaashi.

“Natsuki-san, Kaori-san, please… I can’t breathe…” Akaashi attempted, slightly muffled between their embraces.

Both sisters released him at the same time—Kaori smoothing out his uniform while Natsuki fussed with his hair.

“Aw, why is Keiji so cute?” Natsuki sighed. “Koutarou doesn’t deserve you.”

“Hey, Keiji, why don’t you marry me?” Kaori grinned, pinching Akaashi’s cheek.

“What?! I’m the oldest! That’s not fair, I should be the one to marry first!” Natsuki shouted, affronted.

“I’m too young to marry,” Akaashi replied evenly, though a soft chuckle slipped through.

Bokuto scowled as his sisters continued to fawn over Akaashi. Natsuki, the eldest, had long silver hair and the same boundless energy as Bokuto, confidence radiating from her in a way no one would ever doubt she was an alpha. Kaori, in contrast, had sleek black hair in a neat bob and carried herself with more restraint—but when she got serious even Natsuki relented.

“It’s like you guys like Akaashi more than me,” Bokuto muttered, arms crossed.

“We do like Akaashi more than you,” Natsuki said, grinning.

“He’s so dependable and responsible,” Kaori added.

Bokuto gasped, betrayed, his lower lip trembling dramatically. His sisters burst into laughter before launching at him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“We’re joking! We’re joking!” Natsuki laughed, ruffling his hair.

“You’re our baby brother. We love you,” Kaori cooed, pinching his cheeks and squishing his face into a ridiculous pout.

“Come on, we’ll make your favorite dinner as an apology,” Natsuki said, releasing him.

“Oh yeah! Let’s go to the store,” Kaori agreed.

“Meat! I want meat!” Bokuto declared, shaking them off as they finally relented and left, still giggling as they went.

Akaashi watched them go before glancing at Bokuto. “Your sisters really love you.”

“They always treat me like a baby,” Bokuto grumbled.

“Well, if I remember correctly, Natsuki is ten years older than you. For her, you were a baby for a long time.”

Bokuto frowned. “They do whatever they want… Don’t let them push you around too, Akaashi.”

“I don’t really mind.”

Bokuto gaped at him. “What?! You don’t mind?!”

Akaashi shrugged. “I don’t have siblings, so it’s a nice feeling.”

Bokuto’s pout deepened. “Fine! You can have my sisters. I don’t need them.”

“You can’t just give me your sisters, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said dryly. “They’re not objects.”

Everything was perfect, everything fit fine, like Akaashi was the missing piece in Bokuto's puzzle.

And that's why the fall hit harder than expected.

The day his second gender results arrived.

Akaashi stared at the paper in his hands, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes darted to the single character printed on the results sheet, unblinking, as if looking long enough might change it.

Where there should have been an "Ω" signaling his second gender as omega, there was a "β."

"A beta?" The words left him before he even realized he was speaking.

The school nurse nodded, her expression neutral but kind. "Yes. It’s uncommon when both parents are omegas, but not unheard of."

But she didn’t understand. She couldn’t possibly understand.

Akaashi had been waiting for this—for confirmation, for proof that what he felt for Bokuto was fate. That they were meant to be. That all the quiet yearning, the way he let himself believe in the inevitability of them, was justified.

His fingers clenched the paper, and he forced himself to regulate his breathing. "Is there a possibility that this is a mistake?" he asked, not allowing his voice to waver.

"The tests are very accurate," she said gently. “Are you worried about a late heat? We can keep you monitored just in case, but––”

She kept talking—something about rare recessive traits, secondary gender markers, tracking changes into adulthood—but the words blurred together into white noise.

He wasn’t listening. He was recalibrating.

He was supposed to be an omega. He was supposed to have that moment—the one where he told Bokuto and saw his face light up with joy and certainty and relief. They were supposed to fall into each other like puzzle pieces, like they had always belonged.

But he was a beta.

And if fated pairs existed, then someone else was meant for Bokuto.

Someone who wasn't him.

A hollow, frozen pressure settled in his chest. It didn’t even feel like disappointment—it felt like erasure. Like a truth he had carried quietly for years had just been invalidated.

The nurse must have noticed something in his face because her tone softened. "You can stay here until you feel ready to go back to class, Akaashi-kun."

He blinked, nodded. "Thank you. I’m fine."

He stood, bowed politely, and left without another word. The results slipped into his pocket, the paper neatly folded like it didn’t hold the weight of his world breaking.

That afternoon, he walked into the gym early. Bokuto wasn’t there yet, so Akaashi approached the coach first, handing over the paper.

The coach glanced it over and nodded approvingly. “Huh. Well, this’ll make things easier. For a second I was worried I’d lose you both, you and Bokuto, if you turned out to be an omega.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Akaashi replied evenly.

“You really lucked out. No heats, no restrictions, no interruptions during tournaments—it’s a win. You’re going to have a much easier time in life than most kids your age.”

Akaashi nodded once. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

The words felt like sand in his mouth, but he said them anyway. Because it was what he was supposed to say.

Then he heard it—footsteps pounding toward the gym, the slap of sneakers on tile, and that unmistakable voice calling his name.

“Akaashi! Did you get your results?!”

Bokuto burst into the gym like a storm front, full of wide eyes and uncontainable energy, almost vibrating with anticipation.

Akaashi’s breath caught in his chest. He turned toward the coach. “Excuse us, sir.”

He led Bokuto to the side of the gym, near the stacked mats where they could speak without being overheard.

“You can’t go around asking people their second gender, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said quietly but firmly. “It’s considered rude.”

“I know, I know, but—I just—” Bokuto looked like he might burst if he didn’t get the words out. “I was just excited! Because… I thought maybe…”

Akaashi didn’t want to hear it.

“I’m a beta,” he said, cutting Bokuto off before the sentence could become something unforgivable. “I got the results this morning.”

There was a beat of silence.

Bokuto’s face didn’t fall, but something in it stilled. Like he didn’t quite understand. Or maybe like he was trying not to.

“But…” Bokuto tried, but Akaashi stopped him before he could say more.

“They told me it was rare since both my parents are omegas, but not unheard of, and they also assured me tests are accurate.” He just repeated what the nurse had told him.

“But… that doesn’t have to mean anything, right?” Bokuto said. “I mean, it’s just…”

“Please don’t,” Akaashi said, sharper than he meant to. He took a step back, forcing a thin smile. “Let’s not discuss this again.”

Bokuto stood there, frozen, mouth slightly open like he wanted to protest—but nothing came out. And Akaashi walked away before he could.

After that day, Akaashi pretended nothing had changed, even though everything had.

People had always assumed he would present as omega—he was quiet, meticulous, often found near Bokuto's side. They saw their closeness and assigned it a story. A romance. A fate.

When the truth came out, whispers spreaded fast.

Kuroo blinked when he heard, clearly surprised. “Really? Huh. Didn’t see that coming.”

Akaashi shrugged. "It just means my life will be easier," he said, already preparing the script. “I guess I always knew. I’m not particularly pretty. Or delicate. I was never really cut out to be an omega.”

No heats. No bonds. No expectations.

Kuroo didn’t push. No one did, after that.

But the school changed around him.

It started subtly—letters in Bokuto’s shoe locker, shy glances in the hallway. Then it escalated. Confessions in the courtyard, at the school gates after practice, even in the classroom during breaks. Girls and boys—mostly omegas—found newfound courage now that the ‘invisible wall’ had fallen.  It became something of a spectacle. Akaashi wasn’t an obstacle anymore. Just a classmate. Just a beta.

As if a piece of paper was able to change Akaashi’s feelings from one day to another.

And Bokuto… Bokuto turned every one of them down.

A group of students from the second-floor windows watched every time, whispering excitedly.

"That’s the third one this week."

"Doesn't he ever say yes?"

"He's always nice about it, but he still turns them down. Maybe he's waiting for his fated pair?"

Akaashi overheard it all and forced himself to appear indifferent. It wasn’t his concern. He had to focus on studying. He had to let go of whatever foolish idea he’d clung to. He was a beta, not an omega.

But every time he heard someone else confess, his fingers clenched tighter around his pen, his jaw locked, and a dull ache settled in his chest.

And Bokuto—each rejection chipped away at his usual brightness. At first, he laughed it off, claiming he was too focused on volleyball. Then the excuses grew weaker. 

And weaker.

Until one day, he just shook his head and muttered a quiet, "Please… I’m sorry," that didn't sound like him at all.

Still, Akaashi distanced himself, and he knew Bokuto noticed the change.

Akaashi dodged touches that used to be natural before, finding reasons to keep space between them. Studying instead of afternoons together. Homework instead of practice during lunch. Excuses layered upon excuses, each one pushing Bokuto further away.

Bokuto, who had never known how to handle distance between them, tried reaching for him even more, but Akaashi pretended not to notice. Because if he did—if he allowed himself to believe, even for a second, that this changed nothing—then it will hurt that much more when Bokuto found the omega he’s meant to be with.

The years passed.

Bokuto had gone on to become a professional volleyball player, just as everyone expected. The explosive, unstoppable force he had always been in high school had only sharpened with time. His name was in headlines, his face on sports magazines, his plays analyzed in highlight reels. He had done exactly what he said he would do—what Akaashi had always believed he could do.

Akaashi had taken a different path. Editing suited him; it was quiet, methodical. He liked making things better, refining words into something stronger. But it was work. Endless, exhausting work. And no matter how much he did, no matter how much he sacrificed, it never felt like enough.

Being a beta made everything harder. Nobody cared. The city was flooded with stories, models, and pamphlets all about alphas and omegas, as if they were the only ones who mattered. Betas, though, were just... there—never special, never enough, always caught in the middle like they didn’t belong in a world that never seemed to care.

It wasn’t even a matter of discrimination—betas made up nearly 90% of the population. But that was the problem. They weren’t rare or fascinating like omegas, or revered and unexpected like alphas. They were background noise. Expected to work, function, cope. Not special. Not noticed. Just average.

The world coddled omegas. They were given extra time off when they needed it, ushered home early when they looked a little pale, excused from responsibilities with a soft smile and a ‘don’t push yourself too hard.’ If they made a mistake, it was brushed off as endearing, a little clumsy moment in their delicate lives.

Alphas, on the other hand, were praised for their excellence. They were strong, capable, natural leaders in every field. A mistake from an alpha was seen as a rare misstep, easily forgiven, because of course they would make up for it. When they worked hard, they were admired. When they took charge, they were respected.

And betas? Betas were expected to endure.

Akaashi barely looked up when a stack of papers landed on his desk. He already knew it was his boss even before he spoke.

“Yamashita had to leave early,” the older man said, as if that explained everything.

Akaashi sighed at the name. “She was supposed to finish proofreading this author’s manuscript yesterday.”

“She wasn’t feeling well. Her heat is coming up.” His boss said, not even bothering remembering she had been using the same excuse since she started working there.

Of course.

Akaashi’s fingers curled slightly against his desk, but his voice remained even. “I can’t finish it for tomorrow unless I postpone some of my own work, I’m already behind because Chidori-san was late this week with her manuscript.” He tried reminding his boss that some of his own authors were pending reviews.

His boss sighed like he was the one dealing with the burden. “I need you to actually put in the effort to be part of this company's team, Akaashi, not to make excuses.”

Akaashi glanced at the clock. It was already past seven. His head ached from staring at drafts all day, his back tense from sitting for too long. “I can do it if I postpone reviewing Ito-san’s draft…”

“Then stay late,” the boss said, as if it was not already late. “Betas always complain so much.”

Akaashi stayed silent.

Across the room, a familiar voice spoke up. “I’ll take it.”

Hirata, one of the company’s alphas, reached for the stack without hesitation. Akaashi saw the way his boss’s face immediately brightened.

“Now that’s what I like to see,” he said with approval. “Alphas are always so reliable.”

Akaashi said nothing as Hirata flipped through the pages with a confident nod.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hirata said, glancing at their boss. “I’ll get it done.”

Akaashi felt unable to summon honest gratitude to the alpha.

It didn’t matter if he pulled all-nighters, if he quietly carried extra work, if he stayed behind when everyone else left. A beta’s efforts were unremarkable. When an omega struggled, they were coddled. When an alpha stepped up, they were praised.

When a beta endured, no one noticed.

Akaashi ate dinner at his desk. The combini bento was mushy by the time he got to it, but he barely tasted it. His eyes burned from exhaustion, but there was still too much left to do. The office emptied out around him, first the omegas, then the alphas, until only a handful of betas remained. Silent, hunched over their desks, as if they had resigned themselves to being left behind.

By the time he finished, he had missed the last train.

He walked home in silence, passing closed storefronts, empty streets lit only by the glow of vending machines. The city had never felt so distant, like it wasn’t built for people like him.

His apartment was dark when he stepped inside. He didn’t bother turning on the lights, just dropped his bag by the door and collapsed onto his futon, face pressing into the sheets.

He closed his eyes.

How different would life have been if he had been an omega? If he had been smaller, softer, more fragile. If people had treated him gently, given him space when he needed it. If he had been able to say, just once, I can’t do this today—and have someone else shoulder the weight.

If his results had been different, over ten years ago.

If Bokuto had been his fated pair…

The thought came unbidden, settling in his chest like an ache. But it was useless to think about now. He exhaled slowly and let exhaustion drag him under.

Akaashi visited his grandmother over the weekend.

She greeted him warmly but wasted no time before sighing about how he was already "too old" for remaining unmarried. The words settled like stones in his stomach, heavy and unavoidable.

He had heard them his entire life—soft reminders masked as concern, spoken too often in the absence of actual understanding. Both of his parents were omegas. Their marriage had been the subject of whispers from the start—two omegas? Unstable. Unsustainable. Destined to fail. And eventually, it had.

By the time he was six, he had been living with his maternal grandmother full-time. Not out of cruelty, but practicality. His parents were kind, he remembered that clearly—but tired. Fragile in a way that never made it safe to rely on them.

And so, the unspoken expectation had always hovered: Don’t repeat their mistake. Don’t fall outside the lines. Don’t become another problem.

"Betas have more problems conceiving," she reminded him, as if he wasn’t already aware, as if he didn’t already know how different his life could have been.

She had started talking about omiai before they had even finished tea. "I’ve arranged a few meetings for you," she said, placing a neat stack of glossy photographs on the table. "All good girls, from respectable families. Sweet, gentle, and ready to start a family."

Akaashi picked up the first one. A pretty woman, smiling shyly at the camera. She looked soft. Delicate. Her hands were small, her shoulders narrow. He imagined her voice, polite and careful, her demeanor restrained. The next photo was similar. The next one, too.

And then his mind drifted to Bokuto.

Bokuto, whose hands could nearly wrap around both of Akaashi’s wrists with ease. Bokuto, tall and broad and loud in a way that filled the room. Bokuto, who never hesitated to pull Akaashi close, who radiated heat and energy and the kind of presence that couldn’t be ignored. And he was a guy, not a girl, a match that would produce no children. 

Totally unacceptable. 

He pushed those thoughts away, Bokuto was no longer in his life, he would be happy with his fated omega and Akaashi would be lucky to assist the wedding and be able to congratulate him.

His grandmother watched him closely. "Akaashi," she said, softer now. "I just want you to be happy. A good match will make your life easier. You work too much. It would be nice to have someone take care of you, wouldn’t it?"

Akaashi’s throat felt tight. He set the photos down. "I’ll think about it," he said, because it was the only answer she would accept.

By the time he left the house, his hands felt cold, clenched tight in his coat pockets.

And then, as if the day wasn’t already exhausting enough, he ran into his mother.

What was she doing here? The last time he had seen her had been almost two years ago, when she missed a family reunion last year.

He looked at her, small, almost fragile, her complexion thin and delicate, her hair black as his own, the same eyes… She descended from a car and waited silently for her new husband to park it before greeting him with a smile.

She had always been reserved, careful with her words, but now she laughed easily, warmth in her eyes as she spoke. Akaashi stood there, listening, feeling like an outsider in his own bloodline.

She had found her place. An omega with an alpha husband—stable, accepted, safe. It wasn’t the life she had when she raised him.

"Keiji! Oh my god, you’re so big!” She said, and Akaashi couldn’t feel a deep sting in his chest, because his own mother had barely raised him and treated him like a stranger. “You look well," she reached out to touch his arm. "How’s work? Are you eating enough?"

"I’m fine," he said, automatic, even as he glanced at her husband. He was tall, strong, a presence that took up space without trying. An alpha.

Just like Bokuto.

Happiness looked so simple for her. Being an omega, marrying an alpha—it was a path laid out so neatly, so effortlessly. She had found security, balance, a place in the world that didn’t fight against her at every turn.

And Akaashi? He would always be something else. Something outside of that tidy equation. Pushed to the side, left to live with his maternal grandmother to make space for his mother's perfect, fated, life.

He excused himself as soon as he could, not like he had much to talk with her, walking away with his thoughts spiraling, feeling even worse than before.

He walked quickly, hands deep in his coat pockets, the chill of the evening sinking deeper than just his skin.

It hadn’t always felt like this.

He remembered being younger, before the results came in, when everything still shimmered with possibility. When he used to imagine being special. Being claimed. Being wanted in that inevitable , undeniable way people talked about when it came to fated bonds.

Back then, he used to wonder what Bokuto's bite might feel like—not just the physical sensation, but the weight of it, the certainty of being chosen, marked, loved.

But when the results came— beta stamped clean and clinical across his file—something in him dulled.

It wasn’t disappointment, exactly. Not at first.

Just a kind of quiet resignation that settled deeper over time.

No more wondering. No more hoping. Betas didn’t get those stories. Betas weren’t the center of longing or destiny.

They worked. They endured. They found quiet, practical companionship—if they were lucky.

And ever since, everything had felt like less.

Duller. Quieter. Like all the brightness he imagined his life might have had—the kind that glowed in books, in stories, in dreams—had faded under fluorescent lights and office deadlines.

Even now, when he thought about a possible relationship, it was with restraint. It was with caution.

Because what was the point of dreaming about something you weren’t meant to have?

A couple of days later, on one of those rare days when Akaashi managed to leave work with only a couple hours of overwork, he been walking home, exhausted, his shirt disheveled already, tie loose, waiting on a crossing to get home, when he had ran into Bokuto in the city. 

I was as if destiny wanted to spit on his face after he had entertained the thought of him.

It was unexpected—Bokuto didn’t even live in Tokyo anymore. Akaashi had kept up with his career, of course. But he knew about the upcoming match, had seen the advertisements, the banners, the interviews, so… of course Bokuto was in Tokyo. But seeing him in front of him, in the middle of a crowded street, was something else entirely.

Until that moment, Akaashi hadn't realized how grey everything had felt. How dulled his world had become in the years without him. Work. Sleep. Repeat. It was all muted—until now.

“Akaashi?” Bokuto’s voice was full of surprise and warmth, his eyes lighting up instantly. “Akaashi! It’s been forever!”

Akaashi could only blink, momentarily stunned. Bokuto had always been handsome, but now—now he was something else entirely. The years had sculpted him into something sharper, more defined, but the brightness in his expression was the same, the same eyes Akaashi could barely say no to. And in person he looked even better than in ads.

“I—yeah,” Akaashi said, catching himself. “It has.”

Bokuto grinned, stepping closer, effortlessly closing the space between them. There was something in his eyes—hesitation, maybe. Like he thought Akaashi might turn and walk the other way. “I was just about to grab something to eat. Join me?”

Akaashi’s breath caught. He nodded before he could think too much about it. “Sure.”

They had sat in the small restaurant and it felt like no time had passed at all. Bokuto filled every silence effortlessly, talking animatedly about the upcoming match, about practice, about the guys from the team—Hinata, Atsumu, who was still as annoying as ever. He jumped between topics with that same uncontainable energy, his hands moving as he spoke, his voice deep and warm.

And Akaashi listened. Like he always had.

He nodded in the right places, made small sounds of acknowledgment, and let Bokuto’s voice settle over him like a familiar weight. It was easy, in a way. Familiar. But something about it felt distant too, like listening through a closed door.

The space between them had changed. They weren’t teenagers anymore.

“Akaashi?” Bokuto’s tone shifted—quieter now, more intent.

Akaashi glanced up. “Hm?”

Bokuto was frowning, searching his face. “You look tired. Am I bothering you?”

Akaashi blinked, caught off guard. “I’m sorry, Bokuto-san. I’ve just been doing a lot of overwork lately…”

Bokuto’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Then, before Akaashi could react, he reached across the table, his fingers barely brushing against Akaashi’s hand.

The touch was fleeting, nothing at all—and yet, it still sent a shock through Akaashi’s system. He felt it in his chest, in the pit of his stomach, a warmth that he had trained himself to ignore.

They used to touch like that when they were teenagers, soft, holding onto each other in silence…

“I’m worried about you,” Bokuto said, voice low, watching him closely.

Akaashi didn’t pull away, but he did glance down, as if considering the warmth of Bokuto’s touch. He let a beat pass before shaking his head. “I don’t know what you mean, Bokuto-san.”

“Konoha told me you barely answer his messages. Kaori and Yukie say you never make it to their get-togethers.”

“I’ve been busy,” Akaashi said, a little too quickly.

Bokuto gave him a sad smile. “You always say that…” And Akaashi knew it was because of all the excuses he had made to stop seeing him.

Akaashi didn’t answer. Because it was true. Because it was his fault.

Bokuto had texted, for months, even after Akaashi started making excuses. Even after Akaashi left messages on read, then unread, then stopped opening them altogether. And eventually, the messages had stopped. The calls had stopped. Bokuto had stopped. Because that’s what Akaashi had wanted.

Wasn’t it?

Bokuto leaned back, drumming his fingers against the table, a nervous energy flickering behind his smile. He forced a grin, but there was a slight tension to it. “Would you come to my next match?” he asked, almost too quickly. Then, his voice softened, tentative, “I really want you there, Akaashi. I… I miss your sets, you know?”

Akaashi huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m sure Atsumu is much better than I ever was.”

Bokuto pouted. “Technically, yeah, but it’s different… his sets are––”

“I’ll go,” Akaashi interrupted, shaking his head. “No need to sell it to me.”

Bokuto’s whole face lit up. “I have tickets!” He let go of Akaashi’s hand and rummaged through his fanny pack, lips pursed in concentration. “I, uh—Should I give you one or two?”

He was terrible at pretending he wasn’t fishing for something.

Akaashi didn’t hesitate. “Just one.”

Bokuto blinked, glancing up at Akaashi, his eyes searching him in a way that felt too personal, too vulnerable. He shifted slightly, an almost uncertain tension in his posture. “So… are you seeing anyone?” he asked, the question slipping out with a mix of hope and insecurity.

Akaashi’s gaze softened, and he didn’t pull away. “You can ask, Bokuto-san,” he said evenly. “I’m not seeing anyone.” He took the ticket when Bokuto offered it. “As I said, I’ve been busy.”

Bokuto’s expression flickered, his lips pressing together in an attempt to suppress a smile.

Akaashi exhaled, not sure why he said the next part. “My grandmother has been pressuring me into omiai lately. She says I’m already too old to be single and… that I should give her great-grandchildren while I still can.”

The words sat between them, heavier than he expected.

Bokuto’s mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but Akaashi cut him off before he could.

“It’s fine,” he reassured quickly, unwilling to let the moment get too serious. “I understand where she’s coming from. Betas have more trouble having children, and I’m sure she’s just thinking about what’s best for me.” He tried to smile, but it felt weak, like something hollow in his chest.

Bokuto’s expression didn’t ease. He hesitated, as if weighing whether to say what was on his mind. “Have you… ever wanted kids?”

Akaashi stared at the table, caught off guard. He had never truly considered it. There had been a couple of flings in college—nothing serious, nothing lasting. And before that, when he was young, wrapped up in Bokuto’s orbit… no. He had never thought that far ahead.

“I don’t think I ever thought about it seriously.” Akaashi admitted.

Bokuto nodded, like that made sense. Then, after a pause, he said, “I don’t want kids.”

Akaashi’s eyebrows lifted before he could stop himself. “Really?” The surprise in his voice made him wince. “I mean—I’m sorry for intruding, Bokuto-san, I just… I thought all alphas wanted children.”

Bokuto huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “It’s okay, Akaashi.” His fingers traced the rim of his coffee cup, his gaze lowered. He seemed to be weighing his words carefully now, the lightness gone. “I was the one who said it, I… I guess I’m just not like all alphas, maybe…”

The words hung in the air, heavy with a quiet vulnerability. It was a strange thing for Bokuto to admit, and Akaashi could see the way it made him uneasy, like he was unsure whether to retract or clarify, but he didn’t. He left it there, in the silence between them.

Akaashi opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just watched Bokuto, the weight of the admission pressing on both of them. There was so much more unsaid now, so much more than they could unpack in a simple café chat.

They left the café a little while later, standing just outside, lingering despite the cold. Bokuto shifted on his feet, glancing at the ground, rubbing at the back of his neck as if the discomfort of the moment was still fresh. The space between them felt thick with something unspoken, something they were circling but not quite saying aloud.

Akaashi felt the pull of the silence, the way it grew heavier with every passing second, until it almost seemed like the world outside had faded away, leaving only the two of them standing on the edge of something fragile. The kind of conversation they should’ve had years ago, the kind they had avoided for so long, was now creeping to the surface.

“So,” he started, voice lighter than before, but there was something underneath it. “What happened?”

Akaashi frowned slightly. “To what?”

Bokuto hesitated, taking a step closer, as if testing the space between them. His voice softened, but it still carried the weight of a question that had been buried for far too long. “To us.”

The words hung in the air, quiet but heavy, pressing into the space between them. Akaashi didn’t move back immediately. He met Bokuto’s gaze—those familiar eyes, warm and wide, always so easy to read. But the more he looked, the more the distance between them seemed impossible to bridge.

Without thinking, Akaashi took a small step back, almost imperceptibly. It was a motion so subtle, yet it felt like a gulf had opened between them.

Bokuto’s face faltered. His smile, which had been so persistent, faded, and for a moment, he looked lost.

“There was never an us,” Akaashi said, his voice quiet but firm. It felt like a cold, final line drawn in the sand.

Bokuto stared at him, searching for his expression with the same intensity he always had, as if he could find something to undo the years of silence. His shoulders dropped just slightly, the weight of the words settling on him, but his voice remained steady, almost too steady. “That’s not true.”

Akaashi didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Not to this.

The silence thickened between them, suffocating. Bokuto shifted, fingers twitching at his side, like he wanted to reach out but didn’t know if he could. His eyes flickered to the ground, then back to Akaashi. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he asked, his voice a little smaller now, as if trying to shield himself from the possibility of rejection: “Can I still see you? Just until I go back to Osaka? It’s… just a couple weeks. I’ll be gone in two weeks.”

He said it like it was a concession, like it would be a small thing, a temporary thing. But Akaashi could hear the vulnerability, the plea in his words, and it made something tight twist in his chest. It was almost like he was asking for permission, but not just permission to see him—he was asking for permission to still matter, even just a little.

Akaashi looked down, the weight of the request pulling at him. He didn’t want to make things more complicated. “Fine,” he said, the word slipping out before he could reconsider.

The silence that followed shifted again. Bokuto’s fingers twitched once more, but this time, he didn’t reach for Akaashi. He exhaled slowly, like he was trying to steady himself. “Do you still have the same number?” he asked, almost hesitantly, as though afraid that even that small thing might have changed.

Akaashi paused, his mind drifting back to the past, to the messages left unread, to the days that stretched into months. But then, he nodded, the answer escaping him almost automatically. “Yes.”

Bokuto’s exhale was slow, measured, like he was releasing something he’d been holding in for far too long. A small, lopsided smile curved his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “See you around, then?”

Akaashi nodded. He couldn’t find the words to say what he wanted to, and part of him wasn’t sure if he even should. He took a breath, and before he could look back, he turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last.

Chapter Text

Over the next few days, Bokuto kept pushing to be a part of Akaashi’s life, showing up at every turn. The next day, a casual text pinged his phone: “How’s work?” It was simple, but Akaashi barely answered, his response clipped and tired.

Then, there was the follow-up: “I’m nearby, wanna grab dinner?” Akaashi turned it down, exhausted, replying with a quick, “Busy.”

But Bokuto didn’t stop.

The next day, it was a "How’s everything?" then another "Do you have time for lunch?" Akaashi didn’t answer immediately, but by the end of the day, another message from Bokuto appeared: “I’m near your work. Thought I’d grab you some coffee. Meet me in ten minutes?" And Akaashi, unable to bring himself to keep rejecting him, had reluctantly agreed, his heart weighed down by the inevitable tension of their every exchange.

It didn’t stop there. In just three days, Bokuto had noticed the exhaustion in Akaashi, the way his responses came slow, more clipped, like he was stretching himself too thin. He caught on to the constant mention of combini bentos, the way Akaashi would eat alone in the office long after everyone else had left. Without asking, Bokuto decided that he was going to make sure Akaashi didn’t have to face it alone anymore.

The first time he showed up outside Akaashi’s apartment, he was holding up a paper bag of food, like a triumphant delivery man on a mission.

"I didn’t order anything," Akaashi said flatly, his tone as tired as his body felt, eyeing the bag with more confusion than interest.

"I know," Bokuto grinned, unfazed, leaning against the doorframe. "But I thought you might be too busy again, so I got us dinner from that place you mentioned last time. You mentioned you had been wanting to try it but couldn’t. Well, now you don’t have to make time for it! I thought it’d be nice, y’know?"

Akaashi frowned. "Bokuto-san, how do you even know where I live?"

Bokuto hesitated, then gave him a sheepish smile. "Konoha might’ve told me…"

Akaashi sighed, rubbing his temple.

"Don’t be mad at him! I told him I just wanted to make sure you were eating properly. And, uh, I might have asked Yukie too. Just to be sure."

So he’d asked multiple people.

Akaashi hesitated, caught off guard by the persistence in his voice, by how easily he was pushing past every barrier Akaashi had tried to set. Just like always , he thought. Bokuto never listened when Akaashi told him no. But this time, it felt different—more insistent. His smile was bigger, his eyes shining with unspoken hope, like he couldn’t even fathom Akaashi saying no to him again.

He opened the door. “Come in.”

And it didn’t stop there. Every day after that, Bokuto found ways to slip into Akaashi’s life, to force himself into the small cracks of his routine desperately.

“ I’m nearby. Can I come by?”

“ I’ve got us lunch. You’re too busy to leave the office, right?”

“ I’m going for a run, want to join?”

Every time, Akaashi had a reason to refuse: “ I’m tired” “I worked all night” “I can’t”. But each time, Bokuto came back with the same wide grin, relentless as ever, like he was daring Akaashi to push him away one more time.

And each time, Akaashi let him in. He shouldn’t, but he did.

Maybe it was easier to let Bokuto in, knowing it was temporary. Knowing that in just a few days, Bokuto would be gone, leaving Akaashi with the familiar, empty silence that always followed the end of every fleeting connection. But somehow, it felt less lonely than the dullness that filled his life every other day.

But it hurt too, in a way that Akaashi couldn’t explain. Knowing that these moments—these little flashes of color in his otherwise gray existence—would fade away, and he'd be right back where he started.

And yet, even as that thought lingered in his chest, he couldn’t bring himself to say no when Bokuto texted again, asking if he wanted to grab a late-night snack. The hole in Akaashi’s chest grew heavier each time Bokuto asked, but it was still easier to say “yes” than face Bokuto when he used to say “no”.

It started to become a habit. An unwanted, persistent habit.

Bokuto would drop by unannounced, usually with food in hand, pulling him away from his screen for five-minute breaks whenever he could. Even if those breaks were brief, Bokuto was always there, pushing him to stretch, reminding him that he needed to take care of himself. He said it with so much enthusiasm, like it was a mission.

“You’ll feel so much better after this, I promise,” Bokuto would say with a grin, dragging Akaashi out of his hunched position. “You can’t keep working all day like that, Akaashi. You’ve got to stretch. You’re too young for back pain.”

Akaashi could only nod, too tired to argue, even though he wondered where Bokuto found all this energy. Every day after practice, Bokuto showed up at his apartment, choosing to spend his time dragging Akaashi out for breaks instead of resting or being with his teammates. Sometimes, Akaashi caught himself wondering if Bokuto was running on sheer willpower just to keep his promise to see Akaashi.

“It’s nice, kinda familiar,” Bokuto had answered once, as they stood in the cramped living room of Akaashi’s 1LDK apartment, both of them grabbing quick snacks before Akaashi went back to working. “Besides, I have to go back to Osaka after this weekend’s game, and I’ll still get to see the guys then, but you live in Tokyo, Akaashi. I don’t know when I’ll be able to catch up with you again after that.”

Akaashi didn’t know how to respond to that. He hadn’t expected Bokuto to be so… consistent. He thought they would probably see each other a couple of times, not each day. But Bokuto wasn’t letting up.

And somehow, it didn’t stop there.

One evening, after an especially long day at work, Akaashi stepped out of his office, looking forward to a quiet evening at home. But there, in the lobby, was Bokuto—grinning at him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Akaashi froze.

Impossible.

"Bokuto-san?" he said slowly, his voice trailing off in disbelief. "Why… are you here?"

Bokuto’s grin didn’t falter. He stood tall, completely unfazed by the dozen pairs of eyes locked onto him, his presence undeniably larger than life. "Thought we could eat when you finished with work, but you weren’t answering your phone, so…" He shrugged, completely casual.

Akaashi barely had time to process it before people started swarming, coming over to ask if they could get Bokuto’s autograph or if he was planning on sticking around for the evening. The lobby was quickly filled with excited chatter, and Akaashi, caught in the middle of it all, could only watch as Bokuto became the center of attention, effortlessly drawing the eyes of everyone around them.

"Wait, is that—?"

"No way! It’s really him!"

"Can I get a picture?! Please—just one!"

Akaashi tried not to let his growing frustration show, but the reality of it hit him all at once—Bokuto wasn’t just popping in for quick visits. He was choosing to be here, in his life, whether Akaashi liked it or not.

Bokuto noticed the growing unease in Akaashi’s eyes and gave him a knowing look. "Thought we could eat when you finished with work, but you weren’t answering your phone, so…!"

The office erupted.

People who barely acknowledged Akaashi on a normal day were suddenly energized, swarming around Bokuto like moths to a flame. Laughter echoed through the lobby as coworkers he barely knew started chatting Bokuto up like they were old friends—snapping selfies, shaking his hand, tossing out praise like confetti.

And, inevitably, the attention shifted.

“Akaashi,” someone gasped, eyes wide. “How the hell do you know Bokuto Koutarou?!”

“He’s your friend?!” another blurted out, practically vibrating. “You’ve never mentioned this!”

Akaashi kept his expression carefully neutral, though irritation simmered just beneath the surface. He didn’t have the energy for this. Not tonight.

“I don’t talk about my personal life at work,” he said simply—truthfully—but it didn’t stop the flood of questions.

Even his boss eventually drifted over, eyeing Bokuto with amused curiosity and clear approval before turning to Akaashi with a raised brow, as if this unexpected guest somehow said something flattering about him.

"You never mentioned you had such impressive connections," he said, amused. "You could learn a thing or two from him."

Akaashi just sighed, too tired for this.

"Maybe spending time with such an accomplished Alpha would be good for your character."

The same old comment.

The words weren’t unfamiliar. He had heard them before, or variations of them. The comparison was always there, spoken or unspoken—alphas excel, betas are nothing compared to them.

It was the same at work. If an omega coworker made a mistake, it was excused—" She’s got a heat coming up, cut her some slack. " If an alpha volunteered to take on extra work, it was admired—" What a reliable guy. "

But when Akaashi worked through the night? When he carried the weight of entire projects without complaint? It wasn’t impressive. It was expected.

He didn’t need the words to feel the hierarchy pressing down on him.

Next to him, Bokuto stiffened. His usual easy grin faltered, the light in his eyes dimming for the first time since he’d arrived. He blinked, clearly thrown, then turned toward Akaashi, brows furrowed in concern. “Akaashi?” he asked softly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right—or couldn’t believe it was being said in front of him.

Akaashi didn’t look up.

“I, uh…” Bokuto hesitated, shifting uncomfortably as the older man kept talking. “Actually, Akaashi was—”

“Enough, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi cut in, sharper than he intended. He hated how sincere Bokuto had sounded. Hated even more the way something tight and aching unfurled in his chest just hearing it. “I still have work to do. I can’t meet with you today. Please go home.”

“I’ll wait for you!” Bokuto said brightly, unfazed.

Akaashi sighed, rubbing at the space between his eyes.

His boss, ever the opportunist, perked up instantly. “Of course! Why don’t you wait in the lounge? Much more comfortable than the lobby,” he offered, already gesturing for someone to escort Bokuto away. “My daughter’s just around the corner—she’s a huge fan of yours. Such a sweet omega, very devoted! I’m sure she’d love to meet you.”

He said it like it was nothing. Like matchmaking an omega daughter with a famous alpha was just another part of the job. Like Bokuto’s status made it acceptable to talk about him like some prize to be claimed.

Akaashi didn’t move, didn’t say a word. He didn’t have energy to untangle the knot of embarrassment and quiet resentment building in his chest.

Eventually, he made himself breathe, focused on finishing the last round of drafts. When he finally glanced at the clock, it was well past office hours. But luckily, the trains were still running.

He made his way to the room where Bokuto was waiting, but slowed when he heard voices drifting through the door—one of them unmistakably Yamashita’s, soft and syrupy.

“Oh, come on, Bokuto-san,” she was saying with a playful lilt. 

“Please, I’m not…”

“Do you perhaps have an omega waiting for you back home?” She asked, softly. “Or are you the kind of Alpha who enjoys the chase?”

Akaashi’s steps faltered.

“Uh—nope. Nope, not at all,” Bokuto replied, his voice high and tight, nothing like his usual warm tone. “Not interested.”

There was a rustle, the sound of movement.

“Are you sure?” Yamashita pressed, teasing and persistent. “You don’t have to be shy. I’m sure a strong Alpha like you—”

“Whoa—” Bokuto interrupted, and there was something panicked in his voice now. “Nope. Nope. That’s—uh—super inappropriate, actually. Please step back—”

The door creaked as Akaashi pushed it open.

What he saw knocked the breath out of him more than the words had.

Bokuto stood with his back half-turned, one hand braced between him and Yamashita, the other covering his mouth and nose like a barrier. His shoulders were rigid, drawn up high, his eyes wide and glassy. Not angry. Not even flustered.

Distressed.

It wasn’t the kind of discomfort that came from teasing—it was the kind that lived in the body, the kind that stayed long after it ended.

And Akaashi remembered.

He remembered high school. The confessions in the hallway. Omegas slipping love notes into Bokuto’s locker, cornering him after practice, pleading with him to give them a chance—despite his polite refusals. Despite the way it made him shrink, fold in on himself, retreat behind a smile that never quite reached his eyes.

“Please don't harass Bokuto-san.” He had said, but despite the fact that his words were measured, his tone was not.

Bokuto turned instantly, dropping his hands. “Akaashi!” he said, voice full of relief. He all but darted past Yamashita, making a beeline for Akaashi’s side for refuge, hiding behind his back, his hands grabbing Akaashi’s shirt and pushing his nose against his shoulder.

Yamashita pouted. “I was only teasing,” she said lightly, but the look she gave Bokuto… like he was the one in the wrong, didn’t slip Akaashi.

“If you do it again I will report you to HR.” And yes, it was a threat. Then he looked over towards Bokuto. “Bokuto-san,” he said flatly. “I'm already finished. Let’s go.”

Yamashita moved her hand like she no longer cared. “You’re no fun,” she sighed, and didn’t push further.

Akaashi didn’t respond. He just opened the door wider and ushered Bokuto out with him.

They walked down the hallway in silence.

The tension clung to Bokuto like static, each of his steps a little too fast, his shoulders drawn in tight, his hands shoved deep into his pockets like he was afraid of what they might do if he let them move.

Only once they turned a corner—out of sight, finally alone—did Bokuto exhale. He rubbed a hand down his face, fingers lingering at his jaw.

“Well, that was awkward,” he muttered, forcing a short laugh. It didn’t sound like him. Not really. His voice was too quiet, too unsteady beneath the words.

Akaashi glanced over, sharp eyes catching everything Bokuto was trying to hide: the tension in his jaw, the restless flick of his eyes, the way he was biting the inside of his cheek.

“Are you okay, Bokuto-san?”

“Yeah. Totally,” Bokuto replied quickly—too quickly. That smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Akaashi didn’t ask again. He just reached out, gentle but firm, and steered Bokuto towards the break room. The office was nearly empty now—only the hum of machines and the faint clatter of a distant keyboard somewhere beyond.

Inside, the room was quiet. Safe.

Akaashi went straight to the vending machine, fished out coins, and pressed the buttons with familiar precision. A soft clunk. A bottle rolled into the tray—white tea, no caffeine. He handed it to Bokuto without a word, then guided him to one of the chairs and waited until he sat.

“Deep breaths,” Akaashi said softly, crouching just enough to meet his eyes.

Bokuto blinked, confused. “What are you doing, Akaashi…?”

“Helping you out of a panic attack,” Akaashi replied, steady and calm. “Come on. Deep breaths. You’re okay.”

Bokuto's eyes opened wide in surprise, his hands tightening around the bottle.

“I…” Bokuto tried, but Akaashi grabbed the bottle and put it aside, grabbing Bokuto’s hands now, holding him through it.

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” he assured him. “Breathe with me.” Bokuto held onto Akaashi’s hands hard, and he obeyed this time, taking a deep shaky breath. One, then two, until it no longer felt like panic was crawling up his spine.

“Thank you,” Bokuto said, when Akaashi finally let go of his hands.

“No, I should be the one apologizing,” Akaashi said quietly. “Back in high school—I never helped you, I never stepped in. I should have.”

Bokuto looked at him.

“I knew how uncomfortable it made you. The confessions, the attention. But I still just… watched. Pretended like it wasn’t my place. That was wrong. I wasn’t a very good kouhai.”

Bokuto’s expression shifted—surprise first, then something softer, something almost hurt. But not at Akaashi. He shook his head almost immediately, not in disagreement—but like the idea itself was absurd. “You were too good with me,” he said, quietly. “That was the problem.”

Akaashi blinked, startled. “What?”

Bokuto gave a small, wry smile, not quite looking at him. “I was never a perfect alpha. Not the way people expected. Too loud, too emotional, always messing up. But with you beside me, no one ever noticed. You kept me steady. Covered the parts I didn’t know how to manage.”

He laughed softly, without humor. “People looked at me and thought, There’s a reliable alpha. But really, it was always you holding the team together. Holding me together.”

The words settled between them, raw and honest.

“You weren’t just good, Akaashi. You made me better.”

Akaashi let out a soft laugh. “You know that’s not true, Bokuto-san. People must’ve seen your good sides—your strength, your drive, your heart—”

“They didn’t,” Bokuto cut in quietly. “You did.”

Akaashi blinked, caught off guard.

“They didn’t know anything about me,” Bokuto continued, voice low but steady. “Not really. Those omegas at school… they didn’t want to know me. They just wanted what they thought an Alpha was.”

Akaashi was quiet for a moment, then said, “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it? That’s how confessions usually go. People start out not really knowing each other, and then… ‘let’s start as friends,’ right?”

His tone was flat. Unimpressed.

Bokuto frowned, lips tugging downward, brows furrowing in a way that was almost comically childish. There was something vulnerable in it too—something painfully human that no one who only saw him as “the MSBY Jackals Ace” or “an Alpha” would probably ever imagine.

Akaashi looked at him for a beat, watching that expression—the pout, the way Bokuto’s eyebrows furrowed like he was trying to hold something in. It was too open, too raw, and something shifted in Akaashi’s chest.

He got up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect anything like that to happen. Yamashita-san usually leaves early—uses her omega status to clock out before everyone else. I didn’t think she’d still be here, let alone…” he trailed off, rubbing at his temple. “I should’ve guessed. I’m sorry, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto frowned, gaze softening. “Akaashi…” he started, but Akaashi waved it off and turned towards the elevators.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

They walked in silence through the nearly empty halls, the hum of fluorescent lights above them the only sound. When the elevator doors opened, they stepped inside, and Akaashi glanced at him again.

“You were covering your nose,” he said quietly. “Like you were shielding yourself…”

“Huh? Oh—yeah.” Bokuto scratched his cheek, avoiding his gaze. “I just… sometimes scents are overwhelming.”

Akaashi raised a brow. “Really? I’ve been told Yamashita-san’s scent is supposed to be pleasant.” He said mildly. “I’m surprised you didn’t like her scent. Though I’m not one to talk—I can’t smell her.” He shrugged.

“I guess,” Bokuto muttered. Then he hesitated, glancing down at his shoes. “I mean… People might say it is. But I’ve never liked omega scents. Any of them, really. They’re just… too sweet, like entering a bakery or something like that, but way more intense, like… perfume made of pastries.”

Akaashi blinked. “Really?”

Bokuto scratched the back of his head, hesitating for just a second too long. “I… huh, I think I’m just… I don’t know.” Bokuto said. “Kuroo says omega’s smell good,” he added.

Akaashi looked at Bokuto worriedly. “That… sounds like something you should maybe talk to a doctor about.”

“I did,” Bokuto admitted. “They said everything was fine. That I just need to find the right omega. But…” He hesitated. “I know it’s more than that.”

Akaashi glanced at him sideways. Bokuto looked uncharacteristically uncertain, hunched slightly, as if making himself smaller. It was a side of him very few probably got to see.

“Please don’t tell anyone, okay?” Bokuto added. “The press would have a field day if they found out ‘MSBY’s Alpha Ace’ feels nauseated at omega scents.”

Akaashi’s expression softened, caught off guard by the trust. “Of course not.”

Bokuto chuckled weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe I’m just… wrong.”

“Don’t say that.” The words came quickly, firmer than Akaashi intended. Then, more measured: “Please.”

Bokuto shrugged. “It’s fine, I prefer it, actually.” Bokuto admitted. “I just never understood the whole ‘fated pair’ thing. Everyone talks about it like it’s this magical bond, but it just feels… fake to me. Like a shortcut around real love.” He looked over at Akaashi. “This way… it feels like I can choose whom I love.”

Akaashi didn’t answer right away. They stepped out into the cool air, the noise of the street easing the heaviness between them.

“I saw my mom the other day,” he said. “Her new partner’s an alpha. She looked… happy. Lighter. She looked like she had finally found the missing piece in her life, so… it can’t be all a lie.”

Bokuto frowned, shoving his hands in his pockets again. “Yeah, but wouldn’t you rather be with someone because you chose them? Not because of some scent or biology telling you to?”

Akaashi watched him, unreadable. “I’m a beta, Bokuto-san, it’s not… it’s not like I can aim for a fated pair.”

A pause. Then he nodded towards the restaurant across the street.

“Let’s eat here. I heard their yakiniku’s good. And I could use a beer.”

Bokuto looked like he wanted to say something more—his mouth opened, then closed. Whatever it was, he swallowed it down.

“Y-yeah! I’m starving,” he said too brightly, marching ahead like he needed the distraction.

Akaashi followed silently. He didn’t say it aloud, but deep down, the entire conversation left him unsettled.

Ever since he’d gotten his second gender results… nothing had felt like it fit right anymore.

The next time Bokuto tried to reach Akaashi, he didn’t get an answer. His messages piled up—dozens of them, each more frantic than the last—until finally, a single reply came through:

___________________________________________

From: Akaashi Keiji
To: Bokuto Koutarou
Sorry, sick today, can’t meet.

___________________________________________

Bokuto immediately called, and it took several tries before Akaashi finally picked up. His voice was hoarse, weak.

“I’m really sick, Bokuto-san…” he croaked, as if that would be enough to make Bokuto drop it.

“Did you eat today? Do you have medicine? I’m gonna get you everything you might need.” Bokuto’s voice was firm, unwavering, but there was also worry in it.

“It’s really not necessary…” Akaashi tried, but he already knew it was useless.

“Akaashi Keiji . I’m going to your place to take care of you. ” Bokuto’s tone left no room for argument. And knowing him, he was absolutely capable of throwing the door down if he refused. So he sighed and agreed. Less than an hour later, his doorbell rang.

Dragging himself out of bed took all of Akaashi’s remaining energy. He shuffled to the door and cracked it open. Bokuto stood there, two large plastic bags in hand, eyes scanning him with a frown that only deepened.

Akaashi could only imagine what he looked like—pajamas rumpled, hair in every direction, skin flushed from fever.

“Shit, you don’t look very good,” Bokuto muttered, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “I mean you sound sick on the phone, but you look even worse.”

“Thank you for the commentary, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi deadpanned, moving aside.

Bokuto kicked off his shoes and stepped into the compact apartment like he belonged there. It was a clean, quiet space—typical of a 1LDK layout. The living room, dining area, and kitchenette were all part of one open-plan room, bathed in soft natural light from a sliding window to the small balcony. Shelves lined one wall, neatly stacked with books and a few modest plants—well-kept, like everything else in Akaashi’s life. The air smelled faintly of cedar and coffee.

The bedroom was just a step away behind a sliding door—bare, save for a low futon and a bookshelf stacked with books and manuscripts. A single framed photo sat by the bed: Akaashi with his parents, from some family trip long past. Akaashi didn’t look 

Bokuto dropped the bags on the low table and immediately got to work—pulling out sports drinks, fever medicine, a cooling patch and some jelly.

“Alright, bed. Now. ” Bokuto pointed towards the bed.

“I don’t—”

“Nope.” Bokuto had already started steering him in that direction. “I’m sure you’re burning up, and I’m not letting you stand around like this.”

Too tired to argue, Akaashi let himself be guided into the bedroom. He collapsed into the futon, the familiar weight of his comforter pulling him down like gravity. Bokuto adjusted the blankets, then pressed a cool pack against his forehead. Akaashi sighed, too tired to even thank him.

“See? Feels better already.” Bokuto grinned, looking far too pleased with himself.

Akaashi hummed in agreement, eyes fluttering closed.

He expected Bokuto to just sit next to him, maybe scroll through his phone or hum some dumb tune—but instead, he heard the rustle of bags, then the sound of water running in the kitchen.

Too drained to ask, he let himself drift, the fever pulling him under.

At some point, the scent of miso soup began to fill the apartment. Dishes clinked. Water splashed. Cabinets opened and closed. Bokuto was moving around like he belonged there—quietly, gently, taking care of things that Akaashi didn’t have the strength to do himself.

It was… nice.

Strange, too. Being taken care of, for once.

His phone buzzed under his pillow, waking him up. Akaashi groaned and reached for it, squinting at the screen. His boss.

He hesitated but picked up. “Hello…?”

“Akaashi, are you going to finish the proposal?” His boss’s voice was clipped, irritated. “We need to present it first thing tomorrow morning. You think they’re gonna care if you’re sick? Yamashita-san’s in heat, we need everyone to pick up the slack so she doesn’t feel like a burden.”

Akaashi closed his eyes, rubbing at his temple. “I… I’ll have it ready.”

“You better do. A lot of people are depending on that proposal. Don’t let them down.”

“I understand,” he said quietly.

The line went dead. His boss had hung up.

When he looked up, Bokuto was standing in the doorway, one hand on the frame. His brows drawn tight with concern.

“You can’t take the day off?” he asked, voice low.

Akaashi let his head fall back against the pillow. “I’m not an omega,” he mumbled, barely louder than a breath. The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Bokuto flinched like the words physically struck him.

He stepped closer, uncertain, visibly upset. “Do you want me to talk to your boss? He seemed to like me last time, maybe I can—”

“Don’t.” Akaashi cut him off, lifting a hand weakly. “He only liked you because he thinks he can marry off his omega daughter to you. If you’re not interested—and I know you’re not—then don’t encourage it. Trust me, it won’t do your image any good.”

Bokuto’s mouth opened like he might argue, but nothing came out. His jaw tensed. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

The silence stretched, charged with something unspoken.

Then, quietly—almost too quiet—he said, “I trust you more than anyone, Akaashi.”

His voice cracked just a little on the last word. Like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, or maybe hadn’t realized how true it was until it left his lips.

Akaashi turned towards him, sluggishly, blinking through the fever haze. Bokuto looked... small . Smaller than an alpha was supposed to be. His shoulders hunched like the weight of the room was pressing down on him. Like watching Akaashi, sick and still being pushed, made him feel useless. Angry. Afraid .

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said, his voice soft now. “It’s okay. You don’t have to fix it.”

“I want to,” Bokuto whispered.

And the honesty in it—it was like a confession all on its own.

Akaashi let out a humorless laugh, staring up at the ceiling. “Sometimes, I wonder why I’m not an omega like my parents…” He confessed.

Bokuto kneeled next to the futon, looking at him with a mixture of sadness and something else—something deeper. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just… tired,” Akaashi said, closing his eyes.

Bokuto knelt beside the futon, his brows drawn, gaze tender with something that felt like grief—or maybe longing. “You work harder than anyone I know, Akaashi,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “You shouldn’t have to be an omega to be treated kindly.”

Akaashi turned his head, slow and heavy. He watched Bokuto’s face—the sincerity there, the ache. He wanted to say something, to explain the frustration wound up in his chest, the way it felt like fighting gravity every single day. But the fever was tugging at him again, pulling him under like deep water.

His voice was barely a whisper. “Thanks for taking care of me, Bokuto-san.”

There was a pause. Then:

“Always,” Bokuto murmured.

Sleep folded over him like a heavy blanket. At some point, in that liminal space between waking and dreaming, he stirred.

Warmth lingered at his side. A quiet rustle. A breath that wasn’t his.

And then—so faint it might have been memory or fevered imagination—he felt something soft against his hair. Heard a voice, low and reverent:

“You smell so good, Keiji.”

Akaashi didn’t move. Or maybe he couldn’t. His thoughts swam in slow circles, unsure if he’d actually heard it or simply dreamed it, a flicker of memory from years ago—of sweat-soaked uniforms, of summer air, of a boy who never stopped giving everything he had.

By the time he truly woke, the worst of the fever had broken. His skin was clammy, the room dim and quiet. He sat up slowly, dazed.

Bokuto was asleep under the kotatsu, his long limbs awkwardly tangled, one arm below his head. He looked uncomfortable, but he hadn't left Akaashi's side. On the table, a meal sat covered—porridge and steamed vegetables—all carefully arranged, as if waiting for him to feel like eating again.

Akaashi stood, legs still a bit shaky, and sat down to eat in silence. The soft hum of his laptop screen casting a glow across the room as he checked his inbox. Unsurprisingly, there it was.

___________________________________________

Subject: Proposal Status?
From: Matsunaga Satoshi
I expect the proposal on my desk by
morning.

___________________________________________

He stared at the screen for a long second, then exhaled without emotion. No surprise. No anger. Just… resignation.

He got to work.

Bokuto didn’t stir until dawn was starting to crawl across the window. He groaned quietly, shifting beneath the kotatsu, eyes squinting as he surfaced from sleep.

“Akaashi?”

“Good morning, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto sat up, ruffling his hair. He blinked up at him, eyes still soft with sleep. “Shit, I passed out. Are you feeling better?”

Akaashi buttoned the cuff of his shirt. “Much better. Thank you for everything.” He nodded towards the kotatsu. “I ate the food you made. It was really good.”

A sleepy grin pulled at Bokuto’s mouth. “Yeah? You liked it?”

“I did.” Akaashi replied, voice quieter now. “I’m sorry I worried you so much you felt the need to come take care of me… I don’t usually get so sick I can’t even stand.” He stepped over, reaching for a spare key. “You’re probably late for practice already. Here—when you leave, just drop this in the mailbox.”

Bokuto took the key, but his brows furrowed. “You’re heading to work already?”

“I can’t miss another day.” Akaashi’s voice was measured, like he was trying to convince himself it was just routine. “There’s a deadline.”

Bokuto looked at him for a long, long moment. Something in his eyes flickered—an emotion Akaashi couldn’t quite name. Like he was trying to say something he’d swallowed for years. Like it still hurt.

“Alright,” Bokuto said finally. “Be careful, yeah?”

Akaashi nodded once and turned to grab his coat, but paused in the doorway. For a second, he hesitated—just long enough to feel the weight of the silence behind him.

He wanted to say something. Or maybe do something.

Reach out. Touch Bokuto’s hair where it was sticking up, the way he’d once teased him back in high school. Sit beside him and pretend they were still fifteen, curled on the gym floor after practice, sweaty and laughing like the world would never change.

But that was the problem.

The world had changed. They weren’t those boys anymore. And whatever they’d almost had back then—whatever this was now—felt too complicated to name out loud.

“Thank you again, Bokuto-san,” he said instead, more distant than he meant to sound.

And then he left.

By the time Akaashi arrived at the office, the buzz had already settled into a low, constant thrum. End-of-month tension was thick in the air—phones ringing nonstop, the sharp clatter of keyboards, coworkers speaking just a little too fast, a little too loud. It was the kind of chaos that blurred together after a while.

He placed his bag by his desk and logged in without a word. His inbox was full. No surprise there.

Before he could get through more than a couple emails, his name was called.

“Akaashi. My office.”

Matsunaga barely looked up when he entered, already irritated, already moving on.

"You picked a great time to get sick," he said. "Deadlines don’t wait."

Akaashi didn’t respond. He simply placed the printed proposal on the edge of the desk.

After a glance, Matsunaga waved it off. “Hirata already did it.”

Akaashi nodded once and left the room without a word. He had no energy to fight.

Back at his desk, he worked in silence. His fever had broken, but his body still felt drained, his limbs heavy. It was as if the weight of the past few days had sunk into his bones, quietly anchoring him to the spot.

Around him, there were murmurs. At first, he didn’t notice them—just the usual office noise, he thought. But there was something else to it. People glancing his way, conversations softening when he passed.

He didn’t have the strength to care.

It wasn’t until hours later—long after the sun had set and only a few coworkers remained—that he heard it clearly, drifting from around a corner as he turned down the hallway.

“…reeked like an alpha earlier. Like freshly marked kind of strong.”

“No kidding. I thought Akaashi was a beta?”

“He is!”

“Huh?! I thought he was an omega if he reeked like alpha…”

“Ugh,” a third voice chimed in, voice dripping with derision. “I hate betas who keep alphas from their omegas, like they don’t even care that we need them biologically.”

“True.”

“Maybe it was the guy who came to pick him up the other day! What was his name?”

“Oh! He definitely had that energy,” someone snorted.

Akaashi stopped short, still hidden from view.

Had Bokuto marked him or something? Was it because he had stayed at his house? He tried to smell himself, but he couldn’t sniff a thing.

After work, he decided to go to the hospital to get some meds for his cold. He couldn’t spare to get sick again.

The hospital was quieter than expected for this time of day, but the sterile scent of disinfectant still clung to the air, mingling with something sharper—the underlying presence of too many people cycling through the same halls, leaving traces of their existence behind. Akaashi ignored it as he checked in at the front desk, offering his insurance card with a brief, polite nod. The receptionist barely glanced at him before gesturing to the waiting area.

It didn’t take long before a nurse called his name, leading him down a white-tiled hallway to a private examination room. He sat on the stiff medical bed, posture straight despite the exhaustion weighing him down. It was only a few minutes before the doctor entered—a middle-aged woman with sharp, assessing eyes behind thin glasses.

“You’re Akaashi Keiji?” she confirmed, glancing at the tablet in her hand.

“Yes.”

She nodded, scanning through his file. “You’ve been feeling unwell, correct? Symptoms of fever, fatigue, difficulty concentrating?”

“More or less.” Akaashi kept his tone neutral.

The doctor made a small sound of consideration as she swiped through the screen. “With your age and your family history, these could indicate the onset of a heat.”

Akaashi exhaled quietly through his nose, already anticipating where this was going. “I’m a beta.”

The doctor barely looked up. “But your records indicate that both of your parents are omegas…”

“They are.”

“You were classified as a beta at sixteen?”

“I was.”

She scrolled further, her expression shifting slightly as she looked over Akaashi’s history. “You took a second gender test at eighteen.”

“And again at twenty,” he said before she could. “As you can see, the results were the same each time, I’m a beta.”

“I see.” The change was subtle, but Akaashi caught it—the soft tilt of her shoulders becoming straighter, her tone more neutral. The quiet curiosity in her eyes faded as she set the tablet aside. “Well, in that case, it’s most likely overwork. Your vitals are stable. I recommend a few days of rest, plenty of fluids, and light meals.”

Akaashi had expected this, but the shift in her demeanor was still too obvious. Moments ago, she had been prepared to diagnose him with a heat cycle, likely about to offer a long medical exemption for work. But now that she knew he was just a beta—an overworked one, but still just a beta—he was simply another patient with exhaustion.

“Should I be concerned about the fever?” he asked, more out of obligation than hope.

“Probably stress-related. If it doesn’t break completely by the end of the week, come back.”

Akaashi didn’t bother pointing out that ‘not pushing himself too hard’ wasn’t exactly an option. Instead, he simply nodded, expression unreadable. “Understood.”

She tapped a few notes onto the tablet. “I’ll write a note for two days’ medical leave. If symptoms persist, we’ll reevaluate.”

She handed him the slip without further comment, already half-focused on updating his file as he stood. Akaashi took it, slipping it into his bag with a quiet, polite, “Thank you.”

By the time he stepped out of the hospital, the sky was already dark. The fresh air was a relief, but it did nothing to ease the weight in his chest.

Two days. That was all.

___________________________________________

From: Akaashi Keiji
To: Bokuto Koutarou
I went to the hospital. They told me to take a
few days off to recover properly. Thank you
again for taking the time and coming to take
care of me.

___________________________________________

The message sent with a quiet chime.

But Bokuto didn’t respond.

Akaashi didn’t let himself dwell on it.

When he returned home, the apartment was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that felt heavier after being filled. Bokuto was gone, as expected. The spare key had been left in the mailbox, just as instructed. Akaashi retrieved it on autopilot, slipping it back into its drawer like nothing had changed.

But it had.

He stepped inside, and the absence hit him harder than he expected. No footsteps echoing faintly from the kitchen. No off-key humming drifting from the bathroom. No warmth spilling into the small space where Bokuto’s presence had settled so easily, so uninvited.

Akaashi shook his head, as if that might scatter the lingering scent of miso and laundry detergent and the way Bokuto had smiled at him when he thought Akaashi was asleep.

He was getting too close again.

They both were.

He needed space. Something else to focus on— anything else.

And there was also the upcoming match. He’d promised to go. He should be looking forward to it, but lately, being near Bokuto had started to make something inside him ache. A tight, confused ache he couldn’t explain.

He sat down beside the kotatsu, the cushions still faintly indented where Bokuto had fallen asleep the night before. For a fleeting second, Akaashi let the thought slip through: A late heat. A late presentation.

But he shut it down just as quickly.

It was impossible.

Chapter Text

The stadium was already loud by the time Akaashi arrived. Chatter echoed off the concrete walls, kids waved flags, and vendors shouted over the noise. It wasn’t his first time attending a pro match, but somehow, the atmosphere always surprised him—how alive it all felt. The energy in the air was buzzing, a low thrumming excitement that only grew as the seats filled up.

Somewhere in the distance, a group of kids screamed in unison, chanting their favorite players’ names. Banners swayed above every section, some professionally printed, others clearly homemade—bold characters declaring support for the MSBY Jackals or individual players, some even glittered with meticulous care.

As Akaashi made his way to his assigned seat, the buzz of the crowd rolled over him in waves—laughter, shouting, the blare of announcements echoing across the PA system, the thud of warm-up balls being slammed into the court.

And yet, even with all of that pulsing around him… he felt strangely at home.

He scanned the seats, half-expecting to just sit down unnoticed—and then—

“ Keijiii! ”

He barely had time to react before he was being hugged, squeezed between two overly enthusiastic figures. Kaori and Natsuki, Bokuto’s sisters.

“Wha—?”

“Look at you!” Natsuki cried, grabbing his face with both hands like an overexcited aunt. “You’re so big now!”

“So handsome too!” Kaori chimed in, ruffling his hair before pulling him into a hug of her own.

"And still so pretty! Just like when you were little."

"Where have you been? "

“What have you been doing?”

“You never visit anymore!”

“We missed you so much!”

“What are you even doing these days?”

“Are you working already? It’s been, like, years!”

Akaashi blinked, flustered, barely catching a breath as their voices piled up, overlapping like a verbal avalanche. For a moment, it felt like he was fourteen again, sitting awkwardly at Bokuto’s house while the entire Bokuto clan smothered him with snacks and too much affection.

He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed it.

“What did Bokuto do?” Kaori suddenly asked, eyes narrowing. “He didn’t tell us anything!”

“Yeah! Did you two fight?” Natsuki leaned closer, suspicion all over her face.

Akaashi raised his hands in surrender. " We didn’t fight. " He reassured them.

"But you stopped hanging out!"

“I just—” he exhaled, voice steadying, “I realized I wasn’t good enough to go pro like him. So I had to focus on school. On being more… responsible.”

They didn’t look fully convinced, but before Kaori could press him any further, Natsuki’s nose twitched slightly, and she frowned. "Wait a second..."

Kaori caught on a second later, eyebrows lifting. "There’s no scent . "

Akaashi just gave them an apologetic smile.

Natsuki’s lips parted slightly in realization. "You’re—"

"A beta," Akaashi finished for her, voice calm. "Not an omega."

Kaori didn’t say anything at first, just exchanged a glance with Natsuki. Neither of them looked particularly surprised, just... thoughtful.

"You never mentioned—" Natsuki said, after a beat. But Kaori cut her before she elaborated further.

"It didn’t seem necessary," Akaashi replied. "It doesn’t change anything." 

But it did, it changed everything .

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "Let’s just focus on the match."

Natsuki leaned back in her seat, still watching him out of the corner of her eye. "Fine," she said, after a moment. "But after this, you’re telling us everything. "

Akaashi sighed again. Bokuto had walked him straight into a trap.

They sat and turned their attention back to the court—just in time for the music to build, and the announcer’s voice to echo through the stadium like a thunderclap:

“And now, let’s welcome the MSBY Jackals!”

The crowd exploded.

And Akaashi didn’t have to look. He could feel it—the moment Bokuto stepped onto the court, his presence loud and unmistakable. Charisma radiating. Shoulders squared. That same, wild grin on his face.

Kaori leaned in, whispering just loud enough for only Akaashi to hear:

“He always looks for you first.”

And true to her words, Bokuto’s eyes scanned the stadium looking for him, smiling.

The match started with a roar from the crowd, and the energy in the stadium was electric. Akaashi sat back, barely reacting to the noise, while beside him, Kaori and Natsuki were already on their feet, waving banners with Bokuto’s name on them.

" GO MSBY!! " Kaori screamed.

" CRUSH THEM, KOU!! " Natsuki added, practically shaking with excitement.

Akaashi exhaled a breathy laugh. This was going to be loud.

The first set started at a blistering pace. The MSBY Jacklas were up against a strong team, one with solid defense and sharp counterattacks, but it was clear from the beginning that they weren’t ready for the speed at which the MSBY Jackals played.

Atsumu set the rhythm of the game. His sets were fast, sharp, and nearly impossible to predict, shifting between long tosses to Bokuto on the left and lightning-fast quicks to Hinata in the center.

Hinata, despite being smaller than the other middle blockers, was a problem for the opposing team. He moved like physics didn’t apply to him, appearing at just the right moment, and every time he went for a spike, he jumped ridiculously high before hitting the ball.

One set stretched long—fast, back-and-forth attacks, defenses scrambling on both sides. Hinata, mispositioned for a spike, decided to touch the ball like Bokuto had taught him so many years before, sending it high. It was a chance ball.

Atsumu was already waiting. He grinned, making it obvious he was going to toss to Hinata again— a bluff. The second the blockers jumped for Hinata, Atsumu whipped the ball to the left instead.

Straight to Bokuto.

The opposing blockers realized too late. Bokuto launched himself into the air, arm pulled back, his presence impossible to ignore.

Kaori grabbed Akaashi’s arm in excitement. " HERE IT COMES—! "

“HIT THEM WITH THE CHAIR, KOU!!!” Natsuki screamed, despite there being no chairs in volleyball. Was she… was she into wrestling ?

Bokuto spiked the ball down so hard it echoed through the court.

Point. MSBY Jackals.

The stadium erupted.

Kaori and Natsuki could hardly contain themselves, bouncing up and down with joy, squealing as they hugged each other tightly. Their matching shirts with Bokuto’s name and number were proudly on display, and their banner waved high, a blur of excitement and energy.

" YES, KOU!! THAT’S MY BABY BROTHER!! "

" NOBODY BLOCKS MY BROTHER, YOU HEAR ME?! "

Akaashi pressed his fingers against his lips, hiding a smile. He had expected them to be loud, but this was something else. The energy was contagious and he felt a sense of familiarity, a feeling he had thought forgotten.

The game continued. The other team adjusted, managing to catch up slightly in the second set, but the MSBY was relentless.

Hinata was everywhere. He didn’t just attack—he was an absolute menace on defense, covering impossible angles and making saves that should’ve been out of reach.

Atsumu’s setting was impossibly good . He toyed with the opposing blockers, making them second-guess every move.

And Bokuto? Bokuto was unstoppable. With every set he received, he hit harder, faster, his confidence soaring. When the match hit its final set, he was practically glowing —grinning wildly, eyes sharp, every movement filled with the kind of certainty that only Bokuto could carry.

The final set was fast. The MSBY Jackals had a match point. Atsumu received the ball and set it high— for Bokuto.

Bokuto launched himself into the air, his entire body coiled with power.

The blockers reached for him. Too late. They doubted.

His spike slammed into the floor, despite them trying to block him. Game over. The MSBY Jackals win.

The stadium exploded.

" YEAH KOU!!! "

" KOU, YOU’RE A BEAST!! "

Akaashi let out his laugh as Kaori and Natsuki screamed beside him, inevitably.

Bokuto, standing in the center of the court, threw his arms into the air, beaming, glowing with energy. Akaashi looked at him, and despite himself, he felt something shift inside him—something heavy, something nostalgic.

Bokuto was still Bokuto. Still brilliant. Still the same person who had once looked at him like he was the center of the world. The stadium was electric , still buzzing from the match, and Bokuto stood in the center of it all—grinning, glowing , sweat dripping from his hair, chest still rising and falling with exertion.

Then, like clockwork, he threw his arms up —

"HEY, HEY, HEY!!"

And the stadium roared the words back at him, voices echoing through the space.

But Bokuto wasn’t looking at the crowd. He was looking right at them. Right at his sisters, who were still screaming in celebration.

And then—at Akaashi.

Akaashi, who had remained still, composed, clapping politely as if he wasn’t sitting beside Bokuto’s most unhinged fans. Akaashi, who stood among the fans, so quiet.

Bokuto looked at him now, really looked at him, his golden eyes filled with so much raw, unfiltered affection that it nearly knocked the breath from Akaashi’s lungs. The sheer weight of it—of everything that had ever passed between them, of everything they had left unsaid—was overwhelming. Akaashi turned his head slightly, as if to escape it, but Kaori caught his wrist in an iron grip before he could so much as stand up.

"Oh no you won’t," she said, voice full of warning .

"You’re waiting for him," Natsuki added, deadly serious.

Akaashi frowned. "That’s really not necessary—"

"It is, " Kaori cut in, expression sharp. "You two need to suck it up and talk about it."

"He was miserable, Keiji," Natsuki said, her voice losing its playful edge. "You just stopped coming around. You stopped answering his calls. No explanations. And no matter how loud he got, how much he tried, he couldn’t reach you."

Akaashi’s throat tightened.

"He stopped smiling for real," Kaori added. "You know how scary that was? A Bokuto who smiles for the crowd, but not for himself? Not even for us?"

Akaashi didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because part of him had known.

He remembered the messages he never replied to. The photos Bokuto sent of dumb meals he made. The voice memos—loud, clumsy, always ending in a hopeful, “Call me if you can?”

And all the while, Akaashi had sat in his dorm room, working through the night, pretending he couldn’t hear his phone buzzing.

Kaori leaned in, voice softer. "Keiji… you don’t have to tell us what happened. We just want you both to stop looking so miserable."

Akaashi’s fingers curled slightly against his palm. Bokuto’s sisters had always treated him like family, smothering him with warmth in a way that made him feel like he belonged. And now, they weren’t just asking him to stay. They were begging him to stop running.

He let out a long, quiet breath.

"Fine," he said.

Natsuki clapped her hands together, triumphant. "Good. Now go wait for him somewhere he can find you."

Akaashi didn’t argue.

He slipped away from the cheering crowd, past rows of vendors selling team merchandise, fan clubs waving banners, kids with painted cheeks shouting Bokuto’s name. He didn’t need to look around. He already knew where to go.

There was a spot—just beyond the stadium’s loading bay––where the team buses waited. The players always exited from the back, shepherded by staff. He stood outside, watching the exit from afar, but not far enough that Bokuto wouldn’t be able to spot him. Or so he hoped.

He kept his hands in his coat pockets, just trying to not appear suspicious enough that someone might ask him to leave.

And so he waited.

Maybe they had spent too much time together those last few days. Maybe he was, again, getting too used to being near Bokuto. To the warmth. The gravity. The noise of him.

Wanting more than he should. More than he was allowed to have.

He knew Bokuto would take his time—showering, laughing too loudly, reliving every point with Hinata and Atsumu, maybe even recording something for his social media. Akaashi could almost hear it, picture the flurry of Bokuto’s gestures, the way he lit up with every breath.

Like back in high school.

Like it had never stopped. Like it had just been paused. Like some part of him had always been waiting.

Time passed.

He didn’t keep track. Then—finally—the heavy back doors swung open.

The team was filtering out in small groups. Coaches first, followed by Iwaizumi and other staff. Players came next, all still flushed with adrenaline, towels around their necks, jerseys half-tucked under travel jackets. They were laughing, teasing, someone already FaceTiming, someone else eating a protein bar while holding their gym bag.

And then Bokuto came out.

He was walking with Hinata and Atsumu, head thrown back in a laugh. A towel draped around his neck. His hair still damp.

And then his eyes met Akaashi and the world tilted just a little.

Bokuto’s steps faltered. His laughter caught in his throat. His whole face lit up—not the way he did for cameras or fans or teammates. This was different. There was a sharp inhale. A flicker of hesitation, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Then he lifted a hand—slow, unsure. Hopeful.

Akaashi didn’t move at first, like a moment pulled out of time, but then he also lifted his hand and that was all Bokuto needed.

He ran.

Like always. Like the boy who had always moved too fast, too loud, too much—but never without heart.

He ran and caught Akaashi in his arms, lifted him clean off the ground, laughing and breathless and shaken all at once, like his body couldn’t decide whether to cry or just hold on tighter.

Akaashi exhaled, soft against Bokuto’s skin, one hand gripping the collar of his jacket. His cheek pressed to the side of Bokuto’s neck.

“Congratulations on your win, Bokuto-san…” He whispered.

Bokuto’s breath caught. His fingers splayed across Akaashi’s back, holding him close. He didn’t let go. Couldn’t. “Keiji…” His voice was cracked, low. “I was so happy you came.”

Akaashi’s voice was quieter still, but full of something deep and old and real. “Of course I came,” he said.

Bokuto put Akaashi down, but he held onto his hand. Afraid that if he did let go, the distance between them would grow irremediably.

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Tried once more. “I—I don’t…” Bokuto struggled, gaze flicking to the team, the bus. “I don’t wanna say goodbye again. Not yet.”

He looked helpless.

And Akaashi—steady, quiet, tired to his bones—just nodded. “Me neither.”

“I’m staying at a hotel…” 

“It’s probably full of fans and the press waiting for the team,” Akaashi said, chuckling a bit.

“But…”

“Do you want to come to my apartment?”

That was enough. Bokuto nodded several times, like he couldn’t contain the excitement.

He glanced over his shoulder towards his teammates and gave a vague wave. None of them seemed surprised. Atsumu raised a brow but didn’t comment. Hinata grinned and elbowed him. It felt like they all knew. Like this was just something that had been waiting for to happen.

They slipped away from the stadium together, walking side by side to the main road without another word.

Bonito pulled a hoodie over his head and grabbed a mask from his bag, covering himself to try and grab less attention.

Once on the main road they picked up a cab. The ride to Akaashi’s apartment was quiet. Like both of them were holding something between their hands that neither wanted to drop. The city passed by in blurs of people and ads, and still, neither of them spoke.

But Bokuto’s hand was resting against Akaashi’s knee.

And Akaashi didn’t move it.

When they finally reached Akaashi’s apartment, they had barely stepped inside when Bokuto pressed him back against the wall.

His hands cupped Akaashi’s face, big and warm, his thumbs trembling where they touched his skin. Bokuto’s eyes were wide, full of hope and fear and something much older—something like longing. Like he still couldn’t believe Akaashi was really there. Like he thought, even now, Akaashi might still change his mind.

This was still just friends.

Akaashi didn’t answer with words. He just leaned in, pressing their lips together—because he had always wanted to. Because no one else had ever felt enough, real. Because Bokuto had always been the gravity pulling him forward, whether he admitted it or not.

Bokuto kissed him back with all the urgency of someone making up for lost time. Desperate. Clumsy. Breath hitching, hands roaming, years of restraint unraveling all at once. 

His hands found Akaashi’s waist, his back, his hair—every part of him within reach. Then he shifted, one leg pressed between Akaashi’s, and Akaashi felt it—felt him —hard and thick against his thigh, and— oh.

His breath hitched, sharp in his throat, all the air leaving his lungs.

He had known —academically—that alphas were big. But feeling it, knowing it with his body instead of his mind, slammed into him like a tidal wave. 

A part of him froze.

Not out of fear, not exactly, but something tangled—old insecurities, limits he’d built into the way he saw himself. What if he couldn’t—what if he wasn’t—

“S-sorry!” Bokuto pulled back so fast it was dizzying, eyes wide, panicked. “Shit—sorry, I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t trying to—”

Akaashi stood there, breath shallow, fingers still gripping Bokuto’s jacket like it was keeping him upright. He had imagined this a thousand times. Had wanted this. But now that it was real, now that the fantasy had become a weight in his hands, now that he could feel Bokuto hard against his thigh, now that the reality of it hit him all at once, he didn’t know what to do with it. 

He wasn’t an omega. His body wasn’t made for this, to open, to take it that way.

The hesitation must have shown on his face because Bokuto pulled back. “Hey…” Bokuto’s voice softened immediately, hands easing from Akaashi’s face to his shoulders. Not pushing. Just reassuring. “We don’t have to. We don’t need to. I’m just happy to be here, with you…”

Akaashi let out a shaky breath. Of course. Of course Bokuto would be like this. All that power, and still so gentle. Still so full of heart, even with his desire burning hot and obvious between them.

“Just let me have you however you’re okay with,” Bokuto whispered, forehead resting gently against Akaashi’s. 

Akaashi’s hands went to Bokuto’s face and he kissed him again, trying to ignore the lingering hesitation in his chest. He wasn’t an omega—he couldn’t just let Bokuto take his body, couldn’t rely on instinct to guide him through this, but…

“Let me just take a shower first…” he said, keeping his voice steady.

Bokuto looked at him for a second, before he nodded. “Yeah, of course.” He said. “I’ll just, uh… wait in the room.”

Akaashi nodded and stepped away, ignoring the way his skin still tingled where Bokuto had touched him. His body felt too warm, too aware, his nerves sparking under the surface.

He undressed slowly, fingers trembling as he folded each piece of clothing with a calm he didn’t feel. The bathroom light was too bright, the mirror too honest. He averted his gaze and stepped into the shower, letting the water run hot over his back as he tried to calm the racing of his heart.

They weren’t going to go all the way—not today, maybe not at all. But Bokuto was an alpha, so it would only make sense he would want to enter him, and just the thought itself was enough to make his stomach twist with nerves. He couldn’t bear the idea of being unprepared .

He had never done this before. Not sex. And especially not this .

With his heart thudding a little harder, he reached for the handheld showerhead.

He had read about it before, about how male betas needed to clean themselves before sex. How it made things easier and… way less messier.

Less dirty.

Because he wasn't an omega, he wasn't made for this.

He adjusted the temperature of the water and crouched slightly. Using his free hand, he guided the spray to his entrance and carefully let the water flow in. He clenched instinctively, then exhaled slowly, willing himself to relax.

It felt strange—uncomfortable, not painful, just awkward. His stomach twisted with the sensation, and his face flushed, but he kept going. The sensation made him flinch—it was strange, more clinical than sensual.

It was fine. It would be fine.

He repeated the process three times, the third time the water came out clean and he sighed, feeling ready. Or at least, less insecure.

When he stepped out, steam curling from the bathroom behind him, he wore only a towel around his hips, his glasses left behind in the bathroom.

In the bedroom, Bokuto was already waiting for him on the futon, sitting on it, his jacket and hoodie forgotten somewhere, just his MSBY Jackals shirt with his name on it, watching him with warm, eager eyes.

“I don’t have lube…” Akaashi murmured, voice quiet but deliberate. A warning—soft, but edged with realism. A reminder that there were limits, that some things would still need waiting.

Bokuto perked up immediately, eyes wide. “Huh? Oh! Sure, n-no problem!” he said, maybe too fast, too brightly. The way his voice cracked with hope made Akaashi huff a soft breath, the first sign of ease after so much unspoken tension.

Without saying anything more, Akaashi shifted closer. He dropped to his knees beside the futon, the soft creak of tatami beneath him barely louder than his breath. He moved slowly—deliberately—climbing into Bokuto’s lap, the futon dipping beneath their weight. His feet pressed against the tatami, his hands steady as they rested against Bokuto’s chest.

“Are you sure…?” He asked Bokuto. “A beta’s body is different from an omega’s…”

Bokuto just kissed him again, hands already gripping his thighs, mouth hungry against his. When Bokuto kissed down his neck, sucking just enough to make him shudder, Akaashi let out a quiet moan, gripping Bokuto’s shoulders for stability, his hands shaking slightly.

Bokuto suddenly pulled back, tugging his shirt over his head. 

Fuck.

He was— huge . Akaashi had always known—of course he had, Bokuto had been big in highschool—but now, seeing him like this, older, his chest broader, his solid arms, his well-defined abs and huge pecs… Bokuto looked like the embodiment of a Greek god. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it before Bokuto moved, gripping him under the thighs and flipping him effortlessly onto the futon in one smooth motion. He barely gave him a moment to catch his breath before his mouth was on him. Hot, eager, open-mouthed kisses trailing down his neck, pressing firm and wet against the flushed skin. 

Bokuto lingered there for a moment, breathing him in, before his lips found their way lower, parting over Akaashi’s chest.

His tongue flicked against a nipple—just once, just enough to make Akaashi tense. Then Bokuto sucked, slow and deliberate, until the bud hardened under the warmth of his mouth. Akaashi felt it—every flicker of Bokuto’s tongue, the scrape of teeth that sent a sharp jolt of sensation running down his spine. His lips parted, a soft gasp slipping out before he could stop it.

Bokuto hummed, the low vibration sinking into Akaashi’s skin, and moved to the other, dragging his tongue over the peak before latching on. This time, he sucked harder, lips closing around it, drawing a sharp inhale from Akaashi. The sensation was almost too much—too raw, too consuming—but Bokuto wasn’t stopping. He tugged gently, rolling it between his lips, just enough to make Akaashi whimper.

Akaashi’s hands found their way to Bokuto’s cheek, his hands insecure, his fingertips brushing against the skin trembling. Bokuto groaned at that, deep and low, like the feeling of Akaashi touching him spurred him on. He licked over Akaashi’s nipples, slow and wet, before pulling back just enough to blow cool air over the damp trail, making Akaashi shudder. His nipples ached, red and oversensitive, a stark contrast against the pale stretch of his chest.

Bokuto sat back for just a second, eyes dark, pupils blown wide, his breath coming in uneven pants. He traced a finger over the swollen bud, watching with something almost predatory as Akaashi twitched under the touch.

“Bokuto-san––” he gasped, chest rising and falling with each unsteady breath.

Bokuto latched on harder, sucking, teasing with slow, deliberate laps of his tongue, savoring the way Akaashi writhed beneath him. The heat between them was suffocating, sticky with sweat and the weight of years of pent-up longing.

Akaashi let out something between a sigh and a moan, hands slipping to Bokuto’s shoulders, gripping, pulling. He didn’t know if he wanted Bokuto to stop or never stop , if he wanted relief or for this to stretch on forever. All he knew was that he was unbearably hard, aching, his cock pressed against Bokuto’s stomach, throbbing with every pulse of pleasure that sparked through his chest.

Bokuto finally pulled back, lips slick, pupils dark and wild as he took in Akaashi’s state. His chest was heaving, nipples swollen and red, his hands still clinging to Bokuto’s skin like letting go would break him apart.

He licked his lips, breath heavy, before he leaned back down, pressing one last, slow kiss over the tender flesh.

“Bokuto-san— please ,” he pleaded, back arching slightly off the bed.

Bokuto pouted, but he finally gave Akaashi’s chest a break. Instead he pushed the towel away, Akaashi’s cock twitching slightly under Bokuto’s gaze. A deep flush spread over his chest, and he barely had a second to brace before Bokuto leaned down, licking at the tip, collecting the precum with his tongue, before pressing a soft kiss there.

Akaashi wanted to die of embarrassment, and then Bokuto turned him over, big hands gripping his waist, guiding him onto all fours. His breath hitched as Bokuto settled between his legs, spreading him open with firm hands, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his ass, kneading before pulling him apart.

And then Bokuto ate him like a man starved.

Akaashi’s arms gave out. His forehead hit the pillow, mouth falling open as a wrecked noise spilled out, one he hadn’t meant to make. His entire body jerked at the first press of Bokuto’s tongue, hot and wet as it dragged from the base of his balls all the way up to his rim. The sensation sent a sharp, electric shock straight to his core, his thighs trembling as Bokuto licked him again—long, slow, savoring every inch of him.

He squeezed his eyes shut. It was filthy, so filthy , and Bokuto didn’t hesitate for a second, didn’t pause —just groaned into him, breath hot against the flushed skin, like this was something he had dreamed of doing, something he needed.

“Bokuto-san—” Akaashi’s voice cracked as Bokuto spit on him, spreading the wetness with his fingers before flicking his tongue over his rim again, teasing, pressing lightly before pulling back.

Akaashi twitched , his hips jerking. The heat of Bokuto’s mouth, the slick slide of his tongue, the wet, lewd sounds filling the room—it was too much , but Bokuto didn’t stop. His hands spread Akaashi even wider, keeping him open , holding him there as his tongue flicked against the tight ring of muscle again, over and over until Akaashi was panting into the sheets, nails digging into the pillow.

Then Bokuto pressed in.

Akaashi choked on his breath, his whole body shaking as he felt the wet, insistent pressure of Bokuto's tongue pushing into him. He wasn’t an omega—his body wasn’t meant for this—but Bokuto didn’t care. He groaned against him, low and deep, like he was drowning in the taste, like he couldn’t get enough .

And then Bokuto pulled back, just enough to exhale against his slick skin, the heat making Akaashi’s stomach tighten.

“You’re shaking,” Bokuto murmured, voice thick, rough. He kissed Akaashi’s ass, then bit down softly, and Akaashi twitched . “So sensitive…”

Akaashi didn’t answer. He couldn’t . His entire body felt overheated, muscles tight, every little flick of Bokuto’s tongue sending new jolts of sensation rippling through him. He bit down on his own arm to stop himself from making too much noise.

And then, Bokuto licked his fingers. The slick, obscene sound made Akaashi’s stomach tighten. His breath stuttered, then a single, slick finger tracing circles over his rim, pressing, teasing, not quite pushing in yet.

Bokuto exhaled, long and slow.

“You’re so tight…” he muttered, voice tinged with a bit of worry, pressing a slow, careful kiss against the curve of Akaashi’s ass.

Akaashi should have said something at that moment, remind Bokuto that he wasn't an omega, that he needed to pause, that some things were not possible… But he just hid against the pillow, face burning.

And then Bokuto pushed in .

Akaashi tensed, fingers clenching in the sheets as the invasion hit him all at once. His body wasn’t made for this—wasn’t meant to take anything inside his ass, and it hurt , a slow, dull ache spreading through him as Bokuto’s finger sank in.

Bokuto stilled immediately, his free hand rubbing slow, soothing circles into Akaashi’s lower back, grounding him.

“Relax for me, Keiji…” he murmured, voice deep and coaxing. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss against the dip of Akaashi’s spine. 

Akaashi swallowed hard, forcing his body to relax as he let out a slow breath, feeling the stretch of Bokuto’s thick finger as it pressed deeper inside. Bokuto had told him they didn't need to go all the way, and yet…

Bokuto groaned low in his throat, like he was feeling so much. His other hand spread over Akaashi’s lower back, rubbing soothingly, grounding him as he carefully curled his finger, and…

Akaashi whimpered .

The sound made Bokuto pause. He took a shaky breath, his forehead dropping against Akaashi’s shoulder as his fingers flexed slightly against his skin. And then—his voice lower, rougher—he asked, “Keiji… is this your first time ?”

Akaashi’s breath caught. His face burned, ears going hot as he squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to deny it, to brush it off, to not make this a big deal. His fingers clenched in the sheets again, his body shaking from the overwhelming sensation of being stretched open, and after a long, humiliating pause, he gave the smallest nod.

Bokuto groaned . The sound was deep, guttural, like something had just hit him in the chest. His grip on Akaashi’s hip tightened, his whole body tensing behind him, and when he spoke again, his voice was wrecked, edged with something raw.

“Keiji,” he breathed, dragging his lips down Akaashi’s spine, his nose brushing the curve of his lower back. “Fuck… why didn’t you tell me?”

Akaashi buried his face in the pillow. “It didn’t seem important.”

“Didn’t seem—” Bokuto let out a small disappointment sound, disbelieving. “Keiji, are you serious…?”

Akaashi just curled his fingers deeper into the sheets, too mortified to respond.

Bokuto sighed —a rough, shaky sound, like he was trying to keep himself together. His finger inside Akaashi didn’t move, but his other hand smoothed up his back, over his shoulders, up to his neck, tracing slow, careful lines like he was memorizing every inch of him.

“God, why–-” he whispered, leaning in to press his lips to the back of Akaashi’s ear. “You’re killing me here…”

Akaashi swallowed hard, his body shivering at the low, husky tone of Bokuto’s voice.

And then Bokuto moved his finger again—slow, testing, pressing just a little deeper.

Akaashi gasped and Bokuto groaned against his skin. “You’re so fucking tight ,” he muttered, voice dropping even lower, his breath hot against Akaashi’s nape. Akaashi let out a shaky breath, his entire body trembling under Bokuto’s touch. It was too much—too intense, too overwhelming—the invasion burning, like a constant reminder of what he was not, but still he didn’t want Bokuto to stop.

Bokuto’s mouth was at his shoulder now, his teeth scraping lightly against the skin as he whispered, “Relax, just breathe through it…”

Akaashi hesitated, but nodded, face burning against the sheets.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he warned, voice gentler now, but thick with something dangerous —something hungry . And then he curled his finger. Akaashi gasped, his back arching, his thighs twitching as a strangled noise escaped his throat. He couldn’t help it—his body clamped down hard, everything inside him tightening as he tried to breathe through the sharp, dizzying sensation.

Akaashi tried , he really tried , but it was overwhelming, the pressure of Bokuto’s finger pushing inside his body, the sheer heat of the touch burning through every nerve in his body.

Bokuto moved, slow, careful.

Akaashi shook . Every shift of Bokuto’s finger sent new shocks of sensation spreading through him, his stomach tightening, heat pooling deep inside him. His cock throbbed between his legs, aching , over-sensitized from the heat curling through his lower body.

Bokuto knew . “God, Keiji…” he muttered, voice thick with awe, watching Akaashi tremble under him. “You’re really feeling this…”

Akaashi buried his face in his arm, mortified.

Bokuto bit his lower lip. He moved his finger, curling it slightly as they slid just a little deeper, and that was it.

Akaashi’s whole body tensed . A sharp, helpless gasp left his throat, his muscles going rigid before the tension snapped all at once—his back arching, his vision going white as pleasure crashed over him.

He came with a shuddering moan, spilling onto the sheets beneath him, thighs twitching, body wracked with aftershocks as Bokuto groaned in surprise.

“ Fuck —”

Bokuto hadn’t even touched him. Just his finger, just that last one deep press—and Akaashi had lost it completely.

He tried to catch his breath, but the shame hit him like a wave, heat rushing to his face, his body still trembling from the intensity of it, his legs gave in and he was on his stomach on the bed, hiding his face between his arms.

Bokuto, however, didn’t seem embarrassed at all. If anything, he sounded thrilled .

“Fuck, Keiji…” he groaned, his hands still holding Akaashi’s hips steady. His voice was wrecked, thick with something dark and hungry. “That was so fucking hot… I didn’t know you could do that.”

Neither did Akaashi, he had never come from his ass before.

Bokuto leaned down, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to Akaashi’s shoulder, his breath hot against his damp skin. His lips trailed up the curve of his neck, the place where his scent gland would’ve been if he had one, his tongue swiping over the sweat there before his teeth scraped , just enough to make Akaashi shiver beneath him.

Akaashi could feel his heart still pounding, his body aching in the aftermath, oversensitive and raw. He felt how turned on Bokuto still was, the heat of his body pressing into him, his breath uneven as his hips shifted slightly behind him—

And then he felt it . Heavy. Thick. Hard.

The thick weight of Bokuto’s cock pressing between his ass cheeks, sliding against his entrance. Akaashi froze , his breath catching in his throat, and before he could panic, Bokuto’s voice was back in his ear, low and soothing.

“Shh, don’t worry,” he murmured, kissing the back of Akaashi’s ear. “I’m not putting it in. Just—just let me…” His words broke off into a low groan as he rutted forward, slow and deliberate, grinding the length of his cock against Akaashi’s ass, dragging it up the cleft and pressing the head against his rim but never pushing in.

Akaashi shuddered .

He could feel it, the slick heat of Bokuto’s cock rubbing against his aching hole, teasing, nudging—but never entering. It was so much , the sheer size of it making his stomach twist with something caught between anxiety and arousal.

“Fuck,” Bokuto breathed, his hands gripping Akaashi’s waist, fingers pressing firm against his skin as he rolled his hips, sliding his cock over him again and again, using the tight press of Akaashi’s ass to get himself off. “You feel so fucking good, Keiji… just, fuck…”

His voice was wrecked, his breathing uneven, frantic , as he rutted against Akaashi, chasing the edge like it was dragging him under. One hand stayed planted on Akaashi’s hip, but the other gripped his ass—spreading him open, holding him there. There was no finesse left. Just need.

Akaashi bit his lip through the burn, muffling the sounds he made when Bokuto ground his cock between his cheeks again, the swollen head catching at his rim before dragging up slick and hot, trying to keep still, trying not to react to the sheer filth of it—to how much Bokuto was using him. It was obscene. Mindless. Raw. His breath stuttered against Akaashi’s skin.

“Gonna—fuck, Keiji—I’m—” Bokuto choked on the words. His hips jerked once, then twice—and then his whole body locked up.

And a moment later, Akaashi felt it.

The first spurt hit hot, sudden, a messy splash across Akaashi’s lower back. Then another. Then another. Bokuto groaned— loud —his whole body seizing as more of it spilled out of him, thick and uncontrollable, painting Akaashi’s skin, dripping between his thighs, his ass, all the way to his balls, soaking the futon underneath.

There couldn't be more. He thought he was done—tried to breathe through it, tried to pull back—but then another spasm wracked through him, forcing another hot gush out, more than should’ve been possible, and he whimpered , helplessly grinding against Akaashi as he tried not to lose it completely.

Akaashi could feel him shaking. Could hear the way Bokuto was trying to hold back—breath hitching, body tensing, muscles twitching with each release like his body wasn’t listening anymore. His forehead dropped to Akaashi’s back, and for a second he just clung to him, panting hard.

Akaashi was silent. Stunned. His whole body still ached, his mind struggling to catch up, to process the sheer filth of what they had just done—but all he could feel now was the sheer mess Bokuto had left on him. Between them. Beneath them. His heart pounded. His face burned, ears hot as he buried his face in the pillow, unwilling to acknowledge how insanely turned on Bokuto had been.

Bokuto tried to speak but couldn’t. Not at first. He swallowed hard, voice hoarse when he finally managed, “Shit—sorry—fuck, I didn’t mean to—” He pulled back a little, chest heaving, trying to hide the way he was still trembling. “It’s not usually—this much.”

But even as he said it, his cock twitched again, a small, helpless spill leaking onto Akaashi’s skin. He let out a slow sigh, dropping lazy kisses along Akaashi’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he murmured, sounding half-drunk on heat and affection. “That was… so good.”

Akaashi swallowed hard, still not trusting himself to speak. His throat felt tight, chest still rising and falling with the aftershocks. Bokuto shifted beside him on the futon, the sheets rustling softly. He moved slowly, deliberately, crawling forward until they were eye to eye. He paused there, studying Akaashi’s face like he was afraid of what he might find.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice low and thick with worry. “Was that too much?”

Akaashi hesitated. Then his hand lifted, fingers sliding into Bokuto’s hair with a gentleness he didn’t even realize he had. “It’s fine,” he said, though his voice was hoarse, the edges of it still uncertain.

Bokuto's expression was twisted with guilt—brows drawn, mouth parted like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. “I didn’t know it was your first time,” he whispered. “I didn’t—fuck. I let myself go. I should’ve been gentler. Controlled myself.”

Akaashi let out a quiet breath, carding his fingers slowly through the tangled strands of hair. “You were gentle,” he said.

“But it was your first time,” Bokuto said again, voice small.

There was something so painfully earnest about the way he said it—so open and unguarded—that it sent a twist through Akaashi’s stomach, a slow, aching pull beneath his ribs.

“It’s not like we even went all the way,” Akaashi murmured. “You don’t have to worry about it so much…”

Bokuto lifted his head at that, brows knitting in something close to heartbreak. “Are you serious, Akaashi?”

“Serious about what?” Akaashi asked, thrown by the sudden shift in tone.

“About it not mattering.” Bokuto looked at him, eyes wide and searching. “I know we didn’t go all the way, but… it still mattered to me. It was important. It was… special.”

Akaashi opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t wanted to dwell on it. Hadn’t let himself name what it meant. But being with Bokuto… it had felt special. He just didn’t know how to admit it without unraveling completely.

Before he could answer, Bokuto spoke again.

“Were you saving yourself?”

“What?” Akaashi blinked, caught off guard.

“For marriage,” Bokuto said, so sincerely it made Akaashi huff a soft laugh, incredulous.

“No,” he said gently. “I just never—” He paused, eyes lowering. “I never had the chance.”

Bokuto’s expression shifted, the concern softening into something gentler. “Oh,” he whispered. He stayed quiet for a beat, then let his head drop onto Akaashi’s shoulder. “I’m glad it was me,” he said quietly, his voice nearly lost against Akaashi’s skin.

Akaashi swallowed. His arms came up around Bokuto’s back, holding him a little tighter. The weight of him, the heat, his mere presence—he hadn’t expected it to feel like this. So real. So heavy and grounding.

He closed his eyes, not capable of saying more, not now.

They stayed like that, tangled and still, with nothing but the sound of their breathing and the occasional creak of the futon beneath them.

Akaashi could feel his heartbeat still racing beneath his skin. Slowly, his mind was catching up to what had just happened. He had come from just Bokuto’s finger. From barely anything. His body still trembled faintly, oversensitive and unsure of how to handle the aftermath of something so intense.

His breath evened out, he shouldn’t make a big deal out of this. “I should shower,” he murmured, voice back to its usual even tone.

Bokuto groaned dramatically, burying his face against the curve of Akaashi’s neck. “Nooooooooooo,” he drawled, tightening his arms around Akaashi’s waist. “Let’s stay like this a little longer. You feel so nice.”

Akaashi exhaled slowly. He could move. He should . But Bokuto was warm against him, all heavy limbs and steady breathing, and it felt… easy to stay like this for just a moment more. He let the silence stretch, listening to the sound of their breathing, the faint hum of the world outside. 

Then Bokuto spoke again, softer this time. “You called me Bokuto-san.”

Akaashi sighed, then, calmly, he said, “Did I?”

Bokuto huffed, nudging his nose against the back of Akaashi’s neck. “Yeah.”

“It’s your name.”

Bokuto made a deeply unimpressed noise.

Akaashi sighed. “What do you want me to say?”

“That you’re not gonna do that weird distancing thing again.”

Akaashi rolled onto his back so he could glance at him. Bokuto was staring, his golden eyes earnest, a little furrow between his brows.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do .”

Akaashi looked back toward the ceiling, pressing his lips together.

Bokuto shifted closer, bracing himself on one elbow to loom over him. His voice softened again. “Keiji.”

Akaashi closed his eyes briefly. “I don’t know how to do this…” He admitted, voice quiet.

Bokuto blinked. “Huh?”

Akaashi exhaled through his nose. “It was easier before,” he said. “When I thought I was—” He stopped himself, but it was clear where the sentence had been going.

Bokuto didn’t say anything right away. Then, after a long pause, he said, “That’s why you pulled away?”

Akaashi turned his head slightly, meeting his gaze.

Bokuto’s expression had softened—there was no anger, no frustration, just quiet understanding. “You thought I wouldn’t want you anymore?” he asked.

“No.”

Bokuto tilted his head.

Akaashi sighed, pressing a hand over his eyes for a second. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to want you anymore.”

Bokuto stared at him. After a moment he just let out a deep sight. “Keiji, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Akaashi shot him a mildly exasperated look. “Thank you very much, Bokuto- san .”

Bokuto groaned , hiding his face against Akaashi’s chest. “Don’t do that,” he mumbled into Akaashi’s skin.

Akaashi hesitated for half a second. Then, after careful consideration, he lifted a hand and set it gently in Bokuto’s hair, and Bokuto melted immediately.

Akaashi exhaled slowly, letting his fingers curl slightly into the strands.

“I thought I had lost you,” Bokuto admitted, voice quiet against his shoulder. “I thought you’d just—moved on. You didn’t want me anymore.”

Akaashi stared at the ceiling, his fingers still lightly curled in Bokuto’s hair. “I tried,” he murmured.

Bokuto stilled. Then, voice barely above a whisper, he asked, “Did it work?”

Akaashi closed his eyes for a long moment. “No.”

Bokuto let out a shaky breath, pressing his face against Akaashi’s shoulder like he needed the reassurance that this was real and that Akaashi was going nowhere. His arms tightened around Akaashi’s waist, holding him close.

Akaashi continued carefully running his fingers through Bokuto’s hair again, slow and deliberate. He could feel Bokuto relax under his touch, his breathing steadying. The silence stretched between them, warm and heavy with everything they weren’t saying.

After a moment, Akaashi murmured, “Are you really not disappointed?”

Bokuto lifted his head slightly, blinking. “Huh?”

Akaashi didn’t look at him. His gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling, tone calm, almost detached. “That we couldn’t go all the way.”

Bokuto’s brow furrowed. “What?!” His voice cracked slightly with surprise, as if the idea hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Akaashi finally turned to glance at him. Bokuto stared, stunned. And then—his expression shifted into a small, pouty frown.

“I’m not! It was…”

“You didn’t even got to put it in,” Akaashi said flatly. “I didn’t even suck you, you… kinda did everything.”

“Oh,” Bokuto said. “Sorry, I huh, I guess I got too excited, was that… bad?” He asked.

“I don’t know, I really don’t know what to expect,” Akaashi said quietly, voice measured. “Or rather, this is already… unexpected, as far as I could predict.”

Bokuto frowned, watching him. “What do you mean?”

Akaashi’s gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. His voice was clinical at first, detached like he was citing facts rather than sharing something personal. “Alphas and omegas are usually disappointed when they get intimate with a beta. Their bodies expect something different. There’s a lack of pheromones—something they notice, even if they pretend not to. And no claiming bite, no bond… Even if the love is real, biology is persistent.”

Bokuto didn’t interrupt, but his hands had stilled on Akaashi’s waist.

“You wanted to bite me, I noticed,” Akaashi added.

“I did not!” Bokuto complained. “I huh, I just, it felt good, didn’t it feel good for you too? I wasn’t trying to bite you bite you, I was… just, biting. Regularly.”

Akaashi sighed and went on, his tone still even, but there was something under it now—something bitter. “Most relationships with betas fall apart because of sexual incompatibility. A beta’s body just doesn’t match what an alpha or omega partner is wired to want. We can’t self-lubricate, can’t carry children, can’t bond in the way they’re built to crave. We can’t satisfy heats or ruts, we can’t offer anything instinctual to ease them either.”

He stopped, the weight of his own words settling between them.

“…Keiji,” Bokuto said, low and rough, cutting through the space between them.

Akaashi turned his head slightly, finally looking at him.

“I don’t care,” Bokuto said. His grip on Akaashi’s waist tightened, firm but not desperate—just enough to keep him there. “I don’t care about any of that.” He exhaled, voice shaking slightly. “I want you, please… being here with you, I'm so happy.” He swallowed, like he couldn’t find the words for it.

He stared up at him. “I guess it's fine, despite what might happen, I got to have you.”His expression was unreadable, but there was something soft in his eyes. “I’m happy too,” he admitted at last.

Bokuto let out a slow breath, his face breaking into something close to a smile. “Keiji, I love you,” he said. “I have always loved you. I know what I feel is real.” His voice faltered. “Please, don’t pull away again.” He swallowed. “I don’t think I can’t take it.”

Akaashi felt something tighten in his chest.

Bokuto’s voice softened. “I don’t care that we didn’t go all the way. I don’t care if we never go all the way.” His thumb brushed absently over Akaashi’s waist, grounding. “I just… I  don’t wanna lose you again.”

Akaashi swallowed hard. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, barely above a whisper, he said, “Okay.”

Bokuto blinked. “Okay?”

Akaashi exhaled slowly. “I won’t pull away.”

Bokuto let out a breath, like he’d been holding it for far too long. Then he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Akaashi’s forehead. “Good.”

For a beat, all was still. And then—almost sheepishly—Bokuto murmured, “Oh. Um… what about your omiai? You said your grandma was…”

“She only showed me pictures,” Akaashi replied, voice calm but a touch weary. “She hasn’t set up any formal meetings—at least, not that I know of.”

Bokuto’s brows knit together, a faint pout pulling at his lips. “But…”

“I’m going to tell her no,” Akaashi said before Bokuto could spiral. “I was never interested in it to begin with. Though,” he added, his voice dipping quieter, “I don’t think that ever really mattered.”

Bokuto’s frown smoothed, replaced with something warm and relieved. He wrapped his arms around Akaashi again, pulling him close, practically glowing with a dopey, crooked smile.

Akaashi let himself be held.

After a moment, his voice returned, softer now. “She’s going to be disappointed, though. I’m… not sure how she’ll take it. Not after my parents' marriage fell apart.”

Bokuto leaned back just enough to look at him. “Keiji…”

“I should really go shower now, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi said. “I think hot water could help with the soreness…”

“What?! Are you in pain Akaashi?! Did I hurt you?!” Bokuto jerked back slightly.

“It’s not unexpected. Betas aren’t biologically made to… bottom, so I anticipated some soreness.”

Bokuto glanced down at his own dick, still softening between his legs. Akaashi followed his gaze and he was glad that Bokuto was a shower and not a grower or he would really die because Bokuto was as big as an arm.

Bokuto pouted. “I’m sorry my dick is so big.”

Akaashi just sighed. Same old Bokuto.

Chapter Text

Bokuto moving in wasn’t exactly official. Not yet, anyway. But his things had taken over Akaashi’s apartment from one day to the next. Suddenly, his toiletries were in the bathroom, his protein powder on the kitchen counter, his sweatshirts on a drawer in Akaashi’s dresser, and his Nintendo hooked up to the TV. It happened so abruptly that Akaashi couldn’t even react—until Bokuto said something ridiculous like, “We should buy a bigger place together.”

“I’m still on this lease for at least a year,” Akaashi told him. “And you don’t even live in Tokyo, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto beamed at him. “Yeah, but I want to live with you, I love living with you.”

Akaashi exhaled. “It’s been two days.”

“And?” Bokuto shrugged. “I already love it.”

That was the problem, wasn’t it? Bokuto always loved everything at full intensity—jumping into things with his whole heart. It was easy to get swept up in, but Akaashi knew better, someone had to be the one being careful and thinking clearly.

The domesticity of it all was suffocating in a way that felt… nice. Bokuto making breakfast, clumsily plating their food. Coming home to a warm apartment, the sound of Bokuto’s voice filling the space as he yelled at a game. Watching TV together, their bodies fitting against each other in a way that shouldn’t feel so natural. Bokuto wrapping his arms around him from behind in the mornings, nuzzling into his neck before Akaashi shoved him off, pretending it wasn’t endearing. They had even gotten another futon and now the bedroom was totally cramped.

The next time Akaashi had to go to work, he kept his head down, hoping to pass through the day quietly. If people had thought he smelled like Bokuto last time, now it had to be unmistakable. His skin still tingled with the feeling of Bokuto’s lips on it, his scent was probably deeply set into him.

Thankfully, no one said anything outright. The day passed with the usual rhythm—emails, meetings, the hum of fluorescent lights—but as he waited beside the elevator at the end of the day, Yamashita-san stepped directly into his path.

She wrinkled her nose. “You reek.”

Akaashi blinked, adjusting his glasses with calm precision. “Excuse me?”

“Of that alpha,” she said, arms crossed tightly. Her voice was sharp, edged with something meaner than annoyance. “It’s obvious to everyone that you’re together.”

He sighed, expression carefully neutral. “Everyone seems like an exaggeration. Most of the employees here are betas—unless someone’s been spreading rumors, they wouldn’t even be able to tell.” He looked at her then, pointedly. 

“No need,” she snapped, whipping out her phone and shoving the screen towards his face.

The headline read: “Bokuto Koutarou’s Secret Lover? Fans Speculate After Post-Game Sightings.”

Below it was a grainy, zoomed-in photo of the two of them—Bokuto lifting him off the ground in that exuberant hug, then the two of them walking towards a cab, Bokuto’s hood up and mask hiding his face, but unmistakable him.

“That’s clearly you,” she said, though Akaashi’s face wasn’t even visible.

His stomach turned. He swallowed hard.

She scoffed. “Don’t get cocky.” Her gaze swept over him with something like disdain. “You know he’s going to get bored eventually. He’ll want an omega. It’s only a matter of time.”

Akaashi met her eyes, unflinching. “Is that what this is about?”

“Of course!” she snapped. “No alpha can fight their biology. He’ll leave you in the end. And you’ll be alone—with no mate, no one.” Her voice had risen, brittle with frustration. Her fists were clenched like it mattered to her—like she was speaking from personal fantasy, not logic.

Akaashi didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. There was something almost pitiful about it—how transparent her bitterness was.

Still, the train ride home was a blur.

He told himself to stay calm. That the article would pass, that online speculation would die out once there was no official statement. But his heart was hammering, too loud in his chest.

It wasn’t even the exposure that hurt the most. It was the guilt.

Akaashi’d always known it was possible. That one day, Bokuto might drift away. That was the reason he had tried to stay away from him in the first place. Because everything in his life—his parents’ ruined marriage, the quiet way betas were left behind—had taught him to expect that kind of ending.

But still. A quieter part of him, the part that instinctively reached for Bokuto even in sleep, believed otherwise.

If Bokuto had wanted someone else, he would’ve forgotten him long ago, he would’ve already settled with someone else. Someone kinder, cuter, more loving. Someone who didn’t leave his messages on read… an omega.

He had let go—just a little. Had let himself want, had leaned into Bokuto’s warmth for a single moment. And immediately, the world decided to dig into it. For touching something he shouldn’t.

How cruel, he thought, that the moment he finally reached back, finally allowed himself to feel good , it became something shameful.

And he also hadn’t expected someone to have already snapped photos of the two of them after the match. And yet, now Bokuto’s name was in articles now.

Akaashi had promised himself— he had sworn —he wouldn’t bring trouble to Bokuto’s life. Wouldn’t let the world drag him down for the sake of a relationship that wasn’t even public.

He didn’t even know if they were dating. They hadn’t talked about it. And now the whole country was speculating.

When he arrived home, the scent of something warm and savory reached him before he even opened the door. Inside, Bokuto was already in the kitchen, wearing nothing but boxers and a ridiculous apron, flipping vegetables in a pan.

“Hey!” Bokuto beamed, hurrying to greet him at the entrance like an oversized puppy.

Akaashi sighed, rubbing his temple. “Please don’t come to the door half-naked, Bokuto-san. The neighbors will see.”

“Let them see,” Bokuto grinned. “How was your day?”

“It was fine,” Akaashi replied, kicking off his shoes and tugging his coat off slowly. His shoulders sagged with the familiar weight of exhaustion, but with Bokuto waiting for him, it felt lighter than usual tonight.

“Really?” Bokuto asked, putting the spatula down and wrapping his arms around Akaashi in a full-bodied hug. “You seem a little down. Did something happen?”

Akaashi hesitated, arms hovering before resting around Bokuto’s waist. For a moment, he wanted to lie. To just sink into the heat of him, pretend it was okay—like they were a normal alpha/omega couple.

But instead, he spoke. “I saw the news report. The one with pictures of us.”

“Oh,” Bokuto mumbled, guilty. “I—I didn’t want to worry you.”

“So you knew,” Akaashi said, finally looking at him. His brow furrowed.

Bokuto looked down. “I mean, yeah… My Instagram’s full of comments…”

Akaashi felt a cold flicker of anxiety. “Have you replied to any of them?”

“No. Not yet, but—”

“Good,” Akaashi interrupted, exhaling in relief.

“Good?” Bokuto echoed.

“Yes. You can still say we’re just acquaintances.”

“Acquaintances?”

“Yes. Shut it down.”

“But we’re not acquaintances, Akaashi.”

“I’m concerned about your reputation.”

“W hat ?” Bokuto leaned back, looking puzzled. “Why would I care what they think?”

“Because,” Akaashi said, tired but firm, “They’re your fans, and alphas are expected to… fulfill a certain role in society. Especially someone like you. And a lot of people already think I’m selfish for keeping you from it.”

Bokuto frowned, like the very idea offended him. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not, I don’t want to be a problem, so please. Your coach is probably worried. What about the MSBY Jackals’ manager? Even Kuroo must be saying something.”

Bokuto looked like a child being scolded—one who didn’t want to listen.

“I didn’t ask to be an alpha…” he finally muttered, low. Then he turned his head away. “I could say it,” he muttered. “Say we’re just senpai and kouhai. But it would be a lie.”

Akaashi didn’t reply. He was too tired, and Bokuto’s words, as earnest as they were, couldn’t change the way society would look at their relationship. Or what he was.

“You’re going back to Osaka tomorrow, right?” he asked instead. “Do you have everything ready?”

Bokuto’s face shifted—sad, resigned. He looked down. “Akaashi… Why’d you have to remind me?” he murmured, complaining, but his voice cracked slightly at the end. Fear lived there.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said gently, cupping his face, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not pulling away again. I’ll be here, as long as you want me.” He promised.

Bokuto leaned into his hand, eyes closing like he was anchoring himself to the moment.

Akaashi looked at him, so tall and big, and yet so soft. Akaashi didn’t understand how he didn’t remember just how fragile Bokuto always was, always needing reassurance…

“Come on, let’s eat.” Akaashi said, finally taking off his jacket.

They finished cooking together, like they had done the past few nights. They ate together. Bokuto talked about training, animated and smiling, stealing bites from Akaashi’s plate. And then, like always, they ended up in bed—Akaashi beneath him, Bokuto's mouth warm on his skin, like he couldn’t get enough. Every night, he sought Akaashi’s heat like it was air. Kissing him until Akaashi was gasping, until the need was undeniable. Bokuto touched every part of him, kissed every centimeter like it mattered. Like Akaashi was precious.

It was never about Bokuto. Even the night before, Bokuto had taken him in his mouth and hadn’t stopped until Akaashi screamed, trembling, emptied and overwhelmed. His body was still marked with fading kisses. New ones blooming to take their place.

Bokuto had already made him used to one finger, careful and patient, giving Akaashi pleasure he hadn’t known he could feel. He never rushed. Never took without asking. Always watching Akaashi’s face for every reaction.

That night was no different.

“Shower, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi mumbled, face flushed.

“Akaa~shi,” Bokuto whined, pressing his hips forward, already half-hard, clearly not wanting to wait.

“Please,” Akaashi whispered, his voice dropping. “I’ll be quick.”

Bokuto groaned. “You always say that…”

Akaashi’s cheeks burned. “I’m sorry. I just—” He glanced away. “I need to prepare. I’m not…” His voice faltered, and then, steadier: “I’m not an omega. I have to prepare myself first.” There wasn’t any room to mess up, not when everything still felt so delicate. He wasn’t an omega. He couldn’t just… let things happen. He needed to make sure he wouldn’t mess things up.

Keep the fantasy a while longer.

Bokuto’s smile faltered, the heat behind his eyes dimming a little. “Akaashi, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted softly. “I just need a couple of minutes. Please.” He turned to leave, but Bokuto caught his wrist gently.

“I won’t touch you there,” Bokuto said quickly. “I promise. We don’t have to. I just want to be close to you.”

Akaashi paused, heart thudding.

“It’s not good,” Bokuto said, voice low and worried. “I looked it up. Doing that so often—it can really mess with your body.”

Akaashi’s shoulders tensed.

“I know you’ve been doing it every night,” Bokuto continued gently. “I didn’t want to say anything before but… please. You don’t have to. I don’t care if it’s messy. I care if it’s hurting you.”

Akaashi’s ears were burning. He looked away, hands clenched.

Akaashi shook his head. “You say that now. But the moment something goes wrong, if I mess up, if there’s—”

“I don’t care.” Bokuto said.

“You say that,” Akaashi repeated. His voice was shaking. “But what they sell you out there, omegas, they’re made for this, their bodies don’t have these kind of problems.”

“I chose you,” Bokuto said immediately. “ You. I know you’re a beta, I want that, I want all of it.”

Akaashi still didn’t look at him. His jaw was tight.

“I can put a towel underneath,” Bokuto offered, quieter now, tentatively. “I’ll clean everything after. I swear. I just… I think it might even feel better for you. If you weren’t sore from all the washing. I hate that you’ve been doing that alone.”

Akaashi exhaled slowly, like it hurt.

“I just wanted to not to mess up,” he whispered.

“I know,” Bokuto said, instantly. “Please, let us try…”

A long silence passed.

Then, quietly:

“But if it’s dirty,” Akaashi said, barely audible now, “we stop.”

“Of course,” Bokuto breathed. “The moment you want to stop, we stop. No matter what.” He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. “You don’t have to hide your body from me to deserve love,” he said. “I already love it. Just as it is.”

Akaashi nodded once, still not meeting his eyes. But he didn’t pull away. His voice was steady when he spoke again, even if it was quiet:

“Okay. We can try.”

And the way Bokuto’s face lit up—like he’d just been handed something sacred—made Akaashi’s heart ache a little.

Bokuto was warm and eager, he helped Akaashi into the bed with the same kindness and passion he always had. He undressed him slowly, teasing him, making him squirm and whimper until he was practically melting.

Akaashi was already a mess by the time Bokuto settled between his legs, his skin flushed, his chest littered with love bites. His nipples were red from Bokuto’s teasing, and his cock stood hard against his stomach.

Bokuto placed a towel underneath Akaashi and reached for the lube, coating his fingers before bringing his hand between Akaashi’s legs.

“I’m going to finger you now…” He said. The first finger slipped in easily. Akaashi sighed, the feeling was already familiar. His thighs tensed slightly, and Bokuto’s other hand found his leg, stroking in slow, grounding motions.

When Bokuto added a second finger, Akaashi’s breath caught. He inhaled sharply through his nose, breathing through the tightness.

“Does it hurt?” Bokuto asked, his voice quieter now, palm pressing gently over Akaashi’s lower stomach like he was holding him together.

“No… not really, it just… feels really intense,” Akaashi murmured. He threw an arm over his face, ashamed of how shaky his voice was.

“Is it a good intense?”

Akaashi just nodded, not trusting his voice anymore.

Bokuto’s fingers moved slowly and Akaashi’s body flinched. His movements were unhurried, coaxing. Gentle drags. Soothing friction. Over and over, just enough to keep Akaashi grounded.

But Akaashi seemed distant, like there, but not completely.

“What are you thinking about?” Bokuto asked, voice quiet. He leaned over slightly, watching his face under his arm.

Akaashi’s jaw clenched. “You, Bokuto-san…”

“What else?”

His breath hitched. “Taking you. I’m trying to—” He paused, brows drawn together. “I’m trying to make sure I can.”

Bokuto leaned in, brushing his lips against Akaashi’s knee. “Don’t think about that. Don’t think about whether you can take me or not.” He curled his fingers purposefully, rubbing gently against that spot inside that made Akaashi jolt, a broken sound slipping out of his mouth. “Just feel it. I want you to feel good. That’s the only thing I care about.”

Akaashi shuddered, thighs twitching, mouth open but wordless.

Bokuto leaned between his legs. “Let me make you feel good, Keiji…”

And then his mouth closed around Akaashi’s cock, warm and wet and slow. Akaashi gasped, the sudden feeling nearly overwhelming. Bokuto sucked gently, his fingers moving slowly, deep and intimate.

Akaashi couldn’t think anymore. Not with the heat of Bokuto’s mouth around him, not with those fingers inside him, touching him just right. He was trembling, writhing, bucking his hips forward without realizing it, and then—

His release came like a wave, stealing his breath and his thoughts both, and still Bokuto didn’t stop. He held him steady through it, through the aftershocks, gentle and unwavering, until Akaashi’s legs gave out and he collapsed against the sheets, boneless and spent.

Finally, Bokuto pulled back, wiping his mouth and reaching for a tissue to clean his hands. “See?” he said softly, almost smug but impossibly tender. “I think it felt better this time.”

Akaashi just laid there, staring up at the ceiling, chest still heaving, a flush creeping up his neck. His voice caught in his throat—not from discomfort, but from the weight of it all. He couldn’t push the thought away that, once again, they hadn’t gone all the way, that once again, he’d been the only one feeling good. And yet Bokuto looked at him like he was everything.

He wanted to cry.

He didn’t understand. Was it because Bokuto was an alpha? Were alphas just naturally so much more… capable? Every time Bokuto touched him, his body responded helplessly—like it knew what it needed before his mind could catch up. It was overwhelming. And so, so frustrating.

For a moment, in the quiet afterglow, Akaashi let himself wonder: How would it have been if I were an omega? Would it have been easier? Would his body have opened more readily, accepted Bokuto the way he wanted it to?

The thought made his chest ache.

Still oversensitive from his release, he pushed Bokuto back on the futon, getting between his legs. He tugged gently at Bokuto’s waistband, pushing his underwear down and leaning in to take him into his mouth without a word.

Bokuto inhaled sharply, a soft sound escaping him. “Akaashi—” His hand found its way into Akaashi’s hair, fingers curling reflexively.

Akaashi took him in slowly, eyes fluttering shut as the weight of it settled heavy on his tongue. The taste was soft and sweet, like it was meant to be tasty. He’d never done this before—not even with a finger, let alone something this thick, this hot, this alive —but he didn’t hesitate.

His jaw ached as he worked his lips lower, stretching around Bokuto’s girth. He couldn’t take him deep—there was simply too much of him, too wide, too long—but he hollowed his cheeks, trying to keep a steady rhythm with his hand and mouth.

Bokuto gasped, hips twitching. “Akaashi—ah, wait—I’m—” He tried to pull away, hand tightening in Akaashi’s hair like he meant to stop him, but Akaashi didn’t move. He was focused and quiet, flushed and still a little unsteady from his own orgasm, but determined to make up for what he thought were his shortcomings. Determined to please .

Bokuto was already falling apart beneath him, gasping his name like a prayer.

He looked at Akaashi like he was begging—for what, Akaashi didn’t know. Bokuto’s eyes were wet, mouth parted, and when his orgasm hit, his whole body tensed—like it had taken him by surprise. His legs shook, back arching slightly, muscles drawn taut, and his fingers curled hard into Akaashi’s hair.

Akaashi tried to swallow quickly, but it was just too much. After the first two heavy spurts, he had to pull back, gasping quietly through his nose. Bokuto immediately let go of his hair, breath stuttering.

“S-sorry,” he managed, just as a third spurt of cum landed across Akaashi’s cheek. Bokuto’s whole expression crumpled, like he couldn’t believe it had happened. He looked mortified, yet paralyzed.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice breaking. His cock twitched once more in Akaashi’s hand, like his body was still unraveling without permission.

Akaashi said nothing. He kept his hand around him, steady, watching him quietly, attentively, waiting for Bokuto to finish.

When Bokuto relaxed, he let go and wiped his face with the nearest discarded shirt, movements unfazed but deliberate.

Bokuto laid flat on his back, chest rising and falling, covering his face with both hands. “Holy shit,” he whispered.

Akaashi settled beside him, one arm propping up his head as he watched him. His expression was unreadable. “Was that… okay?”

Bokuto turned his head slowly towards him, still stunned. His eyes were glassy, his face completely red under his hands.

I came in Akaashi’s mouth. Fuck, I came on his face…

“Was it okay for you? I mean… I know I’m kind of a lot. It’s hard for me to hold back sometimes—like, I didn’t mean to, it just… happened.”

Akaashi blinked, then shook his head slightly. “It’s fine. I don’t mind. You taste… sweet, actually. I didn’t expect that.”

“Sweet?” Bokuto echoed, brows lifting like he wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or proud.

“Yes, if you weren’t an athlete constantly in check-ups, I would worry about the sugar levels of your blood.” Akaashi said.

Bokuto finally moved his hands out of his face. “But… it’s good, right? So it doesn’t… gross you out?”

“You don’t gross me out, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto exhaled like the tension cracked a little inside him. “God,” he murmured, brushing his thumb gently along Akaashi’s jaw, “you’re so perfect. I really can’t win against you.”

Akaashi closed his eyes, letting himself be kissed. “I wanted to make you feel good too, Bokuto-san. It feels like it’s always about me.”

“I always feel good,” Bokuto replied without hesitation. He brushed his thumb gently over Akaashi’s cheek, more in awe than anything. “I like taking care of you. That is what makes me feel good.”

“I don’t want to be the only one feeling good,” Akaashi said, then he hesitated. “…we couldn’t do it this time either.”

“We’re going at your pace,” Bokuto said simply. “Sex is not just about penetration, not for me. We can also switch, if you ever want to try it that way.”

“What?! No—uh,” Akaashi’s words caught. “No, Bokuto-san. I… I’ve always… wanted to bottom. I just—my body isn’t made for it.” His voice tightened, barely above a whisper. “And I know that’s not how it’s supposed to be, for a beta. I should want—” he cut himself off. “If it’s too tedious or disappointing, I’ll understand.”

Bokuto’s smile faded. His hands cradled Akaashi’s face more firmly as he leaned their foreheads together.

“Tedious?” Bokuto asked. “Is it tedious for you, Akaashi?” Bokuto asked, confused. “I really like it, like… when we have sex, I love it.” 

Akaashi looked at Bokuto, not convinced.

“It’s true! Right now, this is already more than I ever hoped for.” Bokuto said. “I’m… completely overwhelmed with what you are giving me, the way you let me see you like this…  I’m really happy.”

Akaashi blinked quickly, his breath catching.

“I don’t even care if we never go further than this,” Bokuto added, kissing his temple. “I love you. Being with you… you’re all I want. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

Akaashi leaned into Bokuto’s warmth, cuddling against his chest. “You’re very silly, Bokuto-san.” He just said.

“Yeah… yeah, I probably am.” Bokuto said, hugging Akaashi.

Bokuto didn’t want to leave. Akaashi could tell without even looking at him. He could hear it in the way Bokuto shuffled in the bedroom, moving slower than usual, the way he sighed every few minutes, the way he lingered in front of his half-packed duffel bag like he was debating whether he needed to take everything with him at all.

Akaashi waited until Bokuto had been in the bedroom for a while before heading in to check if he was done packing.

He expected to find him zipping up the bag, maybe pouting a little, but instead, Bokuto was sitting in the middle of the room, holding one of Akaashi’s shirts up to his nose.

Akaashi stopped in the doorway. He wasn’t surprised, not really. Bokuto—Bokuto was always a little too easy to read, his emotions too big to contain.

He sighed softly. “I’m sorry I can’t scent you.”

Bokuto flinched and turned towards him, caught in the act but making no effort to hide what he was doing. His fingers curled tighter around the fabric. “Can I take this one?”

Akaashi shook his head. “I need it.”

Bokuto didn’t let go and Akaashi sighed. 

“That one’s dirty,” he pointed out, hoping that would make him reconsider. “I can give you a clean one.”

Bokuto looked down at the shirt in his hands, fingers curling into the fabric like he wasn’t ready to let go. His brows furrowed slightly, and when he looked up at Akaashi, there was a quiet intensity in his gaze. “I like your smell,” he admitted, almost stubbornly. “I always have.”

Akaashi hesitated, watching the way Bokuto’s grip tightened around the fabric.

Bokuto let out a small breath, dropping his gaze. “Back in high school, when we trained together… you’d sweat, and I’d—” He cut himself off with a short, embarrassed laugh. “I dunno. I just liked it. The way you smell.”

Akaashi felt his chest tighten. Alphas and omegas relied on scent, but betas had no real need for it, and so they didn’t have a scent gland. He had always assumed his smell wasn’t anything special—that it was regular, forgettable. Yet here was Bokuto, holding onto his clothes like his scent meant something.

There was a beat of silence before Bokuto continued, a little more hesitant this time. “You would always shower before we do it.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I get it. But last night, it was… more intense, you smelled so good.”

Akaashi blinked, caught off guard. He let out a slow breath. “…Fine. Take whatever you want.”

Bokuto’s expression brightened, his arms tightening around the shirt like he had just won something important.

Akaashi sighed, faking exasperation, but the warmth lingering between them made it hard to feel annoyed. Instead, he reached for one of Bokuto’s shirts, handing it to him.

Bokuto looked down at it, then back at him. “…You could keep one of mine too.”

Akaashi paused.

Bokuto rubbed his cheek. “I mean, only if you want to! It’d just… make me happy.”

Akaashi exhaled softly, then nodded, holding onto the shirt. “…Alright.”

Bokuto grinned, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll come back to visit soon,” he promised.

Akaashi held onto the fabric in his hands. “…I know.”

Bokuto’s smile softened, something quieter in his expression now, something gentle and full of feeling.

The train station was crowded, the hum of conversation and the occasional announcement echoing through the space. Bokuto still looked like he didn’t want to go, his shoulders tense, lips pressed together like he was holding back from saying something. But after Akaashi had agreed to give him his shirt, he seemed a little calmer—like he had something to hold onto.

When they arrived at the platform, Akaashi was mildly surprised to see Kuroo waiting there, dressed in business as usual, likely because of work.

“Yo.” Kuroo greeted them with a lazy grin, hands in his pockets. “What a coincidence.”

“Is it?” Akaashi asked flatly.

Kuroo chuckled. “Maybe not.”

Bokuto tried to engage in his usual conversation, but it was clear there was something else, something more as he shifted from foot to foot, looking like he wanted to drag out their goodbye as long as possible. Akaashi watched him struggle with his words, half-expecting him to pull something dramatic, but before he could say anything, Hinata and Atsumu showed up, both looking pleased to see Akaashi there.

“Whoa! No way—Akaashi?” Atsumu’s eyes widened in dramatic exaggerated disbelief. “I can’t believe it!” He turned to Bokuto with a triumphant grin, slinging an arm around his shoulders in complicity.

Hinata grinned, practically bouncing on his heels. “Akaashi-san! Did you come to see Bokuto-san off?”

Bokuto’s face lit up like a stadium at match point, but Akaashi just sighed, adjusting his scarf. “I had to make sure he wasn’t leaving something important behind.”

Atsumu snickered. “Right, right. That’s the only reason.” He then elbowed Bokuto playfully. “Man, ya’ must be over the moon.”

Bokuto beamed. “I am! ” He gripped the strap of his bag a little tighter, like he was stopping himself from saying too much. “Best two days ever.”

The train announcement cut through their conversation, signaling that departure was soon. Bokuto hesitated, looking back at Akaashi one more time.

“Don’t miss your train.” Akaashi said.

Bokuto pouted, he approached Akaashi like he wanted to kiss him, but Akaashi stopped him. “We can’t kiss,” he reminded him. “You’re a celebrity, you don’t need a beta tarnishing your reputation, go.”

Bokuto agreed, but he turned back at the last second, eyes lingering on Akaashi, as if committing the sight of him to memory. “See you soon.”

Akaashi gave him a small nod and a smile. The doors slid shut.

As the train pulled away, Akaashi let out a slow breath and turned to leave—only to find Kuroo leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, watching him with an insufferably smug look.

“Did you come here for work?” Akaashi asked flatly.

“Kind of,” Kuroo replied. “I came because there were rumors Bokuto had a secret lover, and last time he acted on impulse, it turned into a PR disaster.”

Akaashi sighed. “So you came to make sure he wouldn’t make another mistake like after the match.”

“It’s part of my job. But I also wanted to see my bro. And hey—no harm done. You were perfectly proper.”

“I wouldn’t want to put Bokuto-san in a difficult position.”

“Good,” Kuroo said, voice lowering slightly, more serious beneath the teasing. Then his smile curled again. “So… you two back together?”

Akaashi glanced at him. “That would imply we were together before at some point.”

Kuroo scoffed. “Bullshit. You two were more in love than half the couples I know.”

Akaashi didn’t dignify that with a response, he just rolled his eyes.

“Yakiniku?” Kuroo offered, like it was the most natural transition in the world. “My treat.”

Akaashi exhaled, debating for a moment before finally nodding. “…Fine.”

Kuroo grinned. “Good choice. I know a great place nearby.”

True to his word, the place was small but nice, tucked away from the main street, with good ventilation and surprisingly cheap prices. They ordered quickly, and as the first pieces of meat started sizzling on the grill, Kuroo leaned back with an easy smirk. 

“He’s been super happy, you know.”

Akaashi looked up. “Excuse me?”

Kuroo flicked a piece of meat over with his chopsticks. “Stop playing dumb. I mean Bokuto. He can’t stop sending me messages about how happy he is.”

Akaashi sighed. “If he’s sending you messages, I doubt that’s all he’s sharing.”

Kuroo grinned. “He might have… slipped one or two details about your sex life.”

Akaashi didn’t raise his eyes, but his fingers tightened around the chopsticks. “I didn’t know you had a hobby of being interested in others’ sex lives.”

Kuroo leaned in slightly, his smirk turning sharp. “Oh, Keiji . You have no idea about my hobbies.”

Akaashi picked up a piece of meat. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”

Kuroo laughed, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” He let it go but didn’t let the conversation die. “Anyway, I’m honestly happy for you two but keep it a secret for now. Back in high school, when you practically ghosted him, he wasn’t himself. He was driving me crazy.”

“I never ghosted anyone,” Akaashi said, although he knew it was a lie.

“Well, whatever you want to call that shitty move of pushing him away and ignoring him,” Kuroo said, brushing it off. “He loves you—always has. Didn’t you know?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Kuroo ignored the deflection. “I think you did know. So why’d you put both of you through this torture before saying yes?” He poked a piece of meat. “I’m honestly curious.”

Akaashi sighed, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. “So that’s why you invited me,” he said, placing the chopsticks down. “If you really have to know, I wanted to give Bokuto-san the chance to find his fated omega.” He admitted.

Kuroo stared at him. “What? Did you hear what I just said? The guy’s been crazy about you since day one.”

“I’m a beta,” Akaashi said plainly. “Bokuto-san deserves the chance to be happy with an omega.” His voice was steady, but his grip on his chopsticks betrayed him, tight and rigid. “To have a family. Children. All the things I can’t give him. I wanted that for him. I still do.”

Kuroo let out a dry scoff. “That’s bullshit, Akaashi. There are plenty of alpha/beta couples who make it work. You’re acting like you’re from a different species.”

“I’m aware,” Akaashi replied, his tone clipped. “And I’m also aware that most of them don’t last. A beta can’t satisfy the needs an omega can. Nine out of ten alpha/beta marriages end in divorce.”

Kuroo’s brow furrowed. “You talk like you’re not even together.”

“We’re…” Akaashi didn’t meet Kuroo’s eyes. “It’s not like he can claim me. There’s always the possibility that one day he’ll—”

Kuroo exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Please tell me you haven’t actually said this to him.”

Akaashi didn’t respond. He looked away instead.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Kuroo gave a short, humorless laugh. “What does he have to do, Keiji? Tattoo your name on his chest? You really think he’d stick around for years if this was just a placeholder?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe him,” Akaashi said, voice thin. “But if he finds his fated omega one day… I’ll step aside. I’ll let him go.”

Kuroo’s patience snapped. “ He loves you. And if you think he’d just toss you aside for someone else, then you don’t know him as well as you think you do.” His tone was firm, but the plea underneath it was impossible to miss. “All these years, he’s never even looked at anyone else. You’re it for him, Akaashi. Get that through your head. Stop treating this like it’s temporary—it’s cruel.”

Akaashi’s mouth tightened. “Are you sure? Because it’s not like he was a virgin.”

Kuroo blinked. “What? He was.”

Akaashi faltered. “He… what?”

“Yeah. Bokuto never slept with anyone before you,” Kuroo said, eyes narrowing. “He told me you were his first, a couple days ago.”

Akaashi’s breath caught. “I didn’t––” Akaashi stopped himself, it wasn’t like they had even gone all the way. “I didn’t know.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. “So he was just good in bed and you assumed he’d been around?”

“I didn’t assume anything,” Akaashi snapped, then quieter, “I just didn’t think he was a virgin and he never mentioned it.”

Kuroo leaned back. “Well, now you know. So, what’s the excuse this time? Still think he’s going to leave you for an omega?”

“It’s not that…” Akaashi started.

“Then what?” Kuroo pressed. “What are you so afraid of?”

“ Everything. ” The words left Akaashi’s lips before he could stop them. His chest felt tight, like something was caving in. “I don’t want to be part of the statistics. I don’t want him to leave me, but—” He exhaled sharply, forcing the lump in his throat down. “But I will never be able to be what society expects for him.”

“You think he cares about any of that?” Kuroo’s voice had gentled, but Akaashi knew that look. Knew why he was here today, knew the role he played at his job—the one who handled the damage of players, who kept the peace, who put out the fires before they could burn.

“I think you know I won’t ever be what’s expected,” Akaashi said tightly. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You didn’t come to check on him—you came to check on us . So don’t pretend you’re not part of the system asking us to stay quiet.”

Kuroo blinked. His smugness dimmed into something almost apologetic. “That’s my job, yeah. But I’m not here for that, I’m here for you both. He loves you.”

Akaashi looked down. His arms were crossed now, hands gripping his sleeves. “That doesn’t make me any more deserving of him.”

“He chose you, Akaashi,” Kuroo said firmly. “And you still don’t get it. No matter what you do—how much you pull away, how much you try to protect him—there isn’t anyone else for him. Believe me, I tried. I told him he should move on. Find someone who wouldn’t keep him waiting forever.”

He shrugged, smile bitter. “It didn't matter. He never listened.”

The words landed like stones. They weren’t meant to hurt—but they did. Because they were true.

Akaashi had pulled away, doubted, hesitated. He’d spent so long trying not to hope, trying not to want something he didn’t believe he deserved. And Bokuto… had never stopped waiting.

His phone buzzed. Work. For once, a blessing.

He stood, not looking at Kuroo. “It’s my boss,” he said quietly. “I have to go.”

Kuroo nodded as Akaashi stepped away from the table, too quickly.

“Thanks for the yakiniku,” Akaashi said over his shoulder.

“Yeah, sure,” Kuroo said, waving vaguely as Akaashi walked away.

He picked his own phone and sent a message.

About twenty minutes later, Kenma stepped into the restaurant, hoodie up, mask on. He spotted Kuroo and walked over without a word, sliding into the seat across from him.

He pulled his mask and hoodie down. “What did you do this time?”

Kuroo clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Kenma.”

Kenma just stared. “I know how you are when it comes to Bokuto and Keiji.”

Kuroo blinked. “You do?”

“You’ve been doing it since high school.” Kenma said simply, picking up the menu.

“I’m just trying to help,” Kuroo grumbled, slumping back in the seat. “Bo’s been pining after Akaashi for over ten years and he still doesn’t believe they’re really together. Can you believe that?!”

Kenma didn’t look up. “It’s none of my business.”

“I mean, why is he still so stuck on not being an omega? Bo literally doesn’t care.”

Kenma finally looked up. “Maybe because it’s not about Bokuto. Maybe because it’s about Keiji .”

Kuroo blinked.

Kenma let the silence sit before continuing, “You told him he was probably an omega before he presented. And I know everyone expected him to be one. Me too. But when he presented as a beta, I can see how his world came apart.”

“You’re a beta and you’re fine!” Kuroo said.

“I always expected I’d be a beta,” Kenma said. “Both my parents are betas. Statistically, there was almost no chance I’d be anything else. But with Keiji, it was the opposite. Do you know what the odds were for him to be a beta?”

Kuroo didn’t answer.

“0.01%,” Kenma said flatly. “Practically impossible.”

Kuroo blinked. “…Seriously?”

Kenma nodded. “So when he presented, it wasn’t just about gender. He didn’t just lose a label. He lost the version of himself everyone—including him—believed was inevitable.”

“But he’s fine now,” Kuroo argued. “He said he’s okay with it.”

Kenma looked at him. “What other choice did he have?”

Kuroo grimaced. “Okay, fine. Maybe I screwed up. But he and Bokuto are together now, so why keep insisting that Bokuto deserves better, when he clearly wants Akaashi?”

“Because Keiji knows exactly what Bokuto’s giving up to be with him,” Kenma said quietly. “He knows it better than anyone. Because he expected to be an omega.”

His food arrived then and he paused to thank the waitress before continuing.

“Have you ever thought how frustrating that must be?” he asked. Kuroo didn’t answer, and his face gave away that he hadn’t. “They can overlook a lot, like scent or pheromones. Maybe they’ll figure everything out. But the truth is… Keiji will never be able to carry a child. That’s just biology.”

He met Kuroo’s eyes, expression unreadable. “He can try to adopt. He could have kids with a woman. But he’ll never be able to give birth—and that’s something he had to grieve. I can’t imagine how frustrating everything was for him.”

Kuroo looked down.

“I’m just saying, cut Keiji some slack.” Kenma said, softer now.

At least work was a distraction. Akaashi completely focused on it, ignoring the stares, ignoring the comments, ignoring being ignored and just continued like usual. Dealing with his boss demands, with Yamashita’s absences, with extra hours until midnight.

Bokuto had been busy too—practice, promotional stuff, photoshoots. Their conversations had been short, scattered between work. Sometimes just a few words exchanged, nothing that made Akaashi feel overwhelmed. Maybe that was a relief.

But that night, as he was getting ready for bed, his phone buzzed on his nightstand.

________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
"Keiji, are you still awake?"

________________________________________

Akaashi hesitated, staring at the screen. The way Bokuto casually called him Keiji made his skin hot. Another message popped up almost immediately after.

________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji

I miss you.

________________________________________

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He couldn’t ignore it.

________________________________________

From: Akaashi Keiji
To: Bokuto Koutarou

It’s late, Bokuto-san. Shouldn’t you be
sleeping?"

________________________________________

The reply came almost instantly.

________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
Can’t sleep. It’s too quiet here without
you…

________________________________________

Akaashi exhaled through his nose, rubbing at his temple.

________________________________________

From: Akaashi Keiji
To: Bokuto Koutarou

You have training early tomorrow…

________________________________________

________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
Yeah, but…

________________________________________

The typing bubble lingered for a moment before disappearing. Then, another message.

________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
Can I call you?

________________________________________

Akaashi stared at the screen. Something about the way Bokuto asked made his stomach tighten. This wasn’t just a casual call.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

________________________________________

From: Akaashi Keiji
To: Bokuto Koutarou

Fine.

________________________________________

A second later, his phone lit up with an incoming call.

Akaashi answered, voice quiet. “It’s late, Bokuto-san.”

“I know, I know,” Bokuto replied immediately, a little breathless. “But… I miss you, ‘Kaashi.”

Akaashi sighed softly, staring up at the ceiling. “Me too, Bokuto-san.”

There was a pause. Then Bokuto’s voice dropped, rough and low. “Let’s have virtual sex.”

Akaashi blinked, startled. “…What?”

“Come on,” Bokuto whined, his voice pitched just shy of pleading. “I miss you. Just let me see you…”

“Absolutely not.”

“Keiji…” Bokuto drawled, stretching his name out like a temptation, that dangerous cadence that always made Akaashi’s chest tighten. “Then… Can I have a picture? Please?”

Akaashi rubbed at his forehead, torn. “Just a picture?”

“It’s not the same as seeing you move, hearing you, but… I’ll take it,” Bokuto said quickly. “Just—please?”

Akaashi exhaled slowly. He could say no. He could hang up right now, say goodnight. But instead, his hand moved under his pillow, fingers brushing soft cotton—Bokuto’s shirt, the one he’d left behind.

He hesitated.

Then, quietly, he stripped off his own shirt and pulled it on. The scent hit him immediately—clean, warm, familiar. Like comfort, like longing. It wasn’t that oversized. A little loose, maybe. But they were nearly the same height, and it didn’t hang off him the way it would on a smaller, cuter omega. It didn’t cling in the right places. It didn’t look sexy. Not like the kind of thing alphas boasted about: tiny partners drowning in their clothes.

It just looked like him.

Akaashi sat on the bed, unsure what pose to take. He’d never done this before. Never had a reason. He tucked his legs under himself cross-legged, like he would if Bokuto were beside him, and raised the camera. The collar had slipped a little off in the neck. That was something, at least.

No face. Just the shirt. Just the fact that he was indeed wearing it.

He sent it before he could second-guess himself.

Bokuto’s response was immediate. “ Fuck ,” he groaned, breath ragged in his ear. “You’re going to kill me…”

Akaashi rolled onto his side, cheek pressed to the pillow. “You’re over-exaggerating, Bokuto-san…”

“No way,” Bokuto said immediately, voice thick with want. “Please, Keiji … I miss you. And, uh… I’m really hard, I don’t think I can sleep…”

Akaashi exhaled through his nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

Bokuto let out a soft, breathless laugh. “It’s your fault. You’re too pretty, Akaashi…”

Akaashi squeezed his eyes shut, warmth creeping up his neck. “That was unnecessary.”

“It’s the truth.” There was the faint rustle of sheets, a slow sigh from Bokuto’s end. Akaashi could almost see him—bare-chested, tousled, flushed just from that single picture. “Let me hear your voice, please…”

Akaashi swallowed. He couldn’t deny he missed him too—the weight of him in bed, his warmth, his dumb jokes that always came right when Akaashi needed to smile. “Fine,” he murmured.

“Yeah?” Bokuto’s voice brightened immediately, laced with anticipation. Another rustle of sheets followed, then a long breath. “I’m touching myself,” he said, voice low.

Akaashi’s fingers curled around his phone. “Do you… think of me when you touch yourself?”

There was a pause. Then, “I… sometimes, it didn’t feel correct to do so before.”

“Did you…?” Bokuto asked, quieter now. “Think of me?”

Akaashi’s breath hitched. “…I did. Always.” Akaashi confessed.

Bokuto groaned. “ Fuck Keiji, you’re really unfair,” The sound that followed was unmistakably a moan. “Did you use your fingers?”

There was a beat of hesitation before Akaashi whispered, “I tried, but it doesn’t feel quite the same when I do it.”

Bokuto was quiet for a moment. Then his voice softened, the usual playfulness tempered with something gentler. “Do you wanna try now? With me?”

Akaashi squeezed his eyes shut. “Bokuto-san… we really should sleep.”

“Keiji,” Bokuto coaxed, gentle now. “I wanna hear you. I want to feel you close.” His tone—open, tender, wanting—broke down the last bit of Akaashi’s resistance.

“…Okay.”

Bokuto exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. “Are you still wearing my shirt?”

Akaashi brushed his fingers over the fabric. “…Yes.”

A groan echoed through the line. “Not fair,” Bokuto whispered. “Touch yourself for me?”

Akaashi hesitated, then let out a slow breath. His hand slipped beneath the waistband of his shorts, skimming over his stomach before dipping lower.

Something in his breathing must have given him away.

“Are you hard?” Bokuto asked, his voice quiet, full of a pleased edge.

“…Yes.”

“Good.” Bokuto sighed, pleased. “You sound so nice like this. I wish I could be there.”

Akaashi swallowed, his grip on the phone tightening slightly. “You talk too much.”

“If I were there,” Bokuto murmured, “I’d put my mouth to better use.”

Akaashi choked on a soft sound, his breath catching.

“Go slow,” Bokuto whispered. “I know you like it better when I take my time.”

Akaashi complied, letting himself settle into the rhythm, each stroke dragging tension tighter through his body. Quiet breaths slipped out of him, soft and involuntary. His mind blurred at the edges, lips parting, thoughts flooded with him —Bokuto’s scent, his voice, his weight. How it would feel to be beneath him, to be claimed—

A soft, broken whimper escaped before he could catch it.

“ Fuck, Keiji ,” Bokuto breathed.

Akaashi bit his lip, eyes squeezed shut.

“Don’t hold back,” Bokuto urged. “I wanna hear you.”

Akaashi’s grip faltered slightly.

“Touch the head… slow,” Bokuto murmured, voice thick. “I’d drag my fingers up your dick… press my thumb right over the slit—”

Akaashi gasped.

“Are you close?” Bokuto asked.

“…Yes,” Akaashi whispered, body trembling.

Bokuto let out a breath, shaky like he was barely holding himself back. “Okay, you need to stop now, don’t come yet.”

Akaashi’s eyes flew open. “What?”

“Stop touching yourself,” Bokuto said, his voice ragged. “Hold it.”

It took everything in him to obey. He let go with a shaky breath, hips twitching from the denial. “You’re cruel, Bokuto-san,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration.

Bokuto’s voice was barely more than a whisper now. “ Good boy … now you want more, right?”

Akaashi didn’t respond. He hated how right Bokuto was. His body was aching for it. How was he this affected by just his voice? Bokuto wasn’t even there.

“Keiji,” Bokuto murmured. “Use your fingers now…”

Akaashi paused.

Bokuto’s voice was gentle, encouraging. “Come on, we will go slow, take our time. I want you to feel good…”

Akaashi’s whole body flushed hot. He reached for the lube with trembling fingers, coated them generously, then trailed down, slow, deliberate. He eased the first finger inside and let out a quiet gasp.

“Slow,” Bokuto reminded him, voice strained. “Just like that.”

Bokuto groaned quietly. “You’re so—” He cut himself off, then sighed, wrecked. “I bet you’re so tight…”

Akaashi didn’t respond—couldn’t respond, his body alight, every nerve ending focused on the slow, careful movements.

Bokuto kept talking to him, low and warm, guiding him. His words wrapped around Akaashi, coaxing him further, drawing him deeper into the feeling until he was pressing his face into the pillow, barely breathing through the pleasure.

“Can you try a second one now?” Bokuto asked, voice breathless but steady.

Akaashi let out a choked sound, not quite a yes, but more than enough for Bokuto to understand. He eased another finger in, breath catching as heat rolled through him. His mind spun, body hot and tight.

“That’s it,” Bokuto murmured, reverent. “How does it feel? Too much?”

“Hot…” Akaashi whispered, voice thin and shaking.

Bokuto sucked in a breath, like the sound alone hit him. “Can you try another one?” he asked, softer now, barely holding himself back.

Akaashi didn’t answer. Instead, he shifted, set the phone carefully on the mattress, freeing his other hand. Then he pressed a third finger inside, a broken moan catching in his throat.

“Fuck…” Bokuto groaned. “Now, touch your dick too—gosh, I love your dick… touch yourself, can you come?”

“Yeah…” Akaashi managed, his voice rough and quiet. His movements turned needy, rhythm slipping as his body chased more, chased him .

“Close your eyes,” Bokuto urged, voice lower now, almost tender. “Imagine it’s me. My hands, my fingers…”

Akaashi’s breath caught. But instead of sinking into it, he whispered, “What about you, Bokuto-san?”

There was a pause. A beat of surprise. “Huh?”

“What are you thinking about,” Akaashi asked quietly, “while you touch yourself?”

A sharp inhale came through the line—Bokuto hadn’t expected that. “You,” he said, voice tightening. “Your face… I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“My face…?” Akaashi asked, his breathing uneven now.

“Yeah,” Bokuto said, a little rushed. “The other day… when you…”

“When I went down on you?” Akaashi offered, soft, no teasing.

Bokuto groaned, the sound deep and helpless. “Yes… fuck, yes. Your lips were so soft… and when you looked up at me like that, when you swallowed—I lost it. I came so hard…”

“I remember,” Akaashi whispered. “You looked… shaken.”

“I was,” Bokuto murmured. “It was too much. You touching me like that, watching me. It felt…”

“I liked it,” Akaashi said, quiet but certain. “Touching you.”

Bokuto’s voice went ragged, breath uneven. “I’m so close, Keiji—fuck, are you?”

Akaashi sucked in a shaky breath, his mind painting over the sensation—replacing his own fingers with Bokuto’s, imagining his weight above him, his breath warm against his skin, lips dragging across his throat. He could see it so clearly. Feel it—Bokuto’s scent in the air, his body heavy and anchoring, the way he’d press him down and keep him there. The fantasy pulsed through him: being held, bitten, claimed . His body tensed, every muscle strung tight, breath catching hard in his chest.

Akaashi barely managed a sound, a fragile, needy whimper. “Me too, Bokuto-san…”

That was all it took.

Bokuto groaned, low and guttural, his voice splintering as he came on the other end of the line. And seconds later, Akaashi followed—his mind flooded with the image of Bokuto over him, pinning him down, teeth sinking into his neck, marking him like he was his . The thought shattered something inside him. It surged through his body like fire, and before he could stop it, a soft, broken whimper escaped his lips as he came in his own hand, pleasure crashing over him in hot, overwhelming waves.

“Fuck… Keiji…!” Bokuto gasped out, breath stuttering as he came down from it, still groaning softly. After a beat, his voice returned, hazy and warm. “Wow… that was… hot. Amazing.”

Akaashi was already fumbling for tissues, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to clean up, his heart still hammering in his chest.

They stayed in silence for a moment, both of them catching up.

Bokuto’s voice was soft when he spoke. “Still there?”

“…Yes.”

“Good…” Bokuto said, almost sheepish.

Akaashi let out a slow breath, reaching for tissues to clean his hands. He didn’t feel like getting up just yet. The line was quiet except for their breathing, soft and steady, like they were both still catching up to the moment.

“…Bokuto-san?”

“Yeah?” Bokuto answered, voice gentle now.

“After the match,” Akaashi began, then paused. “Why didn’t you tell me it was your first time too?”

There was a beat of silence. “Huh?”

“Kuroo-san mentioned it the other day,” Akaashi said, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “And… I know I didn’t say anything either, but I should’ve. I think I was unfair to you.”

Bokuto sounded surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I brushed it off like it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t a real first time because it wasn’t ‘all the way.’ But it was for you, wasn’t it?”

Another pause. Then, softly, “Yeah. It was.”

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi said, voice low but honest. “I didn’t mean to be cruel. I think I was trying to sound unaffected.”

“I thought you had experience,” Bokuto said quickly. “I didn’t want to mess anything up. I was scared if you knew I’d never… done anything, you’d regret it.”

“I’ve never done anything either,” Akaashi admitted. “Not really. I went on a few dates in college—once with a guy, once with a girl. Neither lasted. There were a few kisses, that’s it.”

Bokuto sounded genuinely surprised. “Wait, really?”

“Really,” Akaashi said. “With the girl… I realized I didn’t want to be the one on top. At all.” He gave a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “It ended fast.”

“But… you’re super handsome, Akaashi!”

“That’s just your opinion, Bokuto-san.”

“I mean it! Even back in high school, you were always…” Bokuto trailed off, like the thought got too big for words. “Cool. Smart. Everyone looked up to you. I thought for sure you’d—y’know, had more experience.”

Akaashi let out a soft breath, amused but also oddly shy. “Maybe I just don’t make people feel close enough.”

Bokuto let out a breath that sounded somewhere between relief and disbelief. “I mean… I’ve had people try to kiss me. Like, once or twice, they just… went for it. But I never kissed back…”

“You’ve never kissed anyone before me?”

“No,” Bokuto said, quiet again. “Only you.”

Akaashi blinked at the ceiling. That did something strange to his chest.

“Well,” he said, a little softer now, “you’re a good kisser.”

“So are you,” Bokuto replied, and then, with a laugh, “Like— too good. I thought I was gonna die when you kissed me on the genkan. I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

Akaashi let out a small breath of amusement, something warm behind it. “You were eager. I liked that.”

“Yeah,” Bokuto said, quieter now. “I’m glad it was with you.”

“…Me too,” Akaashi said, and meant it. “I know I said I never had the chance… that wasn’t the whole truth. I did. I just—no one was you. So it never felt right.”

Bokuto’s breath caught for a moment. Then… “Will you wear my shirt to bed?”

Akaashi paused. Then he added softly, “I already am.”

There was a silence between them, and then Bokuto asked, “Does it smell good?”

Akaashi lifted the collar, pressed it lightly to his nose. “It smells like you. Fresh. Lemon. Something warm underneath.”

Bokuto didn’t speak right away. When he did, his voice had lost its teasing edge.

“Yeah,” he said. “You’ll probably smell a little like me tomorrow…”

The weight of it lingered in the silence that followed. Akaashi didn’t answer.

“…It’s late, Bokuto-san,” he said finally. “We should sleep.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Bokuto cleared his throat. “Good night, Akaashi.”

“Good night.”

Chapter Text

Nothing ever seemed to go the way Akaashi wanted. There was always something—someone—there to remind him that he was somehow off-track. Wrong. Out of place.

At work, he could still feel it in the glances people threw at him, the way conversations stopped just a beat too late when he walked by. Like he had a stain on his shirt no one wanted to point out. Or worse, one they did see, but pretended not to.

Then there were the ads—on trains, on buses, blinking across LED screens in Shibuya. Always alphas and omegas. Always the perfect pair. The glowing promise of fate, subtle and unsubtle all at once. He tried to ignore them, but they were everywhere, pulsing at the edges of his vision with every step to and from the office. Each one whispered what he already knew too well:

You’re not an omega. You’re not special. You don’t belong in that world. You don’t have the right. You’ll never be enough.

Bokuto’s face was everywhere—not just in his thoughts, but plastered across sportswear ads, holding a gleaming bottle of sports drink with that bright, easy smile. On a billboard near the station. On the back of a passing bus. Frozen mid-spike on the cover of a magazine.

Akaashi stopped by a Seven-Eleven on his way home, intending only to grab dinner. But he found himself lingering near the magazine rack. One of them had Bokuto on the cover, hair wild, expression focused. Headlines still speculated about his private life, hinting at a secret affair.

Beside him, a group of girls crowded around the same magazine, giggling and whispering over the photos inside. One of them was a boy—short, fine-boned, with flushed cheeks and a soft voice as he pointed to a close-up. An omega.

Akaashi turned away. He left the magazine where it was.

And yet—when Bokuto messaged him, even something small like Good morning, Akaashi! or Did you sleep okay? —it was something warm and light, a flash of brightness through the murky water. And for a few seconds, Akaashi would let himself want. He imagined a world where the rest of it—work, gender, fate—wasn’t always waiting to remind him of what he lacked. Of how wrong it was, what they were doing.

Of how far Bokuto really was from him.

Work had been unbearable. He had no proof, nothing concrete he could take to HR, but he knew Yamashita had been gossiping about him. Ever since he spent the night with Bokuto, the air around him had shifted. Colleagues who once greeted him with polite small talk now barely nodded. Others watched him from a distance, mouths tight, eyes sharp. Like the mere possibility that he and Bokuto were together was offensive. Like it made him unprofessional. Or delusional.

He missed Bokuto terribly.

He missed coming home to warm meals, missed falling asleep in his arms after being ravished by him, until he had melted into someone else, someone allowed to feel safe and wanted and whole.

But he didn’t let himself dwell. He threw himself into his work instead. Showed up early. Stayed late. He ignored the whispers, refusing to dignify them with a reaction. He just kept going. Cold bentos eaten at his desk. Empty apartment waiting for him each night. It was easier to work himself to exhaustion than to think too hard about how lonely he really was.

So focused, in fact, that he completely forgot about the omiai .

His grandmother had reminded him with a gentle but insistent phone call, saying she’d already arranged a meeting. An envelope had arrived at his apartment a few days before, with the time, date, and location neatly printed inside. A photo, too. But he hadn’t seen it, too exhausted with work.

He stared at it for a long time. The girl looked nice enough—pretty, even. But the photo… It was heavily edited. Airbrushed skin. Lips slightly over-pinked. The traditional kimono she wore was an iromuji —formal, but not youthful, and not what one would typically wear to advertise yourself as a potential bride.

Akaashi sighed. He didn’t want to go. Had promised Bokuto he’d tell his grandmother he would no longer accept an omiai , that he didn’t want to, but between the stress, the overwork, and the emotional exhaustion, the promise had slipped his mind. And now it was too late to cancel without insulting the girl or her family. He couldn’t do that to her. She didn’t deserve it. He would go—if only not to humiliate her further.

But he couldn’t tell Bokuto of the broken promise.

He should have. He wanted to. But the guilt sank deep in his gut. He’d already let so much slide—left so many things unsaid. He told himself it wasn’t even a real date. Just an obligation. Just a formality. And besides, he hadn’t asked for it.

Bokuto noticed, of course he did. He always noticed. He’d asked if everything was alright… and Akaashi had lied. He had said it was just work. That he was fine. That he was tired, but okay.

And so, on Sunday, he dressed carefully. Not in a suit—he didn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea––But something clean and respectful. Presentable. Just enough to show he wasn’t careless, but not enough to raise her hopes.

He stepped out the door with a quiet heart and heavy shoulders and took the train to the address on the invitation.

The izakaya was upscale—quiet lighting, wooden beams, an enclosed garden to the side. The kind of place that spoke of discretion, privacy, and tradition. Akaashi arrived twenty minutes early, dressed in black pants, black turtleneck and a green jacket, simple and neat. It wasn’t a suit, but he’d made an effort. He truly didn’t want to give the girl—or her family—the wrong impression.

His grandmother was already waiting at the entrance. The moment he stepped in, she gave him a once-over, her lips pressing into a thin, dissatisfied line.

“Keiji!” she gasped before he could even greet her. “You look underdressed. Couldn’t you have worn a suit?” she whispered sharply.

“I’m not going to a job interview,” he replied quietly. “It’s just a meeting.”

“It’s a meeting with a potential bride. You need to show proper respect,” she said. “What will her parents think? What if this gives them the wrong impression...?”

But she didn’t have time to scold him further—just then, the girl and her parents arrived. A couple in their late fifties, perhaps early sixties, entered with their daughter. She walked a step behind them, graceful and quiet. Her kimono was an iromuji —elegant, subdued, plain in color and without a family crest. Again, not a furisode . Not what one would expect for a first-time omiai .

She bowed politely.

Akaashi met her eyes for only a moment. She looked... nervous. Tense. Her makeup was carefully done, but her fingers trembled faintly where they clutched her purse.

Introductions were stiff. Formal.

“This is my grandson, Akaashi Keiji,” his grandmother announced, her voice clear and poised. “Twenty-four years old, university graduate, works as an editor at a reputable publishing company. He’s always been a respectful boy—quiet, hardworking. Never caused us any trouble.”

She smiled at the girl’s parents, but Akaashi already felt like he was a product on display. His eyes drifted to the garden outside, and for a moment, he found himself imagining—again— what if . What if he had been born an omega? What if he had been Bokuto’s omega?

“And this is our daughter, Terashima Rika,” the man said. “She’s twenty-six this year. She’s a teacher. Lives independently in Yokohama.”

“Ah,” Akaashi’s grandmother said, just a touch too slow. Her smile didn’t falter, but her eyes sharpened. “Twenty-six? I see. I hadn’t realized… Keiji is only twenty-four, of course.”

There it was. The same tone she always used when she disapproved of something. Not outrage—worse. Condescension, wrapped in politeness and carefully measured pauses. As if offering a woman older than the man she was being offered to was some sort of insult.

Rika looked like she wanted to disappear. Her eyes were downcast, lips pressed together. Her parents continued the conversation, trying to smooth it over—something about maturity, career focus, shared values—but the atmosphere had curdled.

Akaashi sat still, his grandmother carrying the conversation. The more she spoke, the worse it became. She praised him too highly. Dismissed the Terashimas’ comments with subtle phrasing. It wasn’t overtly cruel, but it was uncomfortable enough.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Would you like to take a walk?” he asked the girl gently, standing before she could respond. His grandmother stared at him in disbelief, as if she couldn’t understand why he would waste another second on a girl so clearly beneath him.

Rika blinked, surprised, then nodded quickly.

They stepped outside into the cool evening, onto the narrow stone path that wound through the side garden of the izakaya . Paper lanterns lined the hedges, adorning the whole thing.  Somewhere near the bamboo fence, crickets chirped.

Rika kept her hands clasped in front of her, walking slowly beside him. She didn’t speak. Not at first. She looked as though one wrong word would shatter her composure entirely.

“Sorry about that,” Akaashi said softly, breaking the silence.

She shook her head. “It’s not your fault.”

He glanced at her. “Still.”

Her eyes remained fixed on the path. “It’s my fault for being too old,” she said finally, voice low.

“You did nothing wrong,” Akaashi said firmly, glancing around the garden.

“But?” she asked.

“But?” he echoed.

“It just sounded like your sentence came with a ‘but’,” she explained.

Akaashi sighed. She was right. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have no intention of marrying you.”

She let out a breath—like she’d been holding it all evening—and nodded. “I figured,” she said. “It felt too good to be true.”

“Why?” he asked, genuinely confused.

She gave a tired, self-conscious smile. “You’re young. Handsome. Educated. Stable. Meanwhile, I’m pushing thirty, not exactly thin, and my photo was clearly retouched. I’ve been single for years. My last boyfriend left, and my parents said an omiai was probably my last chance.”

Akaashi studied her. She wasn’t unattractive—just… real. Her shoulders were broader, her face softer than the picture they’d sent him. Less airbrushed, more human.

“You look fine,” he said gently.

She gave a brittle smile. “That’s kind of you. But I know how things are.”

She didn’t say it outright, but he heard it clearly anyway:

You’re a beta. You age. You fade. You settle.

Love was a luxury for others. For alphas and omegas. For people whose lives fit stories with happy endings.

For the rest, there was just… resignation.

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi said. “I’m not used to omiai etiquette…” He paused. “It’s not just that. I… I’m seeing someone. My grandmother doesn’t know yet.”

“Someone your grandmother wouldn’t approve of?” she asked.

Akaashi was quiet. He thought about how his grandmother would react if she knew he was seeing Bokuto. His throat tightened. Bokuto’s voice echoed faintly in his head. Are you okay? He’d lied. It’s just work, he’d said.

“Yes,” Akaashi finally replied.

“I see…” she murmured.

They stopped near the edge of a pond, where koi fish glided beneath the water’s surface. Akaashi watched them, his mind already drifting far from here.

After a moment, Rika looked up at him.

“Would it be alright if we just… sat out here a little longer?”

“Of course.”

She sank slowly onto a bench beneath a maple tree, adjusting her sleeves. Akaashi joined her, and they sat quietly for a while before heading back.

When they returned inside, Akaashi’s grandmother looked as though she’d been personally insulted, while Rika’s parents wore expressions of cautious hope. Akaashi took his seat beside his grandmother and glanced at Rika, silently giving her the chance to be the one to end things.

“We spoke for a while,” Rika said politely, “and we realized that our union wouldn’t be beneficial to either of us. We’re hoping for different things in life.” She turned to Akaashi. “I’ll have to decline your offer. I’m sorry.”

Akaashi almost laughed when his grandmother gasped beside him.

Rika’s parents immediately began to speak over her, trying to smooth things over, to make her reconsider, but Akaashi cut in before they could gain momentum.

“I’m truly sorry for wasting your time, Terashima-san. I accept your rejection,” he said with a small bow. He then stood and said his goodbyes, gently asking his grandmother to follow. Rika stayed behind with her parents.

“I can’t believe that girl had the nerve to reject you!” his grandmother huffed as she walked after him. “She’s already twenty-five and a beta—who does she think she is? She’s well past marrying age, and you were clearly too good for her—”

“She was fine, Grandmother,” Akaashi interrupted. “If anything, it was my fault.”

But she wouldn’t have it. “I’ll find you a better girl, Keiji dear. Someone younger. Prettier, too. You’ll have the most precious babies—”

“Grandmother.”

She stopped. Looked at him.

“I don’t want to continue with an omiai ,” he said firmly. “I’m not interested. If I’m honest, I never was. I hope you’ll understand.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Keiji,” she replied sharply. “You’re already twenty-four, and a beta. You need to get married and settle down. Betas have more trouble bearing children—what will you do if you don’t find a suitable girl while you still can?”

“I won’t be meeting anyone else,” Akaashi said. “The only reason I agreed to meet Terashima-san was because I didn’t get the chance to talk to you before you arranged it. I didn’t want to be rude to anyone.”

“I raised you, Akaashi Keiji. After your parents' marriage fell apart. And this is how you repay me?” she asked, voice tightening, trying to twist it into guilt.

“I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me,” he said, carefully. “But that doesn’t mean I have to agree to an omiai .”

“I’m only thinking about what’s best for you! Look at what happened to your parents—all because no one listened to me!” Her tone had sharpened into frustration.

“I won’t meet anyone else, Grandma.”

That was all he said. His chest felt tight.

When Akaashi finally got home, he was completely drained. He hadn’t even touched the food they were served at the izakaya. Although it was only green tea and some sweets, it would probably make his stomach feel less hollow.

He stepped inside his apartment and quietly slipped off his jacket, hanging it by the door. He opened the fridge, hoping for something, anything. Even the milk was spoiled. He let out a slow breath. Another week of bentos and exhaustion. He closed the fridge and let himself lay on the tatami floor, eyes dragging towards the calendar on the wall. Two more weeks. Just two more weeks until he could see Bokuto again.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes, and pulled out his phone, intending to scroll mindlessly until he could muster the energy to go out and buy dinner. It buzzed in his hand, and he nearly dropped it on his face.

A message from Bokuto.

________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
AKAASHIII! I JUST SAW A CORGI IN A LITTLE
RAINCOAT! IT LOOKED LIKE A SAUSAGE WITH
LEGS! I ALMOST CRIED! ‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·

________________________________________

________________________________________
From: Akaashi Keiji
To: Bokuto Koutarou
That’s nice, Bokuto-san.
________________________________________

________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
…Umm, Akaashi? Is something wrong?
Can I call you?

________________________________________

Akaashi sighed, mentally slapping himself.

________________________________________

From: Akaashi Keiji
To: Bokuto Koutarou
Yes.

________________________________________

He didn’t have to wait long before the phone rang. He picked it up.

“Hey…” Bokuto’s voice came through, unsure, a little shy. “Everything okay?”

“I’m… everything’s fine,” Akaashi said, his voice low with fatigue. “I’m just tired.” He had wanted to say I just miss you terribly, but bit his lip.

“Really?” Bokuto asked. “You’re not, like… mad at me for messaging too much? I’m not being clingy or—are you getting tired of me…?” His voice cracked near the end. Akaashi sat up immediately.

“What?” he asked, alarmed, the warmth draining from his face. “Of course not!”

“Oh, good,” Bokuto replied, though Akaashi could still hear the doubt underneath. “Just checking, you know. People say I’m too much sometimes. And I really like… you know, you .”
He laughed—awkwardly, adorably. “I don’t want this, um… between us, to end.”

“Bokuto-san?” Akaashi said.

“Yeah?”

“You’re not too much ,” he said firmly, then sighed. “It’s… I’m sorry, I forgot to tell my grandma about cancelling the omiai because I’ve been just working so much, and then she had already set me up, and I didn’t want to humiliate the girl, so I had to go…” He came clean. “I’m really sorry…”

“Oh…” Bokuto said softly. “But… um, you didn’t like her, right?”

“Of course not,” Akaashi replied. “I turned her down. After that, I told my grandmother I wouldn’t do more arranged meetings.”

“Then it’s okay, Akaashi!” Bokuto said, voice brightening. “Did you think I’d get mad? I know how hard you work. Honestly, I forgot about it too. But if it didn’t mean anything, then it’s fine.”

“Thank you, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said. The weight he’d been carrying for days felt a little lighter.

“So… um, is that why you’ve been so quiet lately? Because I was getting worried. Like—you didn’t want to be my boyfriend anymore—s-sorry! I mean, I guess… Are we boyfriends Akaashi? I never really asked, but I assumed—and saying you’re my boyfriend just kinda… slipped, like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me—”

Akaashi chuckled.

“Yes, Bokuto-san,” he said. “We’re boyfriends. And yes, dealing with my grandmother is… draining.”

“Oh. Did she say something? Did you tell her about… us?”

“She said the usual,” Akaashi replied, guarded. “No, I haven’t told her. I don’t think she will approve.”

“I see… Is it bad that I already told my family?” Bokuto asked sheepishly.

“No, it’s not bad,” Akaashi said, amused.

“Good! Because I kinda told everyone and now they want us to have dinner together—not like they don’t know you, but like, they want to see you. They’re like super happy, honestly!”

“Well, I guess I can’t really turn them down,” Akaashi murmured, closing his eyes. “Besides, I like your mom’s cooking.”

“Are you tired? You sound like you’re falling asleep…”

“Yes. A bit.”

“Did you eat?”

“Not yet,” he admitted.

“You need to eat, Akaashi. Please eat something—even instant ramen, I won’t judge.”

“I think I need to go shopping. Someone ate all my instant ramen.” Akaashi said dryly.

“Mean!” Bokuto huffed from the other end, then paused. “Please go buy something. I’ll call you later again, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.” Akaashi promised.

A week later, Bokuto insisted on visiting suddenly when he got his Saturday off due to some photoshoot cancellation. Saturday morning, first light, he was already in Tokyo having taken the Nozomi Shinkansen.

Akaashi barely had time to shower before there was a knock—no, a banging —on his door. He already knew who it was.

When he opened it, Bokuto stood there, grinning like he hadn’t just traveled all the way to Tokyo at the crack of dawn. He held up a paper bag, the smell of fresh pastries already filling the hallway.

“A new French bakery opened near the station,” Bokuto said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “There was a huge line, so I figured it had to be good.”

Akaashi sighed, shutting the door. “You really didn’t have to come all the way to Tokyo, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto hummed, unconvinced. “I did , though.”

“You don’t get many full weekends, you should’ve taken the time to rest.” Akaashi said, taking the paper bag and making his way to the kitchen, setting up to make coffee while Bokuto hovered behind him like an overgrown puppy.

The moment Akaashi reached for the mugs, warm arms wrapped around his waist. Bokuto buried his face behind his ear, inhaling deeply.

“You showered.” He mumbled.

Akaashi frowned, glancing over his shoulder. “People shower, Bokuto-san, some may even call it a good habit, you know.” He said.

“I know, it’s just…” 

“I’m not an om––I don’t… it’s not like I have pheromones, Bokuto-san.”

“I know,” Bokuto pouted. “I just… I like your scent , Akaashi.” He said. “Like, your real scent, behind the soap, and the products…”

Akaashi turned to look at him, eyes furrowing in question.

“I mean, it was early, I had hopes.” Bokuto finally said awkwardly.

“We can try to… find a compromise.” He said, pushing a mug into Bokuto’s hands. “Maybe I’ll use products with a soft scent… or no scent, but I can’t go around without showering.” 

“What about weekends? If we don’t leave the house?” Bokuto asked, eyes shining.

Akaashi sighed. “Fine.”

They sat together and ate breakfast. After the dishes were cleared and rinsed, Akaashi pulled out his laptop, flipping through tabs until he found the movie he’d been meaning to watch—an old black-and-white film, full of long silences and symbolic glances, the kind that demanded attention and patience. He set it up on the table and slid under the kotatsu , folding his legs neatly beneath him.

Bokuto joined him a beat later, immediately making himself at home. Within minutes, he had sprawled across Akaashi’s lap, his limbs heavy and warm, cheek pillowed against Akaashi’s stomach like it was the most natural place in the world. He exhaled, content, already losing interest in the film.

Akaashi blinked at the weight on him, adjusting slightly. He glanced down at the wild head of hair now nestled against him.

“Are you not going to watch the movie?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Bokuto made a soft noise that might’ve been agreement—or dismissal. “I am watching,” he murmured without moving. “I just… wanted to be close.”

Akaashi didn’t reply immediately. His hand hovered uncertainly, then settled atop Bokuto’s head, fingers combing gently through the thick hair. The film played on, slow and grainy. The world outside the kotatsu faded, replaced by the hush of old cinema dialogue and the steady warmth between them.

Akaashi didn’t move. It was easy––letting Bokuto take up space in his life like always, like nothing had ever changed.

Bokuto’s hand lifted to his face, fingertips barely grazing his cheek, a touch so light Akaashi shivered under it. And when he finally looked down, Bokuto was watching him—soft and unwavering, like he was something rare, something precious.

Akaashi’s throat closed up.

“You look exhausted, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto said gently.

Akaashi didn’t answer. He just took Bokuto’s hand and pressed it harder against his face, eyes fluttering shut.

“Has work been too much?” He asked.

“You don’t need to worry,” Akaashi dismissed it. “I’m being dramatic. I just… I don’t understand why I feel so relieved around you. I shouldn’t need this. I’m not supposed to.”

Bokuto’s brow furrowed. “You don’t want to need me?”

Akaashi let out a slow breath. “It’s… I’m supposed to be fine on my own. I’m not biologically made to be… needy.”

Bokuto shifted, settling beside him. His thumb brushed Akaashi’s cheek. “You think only alphas and omegas get to need someone? That we’re the only ones allowed to feel like this?”

Akaashi didn’t answer, but his fingers curled over Bokuto’s, holding them against his skin.

“You were lonely,” Bokuto said, quieter now, like he was scared Akaashi might disappear. “You don’t have to pretend to be fine just because people expect it. I’m right here.”

Akaashi exhaled shakily. Right now, with Bokuto looking at him like this––like he wasn’t something insignificant, but something worth holding onto—he wanted to cry.

“Akaashi… I love you,” Bokuto whispered. “I want you to need me. I need you.”

And somehow, without even realizing it, Akaashi was in his arms. Face buried in Bokuto’s shoulder. Right there, everything quieted. His coworkers’ looks, his grandmother’s words, the train ads about scent blockers and ideal pairings… like all of that noise didn’t exist.

Bokuto’s hands ran warm along his back. “Sometimes,” he said into his hair, “I wish I were a beta, like you.”

Akaashi stilled. He wanted to see Bokuto’s face, but Bokuto only held tighter, as if afraid to be seen.

“That way…” Bokuto said quietly, “maybe you’d believe me when I say I love you.”

“Bokuto-san…”

“I hated it,” Bokuto said. “Back then. Being an alpha. People only saw that. I’d get confessions from people who didn’t know anything about me. They just wanted a strong alpha boyfriend or someone to take care of them. No one ever stopped to think about how I felt . What I wanted .” He hesitated. “But you always saw me… Even the messy parts, like when I was too much or not enough. You helped me when I couldn’t help myself, and you never made me feel wrong for needing that.”

Akaashi’s heart twisted.

“I wish I wasn’t always affected by pheromones,” Bokuto muttered. “I wish I could just smell you— you —without… without all the extra noise . I wish I didn’t have to worry about hurting you every time we share a bed because my stupid alpha dick is too big.” He paused for a moment. “I would’ve been fine with having a small dick, even, I just…”

Akaashi let out a startled laugh.

Bokuto groaned into his neck. “Now you’re laughing at me…”

“I’m not,” Akaashi said gently. “You’re just very silly sometimes.” Akaashi softened. “But I like that about you. I find it endearing… You’re very cute, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto went quiet.

“You know,” he continued after a beat, “When they told you you weren’t an omega… I knew you were disappointed. I think I was too. I think we both thought—maybe, if you were an omega, everything would just make sense. That it would be fate.”

Akaashi didn’t speak, but Bokuto finally allowed him to pull away enough for them to look at each other.

“But then I realized,” Bokuto went on, “you liked me anyway. Not because I was an alpha. Not because your body was telling you to. Just… me. You liked me. ”

“Yes,” Akaashi murmured, voice tight.

And somehow, in that moment, being a beta didn’t feel so bitter. Because being a beta meant it was their choice . That nothing was compelled by biology. It was all choice. They chose each other. That everything they gave to each other was something they chose to give.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to Bokuto’s. It was easy. Natural. A slow, open-mouthed kiss that quickly turned desperate—years of longing spilling out, weeks of separation folded into the heat of it. Bokuto moaned softly, holding him like he never wanted to let go.

And Akaashi let himself be held.

“Akaashi…” Bokuto breathed, his voice thick with want.

Akaashi pulled back slightly, just enough to murmur against his lips, “I need to shower first.”

Bokuto immediately pouted. “You already showered, ‘Kaashi…”

“Please…” Akaashi said. “I… need to prepare.”

Bokuto stilled and his brows furrowed just a little. Akaashi just averted his eyes.

“Let me go with you,” Bokuto said suddenly.

Akaashi blinked, startled. “What?”

“Let me help.”

“Definitely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Akaashi hesitated. His voice turned quieter, almost inaudible. “It’s embarrassing. And dirty.”

Bokuto shook his head. “It’s not dirty. It’s just part of it, right? Like brushing your teeth before kissing. Or wearing deodorant.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Then maybe there’s something wrong with me, because I want to help you,” Bokuto said, softer now.

Akaashi looked at him, gaze sharp and uncertain, as if he didn’t know whether to be annoyed or moved. Maybe both. “Bokuto-san…”

“Please,” Bokuto pressed, his voice warm and steady. “You’re doing it for us. It seems unfair that you have to go through it alone.”

Akaashi looked at him for a long moment. Bokuto wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t just being impulsive or curious or pushy. His brows were slightly drawn, mouth firm with concern, eyes wide with that stubbornness Akaashi had grown to trust and fear in the court.

Because if Bokuto stayed through this… this part that Akaashi could barely endure himself—then there’d be no more pretending. No room left to hide from the truth.

That he wasn’t some small, delicate omega who never had to do anything but lie back and smell sweet. That he had to prepare. That it was messy. That he had to rinse himself out like something broken and wrong just to feel worthy of being touched.

And Bokuto wanted to stay for that?

Akaashi sighed, his stomach twisting. He looked away. “Fine,” he said quietly.

Maybe this was it. The dirtiest test of being a beta. Of being him . This last humiliating step. And if Bokuto stayed through it, then maybe… This was fate, in their own way.

He walked to the bathroom, Bokuto following close behind. His whole body felt cold—an awful chill that came from the inside. Akaashi stood stiffly in the middle of the room, eyes locked on the floor. His shoulders were tight, every movement stiff as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt and placed it to the side.

Bokuto moved closer and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the side of Akaashi’s neck before his hands reached up and carefully took Akaashi’s glasses off, folding them neatly and setting them aside. “I love how you look in these,” he said. “I don’t think I ever mentioned it before.” Then, his hands went down to undo Akaashi’s pants.

Akaashi swallowed hard, his skin flinching at the contact. Bokuto slid his pants down slowly, and he stepped out of them, shivering. Somehow, this felt even more exposing than the last time they’d had sex. He didn’t know if Bokuto could feel it—that cold that clung to him.

Bokuto traced his fingers over Akaashi’s arms, down his spine, before sliding his hands to his hips. “You’re really tense,” he said, pressing a kiss to Akaashi’s forehead. “It’s okay. It’s really okay, Akaashi.”

Akaashi let out a slow exhale, but he didn’t relax. He couldn’t.

Bokuto stepped back to undress, his clothes landing softly in the small laundry basket in the corner. Once he was naked, he reached for Akaashi’s hand and gently tugged him inside the bath space, closing the door behind them. The soft hum of the ventilation fan filling the room immediately.

He turned on the water, checking the temperature with his hand before guiding Akaashi under the stream. He tilted Akaashi’s face up towards him and kissed him—slow, deep, lingering.

Akaashi trembled. His hands hovered at Bokuto’s upper arms, unsure where to rest.

“You’re so nervous,” Bokuto murmured against his lips.

Akaashi exhaled sharply. “Of course I am.”

Bokuto smiled softly, brushing his hand down Akaashi’s back, his fingers tracing slow circles at the base of his spine. “You have nothing to be nervous about,” he said.

“I’ll make you dirty…” Akaashi warned one last time, voice rough.

“I know how it’s done.” Bokuto told him. “I want to take care of you, Akaashi.”

Akaashi didn’t say anything, he just exhaled deeply. After a moment, Bokuto glanced around and asked, “How do you usually do it?”

Akaashi felt his stomach twitch. “… I use the showerhead.”

Bokuto nodded. “Then I’ll do it.”

He turned Akaashi around slowly and reached down between his legs. Akaashi immediately stiffened, his whole body locking up before he could stop it. His hands clenched against the cold tiles, breath coming too shallow, too fast.

Bokuto’s touch softened at once. He stroked a comforting hand over Akaashi’s hip and leaned in close again. “It’s okay,” he murmured.

Akaashi swallowed, throat tight.

Bokuto knew he had to take his time. If he rushed this, if he pushed too hard, this would become something awful—another shameful memory for Akaashi. And he didn’t want that. He just wanted to be there. Really, truly there.

He kissed his way down Akaashi’s back, slow and patient, hands warm and steady against his skin.

“Don’t think about it yet,” he whispered. “Relax…”

​​Bokuto’s hands slid slowly over Akaashi’s chest, fingertips grazing his nipples—barely there at first, just enough to make Akaashi jolt. His breath caught, a startled noise in the back of his throat, and Bokuto felt the tremble that followed, subtle but unmistakable.

“You like that?” Bokuto asked quietly, his voice low and close to Akaashi’s ear. There was no teasing lilt, not yet—just quiet awe.

Akaashi didn’t answer right away. “I…” he murmured, but the rest of the words dissolved into a shaky breath.

Bokuto leaned in, pressing a warm kiss to the curve of Akaashi’s neck, just beneath his ear. “Can I try something?” he whispered.

Akaashi gave a small nod.

Bokuto bit down gently at the nape of his neck. Not a claim mark—not enough to break the skin—but it was still possessive, deliberate. Akaashi inhaled sharply, a shudder rippling down his spine.

“Ohh,” Bokuto breathed, lips still against his skin. “You really liked that…”

He kissed the spot he’d bitten, licking it, then dragged his teeth across the curve of his shoulder, biting again—just a little harder this time. Akaashi gasped, hands flattening against the tiles, his whole body tensing.

“Is it the bite,” Bokuto asked, dragging his tongue across another mark, “or the way it feels… like I’m making you mine?”

Akaashi made a small, choked sound.

Bokuto chuckled, low and breathy, and kissed down to the nape of his neck. He bit him again, and again, and again… until Akaashi’s skin was flushed and warm under his mouth, scattered with red and purple blotches—not claim marks, but real, visible reminders of his touch.

“Bokuto-san…” Akaashi whispered, voice fraying at the edges. “My legs…”

Bokuto pressed in closer, holding him upright with one strong arm around his waist, his dick fully hard pressing against Akaashi’s ass. “I’ve got you,” he said, mouthing against a fresh bruise. “I’m not letting you fall.”

Akaashi’s head tipped forward, breath ragged. “I can’t believe we’re doing this…”

“Why not?” Bokuto asked, quieter now, like he already knew the answer.

“…Because,” Akaashi said, barely audible. “It’s… kind of the ugly part.” The one no one spoke about.

Bokuto tightened his grip around him. “I want all of it, Akaashi,” he said. “Even the messy, ugly parts you think I shouldn’t see.”

Akaashi swallowed hard.

“I love that you’re not an omega,” Bokuto said, voice low and thick with feeling. “I love that you can look me in the eye without tilting your chin up. That your shoulders are broad, and your body’s strong. That when you touch me, it’s not delicate—it’s you . Steady. Real.”

He hesitated, his fingers brushing lightly at Akaashi’s lower back. His voice softened.

“I can’t handle omega pheromones—they’re too much, they mess with my head and my stomach. But you—when I’m with you, I’m clear. I can breathe. And I still want you so bad it hurts.” He exhaled, almost like it burned to say it out loud. “You’re not soft and fluttery all the time—no offense—but I don’t want that. I want you. Exactly the way you are.”

He let out a breath and pressed his palm against Akaashi’s lower back.

“I love your dick,” Bokuto added, his voice rough and earnest. “It’s so fucking pretty—it’s bigger than an omega’s, it’s meant to be, to take, and I love that.” 

His hand moved lower, fingertips brushing over Akaashi’s rim.

“And down here…” His breath hitched. “You’re so fucking tight. So sensitive. And the way you fall apart when I touch you—when you let me see you like this—it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Akaashi let out a broken sound, low and shamed and aching. He tried to pull himself up, to regain some posture, but his knees buckled again.

Bokuto caught him without hesitation, one arm locking across his stomach. The other rose slowly to his chest, palm spreading over his heartbeat.

“You’re not made to take me,” Bokuto whispered, still awestruck, “but you want to. You give yourself to me anyway. And I—God, Keiji, I don’t think you understand what that does  to me.”

He exhaled, voice low and steady now. “You don’t have to think about being an omega anymore. I want this . All of it. With you .”

A beat passed. Silence, heavy and full.

“…I love you, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said, so quietly it was almost vanished into the noise.

Bokuto’s heart swelled, sudden and fierce, like it might burst from his chest. He tilted Akaashi’s neck back and kissed him, deep and dizzying, like he’d waited years for this moment.

Then, slowly, Bokuto licked his fingers.

Akaashi shuddered when those fingers slipped between his cheeks, parting them gently. His breath caught as one slick finger brushed over his entrance. Shivering.

Bokuto paused immediately. “Relax…” he murmured, his voice low and steady as he rubbed slow circles into the dip of Akaashi’s back. “I got you.”

Akaashi let out a shaky breath, the kind that came from being too full—of feeling, of touch, of love. His chest ached with it. Like he was drunk of love after so many days longing for Bokuto’s touch.

Bokuto kissed his shoulder again before reaching for the showerhead. He turned the nozzle to a softer setting, testing the warmth against his own skin before bringing it lower.

“Tell me if it’s too hot,” he said as the stream found its way between Akaashi’s thighs.

Akaashi flinched at the initial contact, body twitching out of instinct. “…It’s fine,” he said, quieter now.

Bokuto glanced up at him. “Does it hurt?”

Akaashi shook his head, eyes closed.

Bokuto exhaled softly and worked in tandem with his fingers, gently opening Akaashi up to let the warm water fill him. Akaashi inhaled sharply, his body trembling slightly as his stomach began to swell under Bokuto’s watchful eyes. 

He felt full—warm, almost achingly so. Embarrassment flickered in his chest, but it was gentler now. Dimmed by the softness in Bokuto’s touch.

Bokuto kissed his nape again, lips damp and reverent. “Almost there,” he murmured.

Akaashi nodded again, slower this time. His cheeks were flushed, and he was feeling overwhelmingly vulnerable.

Finally, Bokuto set the showerhead aside. “Hold it for a bit,” he said, keeping one hand on Akaashi’s stomach, the other firm at his waist.

Akaashi’s grip on the wall tightened. His body felt so full, the stretch inside him, the way it made him feel completely bare. He shifted slightly, uncertain, but Bokuto’s hands held him steady.

They waited like that, the steam curling around them, the only sound the soft patter of water against tile.

Then, finally, Akaashi couldn’t hold it anymore.

His breath hitched as his body gave in, the water spilling out of him in a sudden rush, splashing against the tile between their feet.

He stiffened in place, instinctively bracing for shame. “I—” he began, voice cracking, mortified.

“It’s okay,” Bokuto said before Akaashi could say anything else. His hand smoothed over Akaashi’s side, warm and reassuring, but there was something in the way his fingers lingered, how his grip subtly tightened, like he didn’t want to let go.

Akaashi covered his face with one arm.

“One more time, okay?” His voice was quieter now, rough at the edges, barely holding together. He reached for the showerhead again, his other hand steadying Akaashi by the hip. “You ready?”

Akaashi swallowed and nodded, holding a whimper.

Again, Bokuto pressed the shower head between Akaashi’s legs, his fingers easing him open, coaxing him to take more. The warmth slid in slowly, filling him until Akaashi felt the stretch pull at his core. His breath caught.

Bokuto’s hands didn’t stop moving—sliding forward along his waist, down the curve of his belly. He pressed firmly into the swell as it rounded out under his touch, his palms curious, almost fascinated. His thumbs brushed gently over the tautness just beneath the surface.

“Try to hold it a little longer this time…” he murmured.

Akaashi trembled, his legs shaking as he fought against the sensation—the fullness, the pressure, the heat of Bokuto’s hands exploring every shift and swell. He breathed through it, leaning slightly into Bokuto’s body.

Bokuto’s breath was unsteady now, hot against Akaashi’s skin. His grip on Akaashi’s stomach tightened ever so slightly, fingers flexing, massaging the firm swell like he was testing it, savoring it. His thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles against the skin, his voice dropping lower.

“You feel so full like this,” Bokuto murmured, almost to himself. His fingers splayed wider, pressing, mapping out every inch. “It’s kind of amazing…”

Akaashi whimpered, his palms pressed flat against the wall for balance.

“I can’t… please…” he whispered.

Bokuto hesitated just long enough to make Akaashi feel it, watching him tremble under his touch. Then, finally, he leaned in, lips grazing Akaashi’s ear.

“Go ahead.” His voice was deep, steady—reassuring, but laced with something undeniably hungry.

The permission melted something inside Akaashi.

He let go, the water rushing out of him with a wet splash. His body shook with the release, breath stuttering from his lungs.

“Good,” Bokuto whispered, hands gliding over his hips. “So obedient…”

The words came out low and thick, and they landed heavy—hot. Akaashi’s thighs quivered at the sound, his whole body humming with it.

They repeated the process again. And again. Each time, Bokuto’s hands were steady, patient, and so incredibly gentle it made Akaashi’s chest ache. There was no teasing, just the quiet sound of water running and the soft cadence of their breaths. Bokuto took his time, patient.

By the third time, Bokuto looked nearly wrecked—his pupils were blown, his jaw tight, knuckles white on the showerhead before he gentled his grip again. Akaashi felt himself getting hard without meaning to. From the intimacy of it. From being so thoroughly seen and still accepted.

The fourth time, Bokuto kissed the back of his shoulder and lingered there, forehead pressed to warm skin, breathing hard. Akaashi bit his lip, head bowed, blinking quickly. His chest ached with it—all this care poured into him without condition.

After the fifth, when the water came out clean, Bokuto let out a slow, shaken breath, visibly affected. His hand hovered, reluctant to let go.

Then, he reached for the sponge.

“Let me bathe you,” he murmured, voice still raw.

Bokuto dragged the sponge over Akaashi’s skin, his touch lingering, slow and deliberate. He took his time, sliding it across Akaashi’s back, down his legs, across his stomach.

Akaashi let out a shaky breath, his head dipping forward. It was… nice. Gentle. A kind of intimacy he hadn’t realized he’d been craving.

Bokuto pressed another kiss to the back of his neck, his voice low and steady. “See? You don’t have to do everything alone.”

Akaashi turned around so fast the sponge slipped from Bokuto’s hand. He grabbed Bokuto’s face in both hands and kissed him— hard . No hesitation, no lead-up. Just mouths crashing together, teeth crashing until they found the rhythm.

Bokuto made a startled sound, muffled against Akaashi’s mouth, before groaning and surging into the kiss. Their bodies collided, skin to skin, chest to chest, hot and slick with soap and water. Akaashi’s arms wrapped tight around Bokuto’s shoulders as he was pressed against the tiled wall, rutting against him, gasping into the kiss like he couldn’t breathe unless he was touching him everywhere at once.

Their mouths opened wide, tongues tangling, messy and wet and desperate. Akaashi was shaking, grinding against him like it had been years, like he couldn’t possibly wait even another second. He swallowed every noise Bokuto made—each groan, each stuttered breath—and gave it back more, panting against his lips.

Bokuto grabbed his hips, hauling him closer, matching his rhythm with a choked moan. “Keiji—” he gasped, but Akaashi kissed him again, biting at his lip before diving back in like he’d drown without him.

Their cocks slid together, slippery and aching, trapped between their stomachs as they rutted helplessly, caught in a haze of heat and urgency. The kiss deepened, then broke for only a second—just enough for them to look at each other, foreheads pressed together, panting.

Akaashi’s eyes were wide, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bruised and wet. “I don’t want to wait anymore…” he whispered, hoarse.

Bokuto didn’t answer—he didn’t have to.

They stumbled out of the shower, barely bothering to dry off. Bokuto grabbed a towel just long enough to press it against Akaashi’s dripping back, then tossed it aside as they kissed again, harder this time, nearly tripping over each other in their rush to the futon.

Akaashi tugged Bokuto down by the nape, pushing him underneath himself as they hit the mattress. Firm, insistent. Bokuto fell back onto the futon, and Akaashi climbed over him, straddling his hips, kissing him so deeply it made Bokuto gasp. He sucked on his tongue, grinding down on him like he wanted to leave bruises, wanting to burn this moment into memory.

Bokuto all but growled. He flipped them—hands gripping Akaashi’s thighs, pinning him under his weight. His mouth crashed into Akaashi’s again, licking into him like he wanted to devour every corner of his mouth. He kissed him open, kissed him dizzy, kissed him until Akaashi was writhing beneath him, hands tangled in his wet hair, moaning helplessly.

Water dripped from their bodies onto the sheets, their skin still warm and wet from the shower, their breath hot against each other’s mouths.

And they couldn’t stop.

“Come for me?” Bokuto asked, voice low, one hand wrapped around Akaashi’s cock, his thumb teasing the slick head.

Akaashi gasped, his head falling back against the pillow, fingers fisting in the sheets as pleasure surged through him. His thighs trembled, back arching as Bokuto leaned down and licked slowly up the length of his throat—over the flutter of his adam’s apple, up to his jaw, then bit gently at his chin.

And with a sharp, broken moan, Akaashi came—his release spilling over Bokuto’s fingers, chest heaving with shallow, ragged breaths.

Bokuto didn’t stop.

He shifted, kneeling between Akaashi’s legs as he reached for the drawer and pulled out the lube, hands steady despite the way his own cock ached with restraint.

“You’re so perfect, Keiji ,” he murmured, voice reverent, kissing the inside of Akaashi’s trembling thigh. “Let me prep you.”

Akaashi didn’t answer. His body was still humming, oversensitive and flushed… Pliant. Waiting. Wanting.

Bokuto slicked his fingers, then slid the first one in with ease.

“You feel more relaxed this time,” he murmured, adding another finger, stretching Akaashi open at an unhurried pace. Akaashi’s breath caught, it burned, but he didn’t tense––he pushed into the touch instead, chasing the sensation.

It didn’t even take much time before Bokuto eased a third finger in, a thick, deliberate pressure that made Akaashi’s hips twitch, his muscles fluttering around the intrusion. He was quiet, lost in the sensation, the stretch, the slow drag of Bokuto’s fingers inside his body.

When Bokuto eased in a fourth finger, Akaashi gasped—sharp and breathless—his whole body trembling as he struggled to adjust. His whole body shook, thighs taut with tension, and his lashes fluttered as he blinked through the burn, eyes glassy.

Each slow push and curl inside him made him jolt, hips twitching, breath stuttering.

“Don’t stop,” he rasped, voice hoarse and wrecked.

“I won't…” Bokuto whispered, voice soft and needy. He pulled his fingers out carefully, reaching for a condom—but Akaashi caught his wrist.

“No,” he said, voice low, trembling. “I want you to come inside.”

Bokuto had to brace himself not to lose it right there and then.

“O-okay.”

He grabbed a pillow and gently lifted Akaashi’s hips, positioning it beneath him for a better angle.

“You comfortable?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Bokuto lubed himself up, fingers shaking slightly as he lined up.

“I’m gonna try now…” he said softly.

The moment he started to push in, his breath left him in a guttural exhale. So tight . He had to close his eyes for a second just to not come right then.

“Fuck, Akaashi—you’re so tight,” he groaned, opening his eyes to look down at him.

Akaashi felt like his body was on fire, feeling the stretch and the overwhelming sensation of being opened in a way he never had before. The first push was a shock of pain, sharp and stabbing, and for a moment he thought maybe it was too much. That there was no way Bokuto could fit, like he was being split in two… But then he felt Bokuto push again and slip inside. The pain dulled into something else. Not gentler. Not easier. Just… deeper .

Akaashi gasped shakily and gripped Bokuto’s arms, nails biting into skin, and held on.

Then Bokuto pushed another inch and it was intense and new and weird and it left him feeling like he couldn't breathe, gasping for air and trembling, his hands clenching Bokuto’s arms.

Then another. Akaashi felt like he was going mad. Every inch filled him with more pressure, more heat, more openness . He let out a desperate, whimpering moan, nails digging into Bokuto’s skin. His head fell to the side, eyes wet, lips trembling. It felt like his body had reached its limit—like it couldn’t possibly take more.

“Are you okay?” Bokuto asked, voice barely steady.

“It… It feels like you’re turning me inside out, Bokuto-san…”

Bokuto gripped Akaashi’s thighs to steady himself. “Do you want me to stop?”

Akaashi shook his head immediately—too fast. “No. No—just… don’t move. Not yet.”

His voice trembled, fragile and raw, but his hands clung to Bokuto’s arms like he needed him there, needed the weight of him to hold on. Bokuto didn’t move. Didn’t dare. He brushed his thumb along the underside of Akaashi’s knee, slow and soothing.

“I’m sorry,” Bokuto murmured. “I’m trying to go slow…”

“I know,” Akaashi whispered, voice cracking on the edge. Tears slid from the corners of Akaashi’s eyes, warm against his temples. It hurt, and his body didn’t know what to do with all the intensity. The stretch was overwhelming. He felt so full, so invaded , and yet… It was everything he had ever wanted. Bokuto was big—too big, maybe—but his voice, his hands, the way he kissed Akaashi’s knee like nothing else mattered more in the world— that was even more overwhelming than the burn.

Bokuto kissed the tear from Akaashi’s cheek. “Are you really sure you don’t want me to stop?” He asked again.

“No, just… I don’t think more of it’s gonna fit,” Akaashi said, breath hitching.

Bokuto's eyes darted down. Akaashi was right—he wasn’t even all the way in. “It’s okay,” Bokuto said hoarsely. “I won’t push deeper.”

Akaashi nodded. “Move…” he whispered, voice low and thin.

So Bokuto moved—just barely. A cautious rock of his hips, testing. Akaashi hissed, fingers tightening around his arms, but didn’t stop him. So Bokuto did it again—another shallow roll, inching forward—and Akaashi let out a noise somewhere between a sob and a moan. It was just… so much .

Akaashi’s body was trembling, muscles tightening helplessly, his brain trying and failing to make sense of the stretch, the heat, the burn, the feel of Bokuto inside him. Every nerve was alight. Every part of him braced, gasping.

Bokuto pulled back just enough to look at him—and the sight wrecked him. Akaashi’s eyes were wet, lips parted, body trembling with every breath like he couldn’t take in enough air. His chest rose in shallow gasps, sweat slick on his brow.

“I’m not gonna last,” Bokuto choked, voice low and wrecked. “Keiji—I can’t…”

Then, barely a breath. “Don’t stop, please…” Akaashi pleaded, arms going around Bokuto’s neck, holding onto him.

Bokuto obeyed. He drew back—just a little, maybe half an inch—then pushed forward again, and Akaashi moaned, high and helpless, legs tightening around his waist.

It hurt. His body was still trying to stretch around it. But underneath the burn was something else— pressure , unbearable and good, so good it made his cock twitch again even though he swore he couldn’t come a second time.

“You’re too deep,” Akaashi whispered, breath ragged.

Bokuto started to move a little faster now––more urgent. Each thrust made Akaashi cry out, gripping him tighter, his nails digging in, legs trembling. Bokuto reached between them and stroked him, and Akaashi almost screamed , his body arching, mouth open in disbelief that he could still feel this close again, this soon.

“Bokuto-san… it’s—too much—” He cried, feeling the tears leaving his eyes.

“Come for me, Keiji,” Bokuto begged, voice breaking, he leaned closer to Akaashi, pressing his forehead against his and brushing their noses in a soothing gesture. “Please… say my name—come for me—”

Akaashi gasped, body curling, his voice catching in his throat as he stammered. “Can’t—”

But he did . His body clenched, tight around Bokuto as he came again with a cry that barely made it past his lips—raw and breathless. His thighs trembled, his back arched, and the intensity crashed over him so hard it felt like it tore him apart from the inside out.

And then—completely wrecked and laying on the futon—his lips moved.

Koutarou.

No voice. Just the shape of the name, soft and silent, like a prayer from what little breath he had left.

Bokuto broke .

The pressure dragged him down and he followed with a cry—deep, desperate—his cock throbbing as he spilled inside, thick and hot and relentless. Again. And again.

He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t even move.

Couldn’t breathe.

His body was locked in place.

There was no knot locking him inside Akaashi, but his body didn’t seem to care. His instincts surged anyway, raw and unstoppable. He’d meant to pull out after the first load. He’d tried. But the second he started coming, everything short-circuited. His muscles strained, slick with sweat, his whole frame shaking with the effort of release—and still it didn’t stop. His hips twitched in helpless little jerks, forcing more of it into Akaashi, thick and slow, like his body didn’t understand it was over. Like it wanted to keep going until every drop had been given.

Thick pulses, one after another. So much. Too much.

Mate, mate, mate, mate…

His teeth ached.

Akaashi’s body fluttered around him, already spent, and Bokuto buried his face against his shoulder, gasping like he was on fire. His thighs were trembling, muscles seizing from the effort of trying to hold back .

Alphas were built to give. And even without a knot, his body had decided: this is it.

“Shit… Fuck—” Bokuto rasped, voice breaking. “Keiji… I can't…”

“I know,” Akaashi murmured, shaking beneath him. His hand smoothed over Bokuto’s hair on the back of his neck, grounding, steady. “It’s okay, just… try not to move…”

Bokuto let out a sound—half shame, half disbelief. His fists clenched in the futon. He tried to stop, to pull away—but his hips just stuttered, twitching with another thick pulse that made him groan, helpless.

“It’s okay,” Akaashi said again. His voice was so soft, calm, despite the weight of pain in it. “I’m happy…” He pressed his face against Bokuto’s head that was hiding in his shoulder.

And Bokuto just stayed there. Shaking. Still coming. Still stuck in that place between instinct and control.

He didn’t move until the last wave passed—until he’d stopped shaking, stopped releasing. Only then was he able to ease back, and when he pulled out, a thick gush spilled from Akaashi, sliding down his ass.

Bokuto stared, wide-eyed, stunned. “You’re so full,” he whispered.

His thumbs stroked over the flushed skin of Akaashi’s hips, breath caught. The sight—Akaashi’s body leaking with him, trembling, still open—was obscene. Beautiful. Something primal inside him wanted to press it back in, keep it there, seal it inside.

But instead, with trembling fingers, he reached for the towel, fumbling it open to help put it under Akaashi’s hips before they ruined the futon.

“I’ll go get a clean warm towel and…”

“Wait,” Akaashi said softly, catching Bokuto’s hand.

Bokuto looked at him, startled.

“Your hands,” Akaashi whispered. “You’re shaking.”

Bokuto let out a shaky breath, tried to smile, to play it off. “I’m okay. Just… you were—really hot. And I—uh—just… I’ll be fine in a second.”

Akaashi didn’t let go. His eyes were soft, steady. “Stay.”

“But you looked like you were in pain, and I should—” Bokuto started, but Akaashi cut him off.

“I want you here,” he said.

And Bokuto, who still felt like his bones had turned to liquid and his heart was too big for his chest, nodded, easing down beside him.

He swallowed hard. “You okay?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Akaashi nodded, the motion barely there. “Mm. I think I am. It was…” He trailed off, eyelids low. “A lot. In a good way.”

Bokuto let out a breath that was almost a laugh, except it cracked halfway through. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Same.”

Akaashi’s hand went to Bokuto’s cheek, looking at him, like, really looking at him. His messy hair, his too-honest-for-his-own-good golden eyes.

“You’re still shaking,” Akaashi said.

“Yeah,” Bokuto admitted, quiet. “I think my brain is broken.”

Akaashi didn’t say anything, but he doubted it was exactly Bokuto’s brain that was broken. Bokuto was just too honest. He felt so intensely.

“You’re looking at me like I’ve exploded,” Bokuto said after a moment, his voice rough and small.

“You kind of did,” Akaashi replied, almost flatly. “I’m pretty sure you forgot how to breathe for a full minute.”

“I didn’t think it would be like that,” Bokuto whispered. He wasn’t even trying to hide the tremble in his voice now. “I thought I’d be able to handle it, but… Keiji, it was… you .”

Akaashi blinked, the words hitting harder than he’d expected. Bokuto’s eyes were still too wide, still glassy, and he looked like he was trying to process something too big.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Bokuto said. “I thought I could—control myself. Be normal about it. But I kept thinking, it’s you, it’s you, it’s you , and then you mouthed my name and I—” He cut himself off, swallowing thickly. “I still feel like my chest is going to explode.”

Akaashi’s heart clenched. Like the part of him that had always watched Bokuto shine too brightly, fly too close to the sun, had just now realized Bokuto had been burning for him .

He reached for Bokuto’s hand, fingers curling between his. “You don’t have to be normal about it.”

Bokuto looked at him, something wet gathering in the corners of his eyes that he tried to blink away.

Akaashi squeezed his hand.

“It was perfect,” he said. “Even if you feel like your brain’s broken.”

Bokuto let out a breathy laugh—still trembling, still unsure—and shifted closer, pressing their foreheads together.

“I don’t know how to be okay after this,” he whispered.

“Then don’t be,” Akaashi said, pulling him in, fingers stroking the nape of his neck.

“What about you?” Bokuto asked, his voice tight.

“I’m fine… it hurts, but… first times can be hard for male betas who bottom. I don’t even think this was the worst-case scenario,” Akaashi said.

“You sure?”

“Yes. I wish it had been easier, but… I guess my body is just really… uncooperative,” he sighed. “I’ve read about other betas who don’t have as much trouble,” he added, quieter now.

“You read about it?”

“I was curious. Even if I wasn’t an omega, I still couldn’t help how I felt—what I wanted—so I searched in forums online,” Akaashi told him.

“What did they say?”

“Some of them talk about how easy it is. How it feels good right away. That they didn’t even need prep. That it just felt natural. And I kept hoping I’d be like that.”

Bokuto watched him in silence.

“But I’m not,” Akaashi continued, softer now. “It takes forever to get me ready, and even then, it hurts a lot. And… it’s frustrating. I know it’s not what anyone imagines.”

“Wait, frustrating for who?” Bokuto said, eyes wide. “Not for me!”

“For me,” Akaashi said. “I wish I could say it doesn’t get to me, but it does. I keep hoping my body will… catch up to how I feel. But it doesn’t. It just doesn’t. Sometimes I think maybe I’m just… not made for this.” He looked away. “And yet I still want it. I want you. Even if it’s inconvenient.”

“Akaashi…” Bokuto whispered.

“I’m not trying to be noble,” Akaashi said quickly. “I just… I needed to say it, I feel better now.” He’d been carrying those thoughts quietly for too long. “It did hurt a lot, like from the beginning… with the cleaning,” he admitted. “But I feel self-conscious when I don’t do it…”

Bokuto held Akaashi’s face between his hands, kissing him gently. “I love you, Akaashi,” he said, not knowing what else to say after such a confession. “I just love you so so much.”

Akaashi couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at his lips. Bokuto was always like this—earnest to the point of heartbreak. “I know,” he said. And meant it. “I love you too, Bokuto-san.”

“Does it hurt too much? Where does it hurt?” Bokuto asked, brow furrowed.

“My hips. My back. My ass. And… inside. Deep,” Akaashi sighed. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Akaashi, what if I broke you?!” Bokuto said, horrified.

“I’m not an omega, so that’s actually a possibility,” he said, and Bokuto’s face started dropping. “Did it look like you broke me?”

“No?” Bokuto said, unsure.

“Then I’m sure it’s fine…” Akaashi murmured, eyes falling closed. “I’m probably just sore…”

Bokuto watched him, breath slowing. Akaashi’s expression had softened, his breathing beginning to even out.

He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t want to wake him. Akaashi looked so peaceful like that—so beautiful, in a way that made Bokuto ache.

He couldn’t believe it had just happened. That Akaashi had given so much of himself—trusted him that deeply. Endured the pain, let himself cry, let Bokuto hold him through it.

He hadn’t just wanted sex. He had wanted him. Even when his own body got in the way.

God, Bokuto thought. He really loves me.

And how could that ever be better than any omega just loving him because of how he smelled?

When Akaashi woke, Bokuto was curled up against his chest, arm heavy over his waist, breathing deep and even. Akaashi blinked slowly at the ceiling, disoriented by how comfortable he felt. He didn’t even remember falling asleep—just the exhaustion that had settled into his limbs like wet sand, first from work, then from sex, then from the weight of everything finally catching up to him.

His body had simply given out.

He shifted gently, careful not to wake Bokuto, and reached for his phone. It wasn’t even noon yet. Bokuto would probably wake up when he got hungry. He always did.

Still too warm and sore to bother getting up, Akaashi slid his hand to the side, reached for the book he was currently reading, and propped it open against the pillow. His glasses were in the bathroom, but bringing the page close solved the problem well enough.

It gave him time to think. Time he rarely let himself have.

He couldn’t stop picturing the way Bokuto’s body had tensed at the end—so violently it almost looked painful. His hips had jerked forward in these desperate, involuntary pulses, as if his body didn’t trust him to finish the job. As if some ancient, primal instinct had kicked in and forced him to keep going, even after he’d already come, already wanting to stop.

Akaashi hadn’t minded. It had hurt, yes, and his stomach still felt a bit upset. His thighs ached. But more than that, he’d been overwhelmed by the way Bokuto had looked—eyes wide, breath choked, like he didn’t want to hurt him, like he didn’t want to fail . That vulnerability, twisted into his face—it had pulled something deep out of Akaashi. Not pity. Just... care.

He’d wanted him to stop making that face.

He hadn’t realized before how much the alpha body could rebel like that. That it could force itself on instinct alone. That even Bokuto, who always tried so hard to be gentle, would have to fight for control. And Akaashi, for all his logic and composure, had felt that difference. The difference between an alpha male and a beta male.

About half an hour later, Bokuto stirred beside him with a low grunt, blinking awake. He lifted his head, then startled when he realized he’d been drooling onto Akaashi’s chest.

“Ah—sorry!” he said quickly, wiping his mouth and craning his neck to meet Akaashi’s eyes.

Akaashi set the book aside. “Good morning, Bokuto-san.”

“Sorry,” Bokuto repeated, sheepish. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“I did too,” Akaashi said. “I just woke up before you.”

Bokuto shifted again, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “Was I too much?” he asked, voice quiet, uncertain. “Sometimes it feels like I can’t—like I lose control, and I just… Did I wear you off?”

Akaashi shook his head, barely. “I don’t mind,” he murmured. “I kind of like it. It feels like… you really, really want me, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto’s breath caught. He looked at Akaashi, eyes wide—unguarded—and parted his lips, like he was about to say something more. Something deeper.

But he stopped himself. Swallowed it down.

“I do,” he said instead, voice thick. “I really do.”

“Then it’s fine, don’t worry about it, I also like your body…” Akaashi pressed his forehead against Bokuto’s. “Let’s get something to make lunch, maybe we should get a little extra for tomorrow too.”

Chapter Text

They’d spent the whole day wrapped in each other like the outside world didn’t exist. Bokuto had pampered Akaashi at every opportunity, sucking him off, making him come until he was hoarse and trembling on the futon. Akaashi was pretty sure he’d smell like Bokuto for a week.

They were lying there, spent and lazy under the blankets after yet another mind-numbing orgasm when Akaashi spoke—calm, curious:

“Bokuto-san… are you into kink?”

Bokuto choked—on nothing, on the concept of kink , on air itself . He jolted upright like he’d just touched a live wire. “ What?! I am not!! ”

Akaashi didn’t move, just blinked at him, expression flat. “That’s a very enthusiastic denial,” he said.

“I just—! I mean—!” Bokuto flailed a little, then groaned and dropped back into the futon, throwing an arm over his face. “I didn’t mean to react like that.”

Akaashi hummed. “So… yes?”

“I guess?” Bokuto peeked at him through his fingers. “I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve made a list…”

Lies.

“I’ve noticed a pattern when we have sex,” Akaashi continued, as if Bokuto wasn’t having a full-body existential crisis next to him. “The way you kept watching me when I was… full. Not just in the shower. In bed too.”

Bokuto let out a strangled noise. “You noticed ?!”

“You don’t hide it very well,” Akaashi replied, like it was just another lazy Saturday conversation. “You kept looking. Even after we were done.”

Bokuto groaned and hid under the blanket. “Okay, yes. That was… new. I wasn’t—it’s not like—I just—I didn’t know I’d be into that but then you looked so— and I was in—and you were just— Ugh .”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow. “You know you can just say it turned you on.”

Bokuto collapsed forward like he’d been slain. “I know ! I just didn’t expect to be that into it.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Akaashi, in his usual deadpan: “And just now you said that was new, so I'm guessing there’s more.”

Bokuto let out a muffled, “I’m never recovering from this.”

“You’re exaggerating, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi nudged him under the blankets with his foot. “I kinda liked it too.”

That earned a small, strangled “Ohmygod,” from beneath the covers. “You did ?”

“Yes. It felt intimate. And a little filthy. In a good way,” he admitted. “You weren’t planning to hide it forever, were you?”

“I mean… I don’t know,” Bokuto said. “I wasn’t planning to say anything.”

“So?” Akaashi tilted his head. “What else do you like?”

“I like you , Akaashi,” Bokuto said instantly, sounding almost betrayed.

Akaashi just sighed. “That’s not what I meant, Bokuto-san. I meant: what would you like us to do in bed?”

Bokuto squirmed, suddenly very aware of how naked they both still were under the blankets. He hesitated. “Nothing! I mean… I like it when you’re full. That’s a big one. Especially when you just let go, all breathless like that—”

Akaashi nodded. “And?”

Bokuto bit his lip. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I also like… you know, eating you out. A lot.” He paused for a moment. “That’s not weird , right?”

“It’s not uncommon I guess,” Akaashi said.

“And… well, I like how you smell,” Bokuto added.

Akaashi just nodded and gave a small hum as an answer. 

Bokuto finally peeked out from under the blanket. “You’re okay with that kind of stuff?”

“I don’t mind,” Akaashi said. “I don’t think it’s something that weird.”

Bokuto hesitated, his expression shifting—not playful anymore, but tight, serious. “What if there’s something… worse?”

Akaashi’s brow furrowed slightly. “Define worse.”

Bokuto was suddenly very still. “Something I’ve never told anyone. Not even Kuroo.”

“Alright,” Akaashi said gently.

“I’ve liked it since high school. I don’t know why. But it always felt… wrong. Dirty.” Bokuto’s voice was small, like he was forcing it out past a lifetime of shame. “But you asked about stuff I would like us to do, and I thought… if I really loved someone… I would never do that .”

Akaashi waited, but Bokuto didn’t say anything.

“Won’t you tell me?” He asked.

“It’s… embarrassing, and dirty, and… I don’t want to gross you out.” Bokuto insisted.

“I’m already imagining all sorts of things, wouldn’t it be better if you told me what it is?” Akaashi said.

There was a long pause.

“It’s watersports,” Bokuto whispered. “Like… not all of it, like, something, specific… and… Sometimes I would think about… doing it. But I don’t think I could .” He finally looked at Akaashi. “It’s disgusting. I know it is.”

“Watersports?” Akaashi asked, confused.

Bokuto looked mortified that Akaashi didn’t even know the term. “It’s… peeing,” he said before Akaashi looked it up online. “I’m gross.”

“I don’t think you’re gross,”

“It is gross,” Bokuto insisted. “That’s why I didn’t want to say anything. It’s weird. And you’re so— you . Smart. Elegant. Perfect. And I’m just—”

“You literally helped me with anal showers, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said flatly. “I’m overworked. I’m jealous. I’m constantly frustrated. I’m bitter. I’m nowhere near perfect.”

Bokuto stared at him like he didn’t understand the words.

“I love you,” Akaashi said simply. “And that doesn’t stop just because you have one or two kinks. You are not even asking me to actually add it to our sex lives.”

“I didn’t want to scare you off,” Bokuto whispered. “Not when you finally agreed to go out with me…”

“You don’t scare me,” Akaashi replied. “I’ve never felt unsafe with you.”

Bokuto swallowed hard. “You’re really okay with that?”

“I am,” Akaashi said.

Bokuto let out a breath that sounded almost like a sob and pulled Akaashi into his arms, burying his face in his neck. “I love you so much,” he whispered. “Even the weird, broken parts of me.”

“You’re not broken,” Akaashi said into his hair.

But despite those words, Bokuto was still having a hard time believing it.

Sunday morning arrived too soon, and with it, the reality that Bokuto had to return to Osaka. He lingered at the door, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his usual energy dampened.

Akaashi watched him for a long moment, then reached into his pocket. He held out a small key.

Bokuto stared at it. “Keiji.”

“I want you to have it,” Akaashi said, not meeting his eyes.

Bokuto took the key carefully, as if it was something fragile. He exhaled, then grinned, bright and wide. “I’ll have it with me all the time.”

Akaashi rolled his eyes. “That’s kind of the point, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto surged forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead before pulling him into a tight hug. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised, voice fierce.

Akaashi hugged him back, holding onto the memory of his warmth, unsure when he'd feel it again.

Adjusting to long-distance wasn’t easy, but they were finding their rhythm.

Bokuto messaged Akaashi constantly—sending pictures from training, updates about his meals, random thoughts throughout the day. And Akaashi, despite his packed schedule, responded as often as he could. Their conversations were sometimes mundane, sometimes deeply intimate—but always, they felt like home.

___________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
Look!! I made tamagoyaki today!! [Image attached]

___________________________________________

___________________________________________

From: Akaashi Keiji
To: Bokuto Koutarou
It’s burnt.

___________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
IT’S CARAMELIZED!!!

___________________________________________

Some nights, they called each other. Sometimes Bokuto rambled about volleyball—his team, how training went, what he ate for dinner. Other nights, Akaashi talked about work: editorial deadlines, stubborn authors, the new novel he was editing.

Bokuto always asked questions, even when he didn’t understand everything—just happy to hear Akaashi talk.

And then there were the nights when words weren’t enough.

“I miss you,” Bokuto murmured, his voice low over the phone. Akaashi could hear the rustle of sheets, the way Bokuto shifted, restless.

Akaashi hummed. “I miss you too.”

“I wanna touch you.”

There was a pause. Akaashi swallowed, fingers tightening around his phone. “…Then touch yourself.”

Bokuto groaned, and Akaashi felt warmth coil low in his stomach, knowing exactly what he was doing on the other end of the line. Their calls turned into something more—whispers of need, the slick sound of movement, breathy gasps shared across the distance. It wasn’t the same, but it was something.

Even during the day, their conversations carried that undertone.

___________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
You have NO IDEA how much I wanna be in your bed
right now.

___________________________________________

___________________________________________

From: Akaashi Keiji
To: Bokuto Koutarou
Be in my bed or be inside me?

___________________________________________

___________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
Akaa~shi…

___________________________________________

___________________________________________

From: Akaashi Keiji
To: Bokuto Koutarou
I’m just confirming.

___________________________________________

___________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
You’re a tease, Akaashi Keiji.

___________________________________________

___________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
Inside you. Definitely inside you.

___________________________________________

They made plans.

Bokuto’s next visit wasn’t just for them this time—he asked if Akaashi would come with him to see his parents. Bokuto had already told them about their relationship. His sisters, who had been part of the reason Akaashi had stopped running away in the first place, were reportedly “dying to see him again.”

“They already love you,” Bokuto had said confidently, grinning into his phone. “They always did.”

But Akaashi still felt the nerves buzzing under his skin as they approached the house of the Bokuto family. He clutched the small gift he brought—a box of expensive tea leaves and an artfully wrapped cake from a french bakery that had excellent reviews.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he asked for the third time, fingers tightening around the gift bag.

Bokuto bumped their shoulders together as they walked. “Keiji, they’re going to cry just from seeing you again. You could show up with a pack of konbini mochi and they’d lose it.”

“That’s not… comforting,” Akaashi murmured, but he didn’t slow down. He was still walking. Still doing this.

He had dressed up properly, neat, all black with a grey coat, a scarf around his neck, more for color than anything. 

When they reached the front door, Bokuto rang the bell. There was a beat of silence—then the door burst open, and the house exploded into motion.

“Kejiiiiii!!” Natsumi shouted as she flung the door open, immediately launching herself at Akaashi in a hug.

He barely had time to brace, shifting the gift box and cake in his arms to keep them from being crushed. “Wait—careful—”

“What?” Kaori’s voice rang out from the kitchen, followed by her sudden appearance in the hallway, drying her hands on a towel. She took one look at Natsumi already wrapped around him and huffed. “No fair!”

She shoved Natsumi aside, grabbing for Akaashi’s other arm. “I haven’t seen him in ages, get off—”

“You saw him the last time I saw him!” Natsumi replied.

Before he could even blink, he was being dragged inside, still holding the cake, both women clinging to him like overgrown children fighting over a toy.

“Keiji, it’s so good to see you,” Bokuto’s mother said warmly from the genkan, smiling fondly as the two women tussled over him. “We really missed you when you stopped visiting.”

“I—I’m really sorry,” Akaashi said, bowing awkwardly even as Kaori tried to loop her arms around his shoulders again.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Bokuto snapped, appearing behind them and scolding his sisters. “Akaashi is my boyfriend now. You don’t get to sexually harass him anymore!”

“What’s sesamil grass , Mommy?” a small voice asked.

Akaashi froze.

His eyes drifted towards the hallway, where a little girl—maybe nine or ten—was peeking at them curiously. She had soft silver hair and round, thoughtful eyes. She looked nothing like the chaos around her. She was still, watching.

“That’s—” Bokuto began, but Natsumi cut in quickly.

“It’s a grown-up thing,” she said with a tight smile, walking over to the girl. “Uncle Kou gets jealous because we like Keiji so much.”

The girl stared directly at Akaashi. “Are you Keiji?”

Akaashi hesitated. Something fluttered uncomfortably in his chest. She was so poised, so certain in her gaze—already real in a way that caught him off-guard.

He hadn’t known. About her. About any of this… and he realized despite him pulling away the world had kept going in Bokuto’s life.

“Ah… yes,” he said, trying to soften his voice, forcing a small smile. “That’s me.”

“This is Haruka,” Natsumi took the time to introduce her. “She is my oldest, I also have Takeru, he is a bit more shy, probably clinging to his father,” Natsumi was all smiles as she introduced her children.

“Is that for us?” Bokuto’s mother asked, her gaze soft as she noticed the box in Akaashi’s hands. He was still frozen, staring at the little girl in the genkan.

“Yes—ah, sorry. Thank you for inviting me,” he said quickly, offering the neatly wrapped box to her with both hands.

“You’ve always been such a polite young man,” she said warmly as she accepted it. Opening the lid slightly, she smiled. “Oh, a cake! I’ll put it in the fridge so it won’t spoil. And—green tea?” She inhaled lightly. “Smells delicious.”

Akaashi risked a glance at Bokuto, who was grinning at him with a smug I told you so expression. But Akaashi’s chest was still tight from the sight of Natsumi’s daughter. He slipped off his shoes and followed Bokuto quietly down the hall.

In the living room, Bokuto’s father sat with another man, his hand resting lightly over a very round belly––clearly an omega. On his other side, a small boy with striking silver hair clung to him, half hiding against his arm.

Bokuto’s father stood immediately, his smile as bright as his son’s. “It’s been too long, Keiji.”

“Yes, it’s really been very long,” Akaashi replied, bowing respectfully.

Natsumi beamed, leading him closer. “This is my husband, Ren, and our second, Takeru.” Her eyes softened as she touched her husband’s shoulder. “We have our third on the way. Still haven’t settled on a name.”

Ren inclined his head with a gentle smile. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet and warm. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Akaashi-san. Koutarou’s told me all about you.”

Takeru peeked up shyly, his round eyes unmistakably a Bokuto’s. Even his grin, when it flickered briefly as he looked at his mother, was a mirror of Bokuto’s childhood photos.

Before Akaashi could even process the strange twist in his stomach, Kaori piped up from behind him. “Don’t look so shocked, Keiji—yes, I’m still single. Natsumi’s having all the children for me and Kou too.”

“Kaori!” Natsumi swatted her arm, laughing. “Don’t tease. I just… can’t help it. My husband’s too cute.”

Ren flushed faintly at that, ducking his head with a sheepish smile while Takeru hid against his arm.

Akaashi managed a polite smile back, but the thought lingered, heavy and unspoken: life had gone on without him. Families had grown. And he, a beta, would never be able to give Bokuto something like this.

The dining table was already set, an extra small table pulled up at the end so everyone could fit. Akaashi settled beside Bokuto, still reeling a little.

Despite the familiar house and familiar faces, this was different. He wasn’t here as just Bokuto’s kouhai from the volleyball team anymore. He was here as his partner. And for the first time, he was meeting Natsumi’s family.

Ren sat across from him, his hands absently resting on his rounded belly as Natsumi fussed beside him. Pregnant. Glowing. Perfect in the way everyone expected an omega to be.

The sight made Akaashi’s stomach tighten, his inadequacy louder than it had ever been.

And still—nobody seemed to be judging him.

“Told you,” Bokuto whispered, leaning close with a grin. “They love you.”

Akaashi lowered his gaze, fingers brushing over the folded napkin in his lap. Despite the warmth, the acceptance, it was hard to believe he deserved it.

“Everything looks wonderful, Ms. Bokuto,” he said politely, voice measured.

“I helped!” Natsumi cut in brightly.

“You peeled the garlic,” Kaori countered, pointedly.

“I had to watch Haruka. And I brought dessert!” Natsumi shot back.

“It all looks really good,” Akaashi said with a small smile, nodding to them both.

“Such a polite boy,” Mrs. Bokuto said with a theatrical sigh. “What did we do to deserve him, honey?”

“A mystery, darling,” Mr. Bokuto replied, reaching for the salad. “We are truly very lucky.”

“Hey!” Bokuto protested, indignant.

Akaashi looked around the table, then down at his hands, folding them for a moment in his lap. For a moment, he hesitated. Then he spoke, his voice quiet but steady.

“I’m the lucky one,” he said softly. His gaze flicked towards Bokuto, then back to his parents. “I’m truly grateful to be welcomed into your home like this. I know I’m not the kind of partner people usually expect for an alpha… not someone who can give you grandchildren, or carry on certain traditions.” He looked at Ren and then drew a careful breath. “But I love your son very much. And I promise I’ll do everything I can to make him happy and to support him. Thank you for accepting me, even so… and for trusting me with someone so important to you.”

There was a beat of silence, before Mrs. Bokuto’s face softened even further. She reached across the table, laying her hand gently over Akaashi’s.

“Oh, Keiji. There’s no need to be so formal,” she said gently. “We’ve always known Koutarou would bring you home one day. He’s been talking about marrying you since the day he met you.”

“ Mom! ” Bokuto yelped, face going red so fast it was almost impressive.

His sisters burst into laughter immediately. “Oh my god,” Natsumi wheezed. “She just outed you.”

“Wait— you haven’t proposed yet? ” Kaori asked, scandalized. “You said you’d marry him like, ten years ago. What do we have to do so you would finally have the guts to ask him to marry you?”

“You are one to talk, you haven’t even brought a girlfriend home,” Natsumi said. “At least we all knew Koutarou would bring Keiji back and it was just a matter of time.”

“Hey!” Kaori said, her eyebrows furrowed.

Bokuto’s mother gasped, suddenly covering her mouth. “Oh no! I thought you two were already engaged!” She turned to Akaashi, eyes wide. “Keiji, I’m so sorry—I wasn’t trying to pressure you boys, truly! It’s just… Koutarou talked like it was a done deal.”

Akaashi blinked, a little stunned. He glanced at Bokuto, who looked positively mortified, mouthing, I didn’t tell her to say that.

“It’s alright,” Akaashi managed, voice calm but cheeks slightly pink. “That… does sound like something he would say.”

“Oh my god,” Bokuto groaned, covering his face with both hands. “You’re all the worst. ”

“You’re so lucky he still likes you,” Natsumi added.

Then Bokuto’s father, sitting across the table, looked at Akaashi with quiet curiosity. “Did you talk about it with your parents, Keiji? About the relationship?”

Akaashi paused for a moment, gathering his words. “No, I haven’t,” he said carefully. “We’re not really in touch. They both remarried when I was young, started new families. I’ve lived with my grandmother on my mother’s side for as long as I can remember.”

He offered a small, practiced smile, the kind that didn’t invite pity. “I don’t think they’d pay it much mind, either way.”

“Oh, Keiji…” Bokuto’s mother reached across the table and took his hand. “I’m sure they’d be happy for you. There’s no parent who wouldn’t want their child to be loved.”

Akaashi gave her a polite smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “They’re not really like that,” he said simply.

“What about your grandmother?” Bokuto’s dad asked gently.

Bokuto shifted uncomfortably, clearly trying to signal his father not to go there, but the question was already out.

“My grandmother won’t approve,” Akaashi said, tone level, as though he’d long made peace with it. “She’d probably be so angry she’d give herself an ulcer.”

He tried to make it sound like it didn’t matter, light, but they just looked at him.

“Why wouldn’t she approve?” Bokuto’s mom asked, her voice soft.

Akaashi hesitated only for a second. He hadn’t even told Bokuto about this yet. But maybe… maybe he shouldn’t keep hiding it.

“She doesn’t believe in non-traditional relationships,” he said. “As a beta… she won’t accept me being with an alpha. She thinks those kind of bonds are unnatural. That I’m overstepping.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

“Well,” Bokuto’s mother said, gently but firmly, “that may be what she thinks, but we think Koutarou is very lucky to have you. And we’re honored you’re here, Keiji.”

“You’re already part of the family,” Kaori added.

“Yeah,” Natsumi agreed. “We’ll fight your grandma if you want. Just say the word.”

Akaashi laughed quietly, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a fraction.

“I’ll fight too!” Haruka piped up suddenly from the end of the table, puffing out her chest the way her uncle always did before a big play. She jabbed her little fist in the air with fierce determination. “No one’s allowed to be mean to Akaashi-nii!”

“Haruka…” Natsumi groaned, trying not to laugh.

But Bokuto beamed, instantly leaning across the table to high-five her. “That’s my girl! Look at that form, Akaashi—you see that? She’s ready to take anyone down.”

“Yes…” Akaashi mumbled, but honestly, deep down, it still felt like he was taking up space that didn’t belong to him.

They stayed until late, eating cake and talking about everything and nothing. Bokuto’s family adored Akaashi—had adored him since high school—and now that he was officially part of the family, they didn’t hold back. It was easy, and warm, and filled with love.

But as the night wound down and they walked back to Akaashi’s apartment side by side through quiet streets, Bokuto’s heart felt heavier with every step.

He kept glancing at Akaashi’s hand. So close. So untouchable.

He hated this part.

“I don’t like pretending you’re just my friend in public,” he said, stopping.

Akaashi sighed and turned around, looking at him.

“Would you marry me?” Bokuto asked suddenly.

Akaashi froze, his eyes opening wide. “What?”

“I just… I want to know. If I asked, would you say yes?”

The silence stretched. Akaashi looked away, then back again. “What about your career?”

“I want to hold your hand when we walk. I want to tell people you’re mine. I hate having to lie and say you’re just a friend.”

Akaashi didn’t answer right away. He glanced around—the empty street, the quiet night. No cameras. No phones. But even here, even now, he felt like someone could be watching.

He met Bokuto’s eyes. “I think this is not something we should take so lightly.”

“I know,” Bokuto said, but his voice was softer now. “But you won’t hold my hand.”

Akaashi exhaled. “You’re not just anyone, Bokuto-san. You’re a famous athlete. You’re in magazines. On screens. People love you—some of them obsessively. If they found out…” He trailed off. “They’d hate me,” he finally said, more quietly. “Or worse. They’d hurt you. Or your image. They’d say things. About you. About us. About why someone like me is with someone like you.”

Bokuto frowned. “Keiji…”

“I  don’t want to be the reason your fans turn on you. I don’t want to be the one who makes your life harder.”

There was a long pause.

Then Bokuto took a step closer. “You’re not. You’re the one thing that makes my life worth it. ”

Akaashi swallowed.

“But…” Bokuto added gently, “if you’re not ready, I won’t push.” He let the silence sit between them again before adding, “But yeah. If I ever asked, I hope you'd say yes.”

“I’m sorry…” Akaashi said.

“Don’t be…” Bokuto replied. “Let’s go.”

Akaashi nodded.

Bokuto went back to Osaka, but they had already planned the next time they’d see each other. Bokuto’s next visit was marked on Akaashi’s calendar—a bright, blinking promise he clung to between late-night convenience store meals and the cold glow of his monitor: Just two more days.

But that evening, Bokuto called.

“I—I can’t come this weekend.”

Akaashi sat up straighter. “Why? What happened?”

Bokuto’s voice sounded rough, strained. “Don’t panic, okay?” A beat. “I… I’m going into rut.”

Akaashi froze. “What…?”

“I’m okay,” Bokuto rushed to say, like he could smooth it over with speed. “I’ve handled it before. I’ll handle it this time too. It’s just—it lasts a whole week. I didn’t want you to worry.”

But he did worry. He could hear the tension in Bokuto’s voice—the restrained pain he was trying so hard to hide, the effort to sound normal. And it wasn’t working. He knew Bokuto wasn’t okay.

“I thought…” Akaashi started, but the words tangled in his throat.

“My coach said it’s probably just a hormone imbalance,” Bokuto added quickly. “Nothing serious.”

Akaashi hesitated. “Is it… my fault?” The question escaped before he could pull it back. “I mean—sorry, I just—” He exhaled, frustrated with himself. “I didn’t mean to make this about me.”

“Keiji.” Bokuto’s voice was tight but gentle. “It’s not your fault. I promise.” Then, as if trying to break the tension, he added, “You could always send me pictures wearing my clothes. Or, you know, mail me your used underwear so I can jerk myself stupid.”

Akaashi closed his eyes. Normally, he might have rolled with it. Teased him back. But tonight… It wasn't funny. Not when he knew how vulnerable Bokuto could be. What it meant for an alpha to go through rut alone.

“I…” he whispered, voice trembling. “I love you, Bokuto-san.”

Silence. And then a low, involuntary sound—the growl that slipped through the speaker was raw, unfiltered. Primal. It sent a chill through him.

“I want to be with you,” Akaashi said. His voice was quiet but certain. “For your rut.”

“What?” Bokuto asked, stunned.

“I know it’s a bad idea,” Akaashi admitted. “I know I’m not an omega. I know I might not be able to handle it. But I still want to try. I want to be there with you, even if it’s hard or… dangerous.”

Bokuto’s breath caught.

“Please,” Akaashi whispered. “I know I’m… not what people expect for you. I can’t have a heat. I can’t scent you or give you pups. But I want to give you this. I’m your partner, aren’t I?” It wasn’t just about the rut. It was about being chosen. For omegas, there were biological cues, drives, instincts. But for a beta like him there was no scent trail, no heat cycle. All he had was choice. Just one man deciding to stay with another through this.

“I want to be with you too,” Bokuto said quietly. “But, Akaashi, it’s not—”

“Please.”

The line went quiet. But it wasn’t cold. It was full, heavy with everything left unsaid.

“I’m going,” Akaashi said. “I don’t care, so… don’t make me ask Kuroo-san for your address.”

The next day Akaashi made it work earlier than usual, the lights were already buzzing overhead in the office. His inbox already overflowing like always. Reports overdue. None of it mattered.

He walked straight to his boss’s office.

The man didn’t even look up from his screen. “What is it now, Akaashi? More complaints?” he sighed, clearly annoyed.

Akaashi bowed, then placed a sealed envelope on the desk. “This is my resignation.”

That definitely made his boss look up.

“What?” he snapped. “You’re resigning? On a Thursday morning? Without notice?!”

“I apologize for the timing,” Akaashi said, voice steady. “But I have a personal matter I cannot postpone.”

His boss scoffed. “You’ve been acting distracted for months. Always making excuses. If this is about vacation time—”

“It isn’t.”

“You realize this will go on your record, don’t you?” the man pressed. “A resignation like this, with no formal transition period—it won’t look good on future applications.”

“I understand.” Akaashi bowed again. “But I’m not asking for permission. I’m informing you.”

He turned to leave, but his boss called after him. “You young people think the world owes you something. You quit like this and expect sympathy? This job was stability. Security. People would kill to have what you’re throwing away.”

Akaashi stopped in the doorway. He didn’t turn around. Just said, quietly, “Then they’re welcome to have it.”

And he left.

The office felt strange without the weight of obligation anchoring him in place. As Akaashi emptied his desk, quietly sliding books and personal items into his bag, the space around him blurred into a soft hum of coworkers whispering, pretending not to stare. No one helped. No one stopped him.

At the elevator, he ran into Yamashita.

Of course she was there.

She stood there, perfectly put-together as always—lip gloss, designer bag, nails painted a glossy peach. She smiled too sweetly. “Leaving early today, Akaashi-san?” she asked, though her tone made it clear she already knew.

“I’m resigning,” he said simply, without looking at her.

She blinked, then gave a short, brittle laugh. “Resigning? Just like that?” A beat. “If you wanted some time off, you could’ve taken vacation days. You already had medical leave a couple months ago, didn’t you?”

Akaashi didn’t respond.

Her smile tightened. “Betas always fold under pressure.” She sighed and placed a hand dramatically on her chest. “Alphas carry the real weight in the world…”

That was when her expression changed. Just slightly—her eyes narrowed. Her nose twitched.

Then, sharply, “No way.”

Akaashi didn’t look at her.

“No way,” she said again, her voice rising. “You’re not serious. You couldn’t possibly—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Akaashi replied, voice dry.

“That alpha—He’s gone into rut and you’re going to him, aren’t you?!”

He said nothing.

She stepped forward, the hiss in her voice rising. “You’re disgusting. You’re not even an omega. You’re not meant to be with someone like him. You don’t get to pretend at something you’ll never understand.”

Akaashi turned slightly, calm as ever. “Pretend?”

Her lips curled. “That bond is ours . It belongs to omegas . We need alphas. You don’t. You’re just playing a game—stealing something sacred for your own selfish fantasy.”

“What?” he asked, confused.

“You’re using him,” she spat. “Using his rut to make him dependent on you. And now you’re quitting—forcing the rest of us to cover for you—just to go get off with someone else’s alpha. How selfish can you be?”

A pause.

The elevator dinged softly behind him. The doors slid open.

Akaashi stared at her for a long moment. Her breath was uneven now, her posture wavering under the weight of her own indignation. He said nothing for a beat.

Akaashi stepped into the elevator. Then he turned to face her, utterly calm.

“I refuse to apologise.” He said, and the doors closed.

He went home and packed light—just a small overnight bag with a few changes of clothes. Then he grabbed the first train to Osaka.

On the way to Bokuto’s, he stopped for groceries, painkillers, electrolyte drinks, extra lube, condoms—anything he thought might help. He didn’t know exactly what Bokuto would need, only what he’d read about online, his phone screen bright against the evening light of the train.

Calm Techniques & Support Strategies
A professor of behavioral endocrinology offers advice on calming an alpha during rut:

• Omegas can release a soothing scent to ease agitation.
• Skin‑to‑skin contact, especially with the alpha breathing at the scent gland, helps redirect arousal towards the omega.
• Allowing the alpha to scent their partner excessively can anchor their focus.
• If no omega is present, isolate the alpha. Avoid territorial buildup or dominance challenges.

Akaashi sighed when he reached “if no omega is present.” His thumb hovered on the screen before he bit his lip, closing his eyes. He refused to give up before trying.

Additional Comfort Measures

• Omegas may bring scented items or themselves to the alpha for reassurance.
• Prolonged cuddling and letting the alpha inhale the omega’s individual scent can shorten rut episodes.
  
  

But Akaashi had no scent.

His chest tightened as he scrolled further.

Ruthouses
Sanctuaries designed for alphas during rut:

These facilities function like hotels or clinics where alphas can retreat safely with comfort, food, suppressants, and supervision. Rooms are scent‑controlled, often with attendants. Both state‑funded and private variants exist.

He drew a long breath, forcing it steady. That… couldn’t be totally discarded.

Medical Management
Rut suppressants—hormone shots or pills—can delay or block rut but carry risks:

• Erectile dysfunction.
• Loss of fertility.
• Permanent suppression of rut cycles.
  Many alphas avoid suppressants, fearing both the health risks and the sense of losing a core instinct.

By the time he reached Bokuto’s apartment, Akaashi was more confused than when he started. But he knew one thing: despite everything, he wanted to be there. For Bokuto.

He knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again, a little louder. “Bokuto-san?”

There was a rustle. A thud. Then a sharp crash, like something tipping over just behind the door.

Akaashi froze. “It’s me,” he called carefully. “Bokuto-san, it’s Akaashi.”

For a long moment, all he could hear was the heavy drag of uneven breathing and he wondered if maybe he had overstepped, if maybe his presence was not wanted at the time.

Then, a voice. Rough. Disbelieving. “Akaashi?”

“Yes,” he said, stepping closer. “Would you open the door?”

The lock clicked, hesitantly. The door opened only a few inches, just enough for Bokuto’s face to peek through—sweat-damp, flushed, eyes glassy and burning gold.

Akaashi nudged the door open gently and stepped inside. The air in the apartment was heavy—he didn’t know if it was thick with pheromones exactly, it was not something Akaashi could smell as a beta, but he could feel it.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Bokuto said, voice hoarse and fragile.

“I can leave if I’m really a bother,” Akaashi replied evenly. He lifted the grocery bag a little. “I bought some things to help. I can leave them here and go…” He tried to keep his tone light.

“Leave…? Is it because—” Bokuto’s voice broke. His whole body shook as his hands covered his face, and then he sobbed. Not a choked noise, not a restrained sound, but full, desperate sobs. “Don’t leave… please don’t leave me, ‘Kaashi…”

Akaashi didn’t think—he dropped everything on the floor and stepped forward, gathering Bokuto into his arms. The alpha clung to him with trembling strength, burying his face against Akaashi’s shoulder, fists twisting in his clothes like he might vanish.

“I’m not leaving,” Akaashi said, steady and sure. “I’m not leaving you.” He promised, even as confusion gnawed at him. This was nothing like what he’d read. Nothing like the warnings or guides. Bokuto wasn’t wild with rut. He wasn’t insatiable.

He was scared. Vulnerable. His body felt unsteady, fragile in his arms, like if Akaashi let go, he might shatter. Akaashi had never seen him like this.

Akaashi didn’t say anything more. He just held on, letting Bokuto’s sobs wrack through him, solid and steady beneath the weight. Time stretched, punctuated only by the uneven gasps against his shoulder, until the sobs dulled into quiet hiccups.

When the trembling finally slowed, Akaashi leaned back enough to look at him. Bokuto’s face was blotchy, eyes red and swollen, lashes clumped with tears. His lips trembled with every shaky breath, and his hair clung damply to his forehead.

He looked like a mess. Beautiful, aching… but a mess.

Without thinking, Akaashi raised a hand to brush the damp strands back. The heat beneath his palm startled him.

“Bokuto-san…” he murmured, brow furrowing. “You’re burning up.”

Bokuto tried to shake his head, mumbling something incoherent, but Akaashi didn’t let him argue. He steadied Bokuto with an arm around his shoulders and guided him gently towards the room right next to them. Luckily Bokuto’s room.

The alpha leaned heavily into him, his body radiating feverish warmth, his steps uneven.

“Easy,” Akaashi said quietly, tightening his hold when Bokuto stumbled. “I’ve got you.”

The room was a mess. Sheets half-off the bed. Water bottles knocked over. A bowl with barely-touched rice on the night table.

They reached the bed, and Akaashi eased him down, helping him sit before pulling the covers back. Bokuto collapsed onto the mattress with a muffled exhale, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed.

Akaashi sat at the edge of the bed, brushing the hair back from his temple again, thumb ghosting over damp skin. “Try to rest a little. I’ll get you some water.”

Bokuto’s hand twitched, fumbling for his wrist. His grip was strong—far stronger than Akaashi had ever felt before—and he knew, with clinical detachment, that it would probably leave a bruise. But the plea in Bokuto’s eyes was stronger still.

“Stay?”

Akaashi didn’t hesitate. He squeezed back gently, grounding him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The words seemed to settle something in Bokuto, whose chest rose and fell in uneven waves until, slowly, the rhythm evened out.

Akaashi stayed, seated on the edge of the bed, his hand resting lightly over Bokuto’s. Not restraining, not retreating—just there. A silent promise.

When Bokuto’s lashes finally lowered and the tension in his jaw slackened, Akaashi let himself exhale. Carefully he eased his hand free and stood, moving with practiced quiet.

He left the room closing the door behind him, releasing a quiet breath the moment it clicked into place. The heat of Bokuto’s grip lingered on his wrist, pulsing faintly in time with his heartbeat.

Akaashi flexed his fingers once, shaking out the ache, before turning back towards the kitchen. There were things he could do: prepare food, lay out the painkillers, set a damp cloth to cool again.

He wasn’t affected by Bokuto’s pheromones, so he decided to make himself useful the only way he could think of, keeping the place clean and providing Bokuto with fresh meals.

And actually… It was his first time here, in Bokuto's apartment in Osaka. He’d never been here before. Bokuto always came to Tokyo, always stayed at Akaashi’s tiny place, it was always Bokuto travelling for Akaashi.

The apartment was… beautiful. Open and full of light. An American-style kitchen with sleek dark cabinets, a long black counter separating it from the living room. A large table in the center, clearly used—there were faint ring stains from mugs, a towel thrown over the back of one of the chairs.

Akaashi moved quietly.

The couch was a soft grey, modern and low-backed, but with worn spots on the armrests—used for flopping over, probably. The curtains were blue. Not flashy. Just gentle.

There were no trinkets, no flowers, no framed quotes or decorative sculptures. Just… things that made sense. A thick hoodie tossed across the back of the couch. A volleyball under the coffee table.

He picked up the hoodie carefully, folded it, and placed it on the side of the couch.

He noticed the shelves in the corner—photos lined up with deliberate care. Most were of Bokuto’s family: sisters grinning, parents beaming. Some were from volleyball: Bokuto with his pro team, with Kuroo and other old friends.

In the center was one that stopped Akaashi.

Fukurodani’s high school team. Bokuto front and center, smiling so wide it nearly broke the frame. And beside him, deadpan but unmistakably there—Akaashi himself.

It was placed like it meant something.

Akaashi swallowed hard and stepped away.

He wandered into the kitchen, needing to do something with his hands. He opened cabinets, quietly. Neatly stacked bowls. Black and white plates. A favorite mug chipped on the rim—he remembered it from some of Bokuto’s selfies.

He opened the fridge. Oat milk. The good kind of soy sauce. Eggs. No natto. Tupperwares with half-prepped vegetables. Akaashi recognized his favorite brands, his favorite snacks.

Everything here was so Bokuto it made his chest ache.

Too much. Too personal. Too him .

Akaashi shut the fridge and took a steadying breath.

He reached for his phone, the screen lighting up in his hand like a tether. He opened a private tab—pointless, maybe, but it made him feel less exposed—and typed:

Alpha rut symptoms.
Alpha crying during rut.

The search results were a mess—clinical articles, anonymous forum posts, advice threads buried under flashing ads for pheromone supplements.

Most of them said the same thing:

• heightened aggression
• compulsive mating behavior
• inability to focus
• territorial displays
• intense physical arousal
  
  

Nothing about shaking and sobbing until his throat was raw.

He scrolled further, thumb moving faster, heart tightening. A single forum post caught his eye, buried deep:

Some alphas experience emotional overload during rut. Not all ruts look like what you see in media. Shame, fear of hurting a partner, or resisting instinct can lead to breakdowns. If your partner is crying, the most important thing is to stay calm and present. Touch, hydration, and reassurance can help anchor them.

The replies after the comment were… cruel, whoever had posted such a thing had been made fun of, probably even harassed, the user deleted. Akaashi had no way to ask more, to ask if maybe a beta could help in such conditions. But… it was something.

He locked the phone, setting it facedown on the counter. The apartment was quiet except for the faint sound of Bokuto shifting in the bedroom.

He washed the dishes first, quietly and methodically. Warm water, gentle sponge, careful not to clink the plates too loudly. He dried them with the soft towel hanging from the oven handle and put it exactly where he’d found it.

Next, he sorted the laundry, placing a set of dirty sheets laying on the floor in the wash along with the towels, choosing the delicate cycle, picking Bokuto’s usual detergent.

Then he turned to the bathroom. He scrubbed the mirror, the tiles, the floor. Replaced the old hand towel with a clean one from the shelf.

When the apartment felt less chaotic, he stepped back into the kitchen and began preparing porridge—something easy to eat.

He stirred slowly, keeping an ear out for any sound from the bedroom.

Once the food was ready, Akaashi took a glass from the cabinet, filled it with water, and added one of the electrolyte packets he’d bought, stirring until the powder dissolved. Then he dampened a hand towel with cold water, wringing it out carefully and put everything into a tray.

When he stepped back into the bedroom, Bokuto was curled on his side, the blanket pulled halfway up, his breath still uneven but calmer now. His eyes flickered open when Akaashi approached, golden in the dim light, still fever-bright.

“I brought you some water,” Akaashi said softly, crouching by the bed.

Bokuto blinked, slow and heavy, then pushed himself up with effort. His hands trembled when he reached for the glass, so Akaashi steadied it for him.

“Small sips,” Akaashi said, his voice soft.

Bokuto obeyed, swallowing carefully, his throat working with each sip. When he was done, Akaashi set the glass aside and pressed the cool towel to his forehead. Bokuto flinched faintly, then melted under the touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“Better?” Akaashi asked.

“…Yeah.” Bokuto’s voice was so hoarse it hardly sounded like him. After a pause, he added, almost too quiet to hear, “I thought it was a dream… you being here.”

Akaashi’s chest tightened. He brushed damp hair back from Bokuto’s temple, steady. “You’re burning up. I think you’re running a fever.”

“It’s just the rut,” Bokuto muttered, his voice heavy.  Like the act of speaking cost him.

Akaashi frowned faintly. “I made you something to eat. Do you think you can?”

Bokuto made a face—like the very idea turned his stomach.

“It’s porridge,” Akaashi added quickly. “Soft. Easy.”

After a long pause, Bokuto gave a slow nod and shifted upright with effort. His body moved like it hurt to exist within his skin.

Akaashi handed him the bowl. Bokuto took a bite, chewing without tasting, gaze unfocused.

“Are your ruts usually like this?” Akaashi asked after a long silence, quieter than he meant to.

Bokuto didn’t answer right away. He swallowed, then said, “I know it’s not… normal, but… it is, for me.”

“Okay.” Akaashi’s tone was calm, not pressing, just giving Bokuto space to speak.

“When you said you were coming, I panicked.” Bokuto’s voice cracked. “I thought I’d have to act like… like how alphas are supposed to. I know what people expect from me but…” He trailed off, staring into the bowl. “When you said you might leave, I just… something inside me broke.”

Akaashi’s gaze stayed steady on him.

“I’m sorry,” Bokuto blurted, too loud, like he was trying to outrun rejection. “I’m sorry I’m not the alpha who wants to fuck it out, who’s all over you.” He swallowed hard. “I can’t. I don’t want to. I feel sick. Everything hurts—my chest, my skin, my head. I can’t even think straight.”

Akaashi moved closer, his knees brushing the bedframe. “I didn’t come here expecting that,” he said gently.

Bokuto finally looked up—eyes fever-glassy and red, his whole body curled in on itself like he was bracing for rejection.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he whispered. “I’m not the kind of alpha people think I am.”

Akaashi shook his head, then leaned in, resting his forearms on the bed. He hovered close—close enough to touch, but holding back, like he didn’t know if he was allowed. Like he didn’t want to spook him.

Bokuto’s lashes lowered, his voice thin. “I’m just… so tired. Everything hurts.”

“Do you want to try to sleep?”

Bokuto hesitated, guilt flickering across his face. “I’m sweaty.”

“I’ll run you a bath,” Akaashi said, steady. “And change the sheets before you lie down again.”

Bokuto didn’t argue—just gave the smallest nod, like a child surrendering to care.

“Do you need help getting up?” Akaashi asked.

Another small nod.

He helped Bokuto to the bathroom, guiding him with gentle hands. Bokuto leaned into him, trembling faintly with strain.

Akaashi ran the bath and tested the temperature. When it was ready, he helped him step in, kneeling beside the tub and rolling up his sleeves. “Tell me if I’m overstepping,” he murmured as he cupped warm water in his hands and poured it slowly over Bokuto’s shoulders.

For a moment, Bokuto just sat there, eyes closed, chest rising and falling. Then he shifted forward, just enough that his damp forehead brushed Akaashi’s arm. He kept his eyes closed, his breathing shallow. “You’re not,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here.” He drew a heavy breath. “…’Kaashi,” he rasped, voice shaking. “I need—just… please stay close.”

Akaashi froze, then nodded once. He let Bokuto lean into him, the heat of his skin bleeding through damp fabric. He couldn’t give scent, couldn’t do the things all the guides had suggested.

Bokuto reached out blindly, fingers brushing Akaashi’s wrist before pressing it against his nose. “Makes me feel better… the feel of your skin.” He inhaled deep. “I like your hands. Your warmth…”

Akaashi nodded and stayed right there. He helped Bokuto wash himself—carefully, gently, like he was handling something fragile. He washed his hair and massaged shampoo through it with slow, steady fingers, as if he could ease the pain out of Bokuto’s muscles with nothing but care.

He changed the sheets again while Bokuto stayed in the bath, and when the water started to cool, he helped him out, dried him off, dressed him in fresh clothes, and guided him back to bed.

Bokuto collapsed into it, eyes half-lidded, face pale with exhaustion.

Akaashi sat beside him on the edge of the mattress, brows drawn. “You should’ve told me it was like this,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t know how.” Bokuto looked up. “Everyone just assumes I’m strong enough to handle it. That I’m some horny alpha who just needs to get off a few times and it’s over. But it’s not like that. It’s never been like that.” He sounded like a child admitting to a nightmare. “My body… feels wrong,” he said. “Like it’s trying to turn me into something I don’t want to be. It hurts, Keiji. It just really fucking hurts.”

Akaashi didn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say.

“I feel like I’m going to explode. Like my skin’s too tight… Wrong. Too much.” He dragged a shaky hand down his face.

“Bokuto-san…” Akaashi whispered, heart clenching.

“I’ve never—” Bokuto’s voice broke. He swallowed hard. “I’ve never done this with anyone before. But when you said you’d come, I… I didn’t want to be alone.” His voice shrank. “I was tired of being alone, of trying so hard so no one will notice.” His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. “I was terrified of what would happen if someone found out I’m like this.” He looked at Akaashi then, eyes wet and earnest. “But when you came in, and I smelled you—it was like I’d been holding my breath for days. And I could finally exhale.”

Akaashi reached for his hand and Bokuto held tightly.

“You just smell so good , and I know you’re not an omega, but I swear, Keiji, you smell like… like you’re right . I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try to rest,” Akaashi murmured.

Bokuto’s breath caught. “I’m not a good alpha.” Shame clung to every syllable. “Alphas are supposed to want this. To bite. To claim. To fuck their omega until they can’t walk, right? Make pups. That’s what people think.” He turned his face away. “But I don’t. I never did. I just wanted… I always just wanted you. I used to pray my rut would be over before anyone could notice I was not normal,” he said, voice cracking. “But sometimes… I used to imagine what it’d be like if you came to see me. Just to sit with me. Just to be near me. That’s all I ever wanted.”

The confession seemed to rip itself from his throat. Then, hurriedly—like he couldn’t bear the silence that followed.

“Not that I wouldn’t have wanted to spend your heats with you. I would’ve. I would’ve done whatever you needed.” He drew in a shaky breath. “I thought… maybe if you had been an omega. I could’ve—” He stopped. Swallowed hard. “It would make sense, I would become normal, I could’ve had that with you,” he whispered. “A bond. A nest. A rut that made sense. Not… this.”

“I wanted that too. I used to imagine it.” Akaashi confessed.

Bokuto looked up sharply, his gaze searching. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“What… What did you imagine?” Bokuto asked.

Akaashi decided not to offer the full picture, not the quiet ache of longing in high school, not the nights lying awake wondering what it might feel like to be wanted––claimed. Instead, he gave Bokuto the only part that mattered now.

“You held me,” Akaashi said. “That’s all I ever wanted too. Just to feel you close.”

Bokuto’s eyes softened, but his brows pulled together. “That’s it?” he asked, uncertain. “That’s what you imagined?”

Akaashi nodded. “It felt warm. Safe.”

There was silence. Then Bokuto swallowed, his voice unsteady again.

“If you had been an omega… I would’ve tried,” he said, eyes glassy. “I would’ve tried to give you everything you needed. Even if it made me feel like this. I love you, Keiji. I would’ve done it for you.”

Akaashi’s throat tightened. He gave Bokuto’s hand a soft squeeze.

“The fever is making you ramble, Bokuto-san,” he said gently. “I’m a beta, remember?”

Bokuto’s eyes searched Akaashi’s, furrowed with uncertainty. “…Would you get in bed with me?” His voice cracked, raw with need. “I won’t do anything… I just… I want to feel you.”

“Yes,” Akaashi replied.

He stood and slid beneath the sheets. The moment he was close enough, Bokuto pulled him in, clutching him like a lifeline.

His face pressed against Akaashi’s neck, hot and damp, his nose buried against skin where a scent gland should’ve been. He inhaled again and again, desperate, like he could drag something out of nothing. His breath came shaky, lips brushing over the sensitive spot  scenting him, like it mattered, like Akaashi could hold him through this.

Akaashi placed his arms around him. “I’ve got you,” he murmured.

Bokuto shuddered, arms tightening around him until Akaashi could feel the tremor in every muscle.

“… Akaashi…” His voice broke, somewhere between a sob and a plea.

“I’m here,” Akaashi whispered, holding him closer, even though he couldn’t offer scent or pheromones, couldn’t quiet whatever storm raged inside Bokuto. He could only give himself—his presence, his touch, his steadiness. “You’re safe.”

And Bokuto clung to him like it was enough.

“It’s just… no one ever tells you what to do with this. With how it feels .” His voice was hollow. “I mean, they do, they tell you to fuck it away, but in my case…” His voice dropped. “Everyone made jokes about it. They said stuff like, ‘bet you’ll fuck a hole through your mattress,’ or ‘don’t come to school smelling like desperation.’ And I laughed. I laughed with them. But then it came and I didn’t even know what was happening to me. I was scared. I thought I was dying.” He swallowed hard. 

“Everyone talks about omega heats like they’re sacred. Like they need to be protected. But alphas? We’re just supposed to hump whatever’s nearby and move on. Like we’re not allowed to cry, or panic, or need consolation. If you say it hurts, they think you’re broken. You can’t ask for help.”

Akaashi listened while softly petting Bokuto’s hair.

“And when I got older, it just got worse,” Bokuto continued. “People expected me to want to lose control. To go wild, to mark, to claim—like that’s what it means to be a ‘real alpha.’ Like I should be proud of feeling like turning into an animal. But I hate it, Keiji. I hate what it does to me. I hate how alone it makes me feel.”

He looked at Akaashi, eyes wide and glistening.

“I don’t want it,” he whispered. “I don’t want to feel like this, like it turns me inside out every few months and tries to tell me how to act. But everyone else just accepts it. So I try to accept it too…”

“You don’t need to, you don’t need to fake it with me,” Akaashi said.

Bokuto shook his head. “It’s… painful. I can’t focus. I can’t think . I cry a lot… I thought no one would want me. Not when I’m shaking, and needy, and fucking pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic,” Akaashi murmured. “And I want you.”

“I’m a defective alpha…” Bokuto said. “I’m sorry…”

“You’re not defective, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi assured him. “You’re just… you have more heart than most people, it’s… I guess it makes sense that your hormones make you feel overwhelmed.” He tried, his hands running circles in Bokuto’s back. His touch was careful, warm. Bokuto leaned into it, eyes fluttering closed.

“There’s something Kuroo showed me once,” Bokuto said suddenly, like it slipped out before he could stop it. “It was just this dumb forum post. He sent it as a joke.”

Akaashi waited.

“It was about defective alphas .” Bokuto laughed under his breath, but it didn’t sound amused. “That’s what the post called them.”

Akaashi’s brows furrowed, remembering what he had also read.

“It was like this rant, anonymous of course, about alphas who didn’t like omegas. Who weren’t aggressive. Who didn’t want to fuck everything that moved during their ruts. Alphas who didn’t perform.” Bokuto spoke quietly, like saying it too loud would make it more true. “I read it and I—” Bokuto shook his head. “I saw myself. In every single line. And I laughed like it was stupid, but after… I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Like someone finally put words to what I’ve been afraid of.”

“You’re not defective,” Akaashi said again, gentle but firm.

“But what if I am?” Bokuto’s voice cracked. “Not in some tragic way. Just… biologically. I don’t match what I’m supposed to be. I don’t want the things everyone says I should. And I never really said anything, because I thought maybe if I had an omega… if it had been you, maybe I could do it. Make it make sense. Make me make sense.”

Akaashi’s chest ached. He realized then that Bokuto had spent just as long mourning something that never happened as he had.

“I always thought I was the wrong one,” Akaashi said slowly. “When my results came back. When I saw beta. I thought I’d failed you somehow. Like… I wasn’t enough. Not the right shape to fit next to you.”

Bokuto’s eyebrows furrowed.

“But…” Akaashi continued, “you felt wrong too. Even as an alpha.”

Bokuto didn’t say anything. But his eyes filled again. And he nodded.

“Maybe we were never wrong. Just trying too hard to be what people told us we should be.” Akaashi paused. “You don’t need to be anything,” he said softly. “You don’t need to want to claim, or bite, or… fuck or anything. I don’t need that. We don’t need that.”

“I’m tired…” Bokuto whispered. “It hurts all the time, even when I sleep, and I––” He shook his head, almost helplessly. “I’m just… sad.” His voice cracked again, soft and miserable. “Why would I want to fuck when I feel like this? Why does my body keep asking for something I don’t want to give it?”

Akaashi didn’t know, he honestly didn’t know, he had never felt like that. On the contrary, he felt like his body never wanted to give him what his head desired.

“I don’t know,” he said, reaching to wipe the sweat from Bokuto’s brow with his fingers. “But you don’t have to give in to it. Try to rest.”

“I don’t think I can…” Bokuto mumbled.

“I’ll help you.” Akaashi kissed his forehead. “I’ll get you some cold pads, and something to help you relax. We’ll keep the lights low and we’ll stay quiet.”

“I feel like I’m dying,” Bokuto whispered hoarsely.

“You’re not,” Akaashi said softly, brushing his thumb along the curve of Bokuto’s jaw. “You’re just exhausted. And running a fever.”

Bokuto’s fingers twitched. “I was so scared you would leave me.”

“I won’t leave you again, ever.” Akaashi said without hesitation. 

Bokuto’s voice cracked. “Weren’t you expecting me to… want to fuck like crazy?”

Akaashi shook his head, certain. “No,” he said, shifting a little closer, his voice low and steady. “I didn’t come because I wanted to have sex, Bokuto-san. I came because I didn’t want you to go through your rut alone.”

Bokuto’s lip trembled. His eyes welled again, but no tears fell.

“It hurts so much…”

“I know,” Akaashi murmured, stroking his damp hair back from his forehead. “Try to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

The days blurred together.

Bokuto barely left the bed. His whole body ached constantly, feverish and restless, trapped in a haze of pain and heat. And Akaashi stayed by his side through it all—calm, patient, attentive. He helped Bokuto bathe, brought him fresh sheets, coaxed him into eating when he could. But by the third day, Bokuto couldn’t stay still anymore.

He’d spent hours curled up under the sheets, body twitching, breath uneven. When Akaashi came in with water and a towel to help him clean the sweat off, he found him on the mattress, shirtless and panting, his face pressed into a pillow. One hand gripped the edge of the sheet like a lifeline. The other was clenched, fingernails digging into his own arm.

“Akaashi—” Bokuto’s voice cracked, torn between a plea and a warning. “I feel sick…” And that was all he was able to say before he vomited what little he had managed to eat that day.

Akaashi crouched by his side, placing a hand on his back. “It's okay.”

Bokuto panted, not lifting his head. “It feels like my body’s splitting open.”

Akaashi’s gaze drifted to the angry red marks along Bokuto’s forearm—shallow bite wounds, half-moon welts, places where he’d already broken skin. His whole body was trembling, slick with sweat. The sheets beneath him were soaked.

“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be gross.”

“You’re not gross,” Akaashi said gently. He reached out to run a hand through his sweat-damp hair, Bokuto leaned into it like someone who’d been starving for touch—clutching his wrist, clinging with everything he had.

“Come here,” Akaashi murmured. “I’ll change the sheets.” His voice warm and calm. “I’ll bring you something clean to wear. We’ll rinse off again and I will bring you medicine for nausea.”

Bokuto’s lip wobbled. He blinked hard and stared at the pillow. “Why are you still here?”

Akaashi smiled faintly, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead. “Because I love you.”

Bokuto looked at him, eyes wide and disbelieving. “Even like this?”

Akaashi didn’t hesitate. “ Especially like this.”

Bokuto made a sound between a sob and a laugh, curling his fingers into the sheets.

The worst had been around the fifth day.

Bokuto had cried for hours, groaning with every breath, unable to tolerate even the brush of fabric against his skin. He’d clawed at his clothes until Akaashi gently undressed him, trembling and fevered, slipping him into the bath again while he sobbed into Akaashi’s shoulder. Nothing helped except the cold water and the comfort of someone beside him.

But after that… it started to get better.

Akaashi had barely slept, running on adrenaline and instinct. He’d never done so much laundry in his life—sheets, towels, pajamas, rinse, repeat. Every time he sat down, Bokuto would stir or call out, and Akaashi would be up again. At some point, he’d forgotten to charge his phone, and the battery died somewhere in the early hours of morning.

He’d meant to stay awake, just for a little longer, but his body gave in. He passed out on the couch, curled up on one side.

When he woke, it was to sunlight spilling in through the curtains and a blanket draped carefully over him. He blinked, groggy, and sat up fast—panic flaring before his mind caught up.

The apartment was quiet.

Then he heard it—a low hum of satisfaction.

He turned towards the kitchen.

Bokuto was standing half-naked at the counter, hair wild, hunched over the pot of leftover gnocchi Akaashi had made the night before. He wasn’t even using a fork—just scooping with his fingers, chasing the last bits stuck to the bottom, his mouth full, cheeks puffed slightly from chewing.

For a moment, Akaashi just stared at him, dazed.

Then Bokuto looked up—and froze. His eyes went wide, almost guilty. He set the pot down fast and looked for a towel to clean his hands like a kid caught sneaking snacks.

“Sorry,” he said, sheepish, sauce still clinging to the corner of his mouth. “I—I was hungry.”

Akaashi blinked once, then let out a small, hoarse laugh—something close to disbelief, or maybe relief.

“You’re eating,” he said.

Bokuto scratched at the back of his neck, awkward. “Yeah… I think I’m okay now. Still a little weird in the head, my body still hurts, still… feels burning, but… it also feels like it’s going away.”

Akaashi slowly got to his feet, every muscle aching. “You really worried me,” he said honestly.

Bokuto looked down, guilt creeping in. “I know.”

“I didn’t expect it to be like that.”

“I know,” Bokuto said again, quieter. “I’m sorry.”

Akaashi stepped into the kitchen and hugged him, pressing his cheek against Bokuto’s shoulder. ”Don’t apologize.”

Bokuto peeked sideways at him, voice small. “I made you pass out on the couch…”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow. “You put a blanket on me.”

“You looked cold.”

Akaashi smiled, tired but genuine. “I was.”

They stood there for a moment—quiet, close, an empty pot of gnocchi between them.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t expect to enter a rut so fast after stopping the suppressants…” Bokuto admitted. “It’s all my fault.”

“You were taking suppressants?” Akaashi asked, surprised.

“I mean, yeah…” Bokuto said. “My ruts have always been… like these, and I never wanted to be with anyone, much less an omega, so I was not really worried about the secondary effects… like… loss of fertility or permanent suppression of ruts, but… I started to worry about… erectile dysfunction, so I stopped taking them.”

Akaashi just looked at him.

“What I mean to say is… I brought this upon myself and I’m sor––” Akaashi stopped him before he finished.

“Please don’t say that,” he said. “This is not your fault, Bokuto-san… and I won’t let you feel guilty about it.”

“Thank you for staying,” Bokuto said, after a moment. His voice was quiet, careful. “Thank you for not… pushing me to do something I didn’t want to. For just… staying. And not judging me.”

Akaashi didn’t answer right away, he stared at Bokuto, like studying his face, and then he caressed his cheek with his fingers. “I would never judge you,” Akaashi said. “It was different. It wasn’t what I expected. You were just… in pain.”

“I… yeah, I know,” Bokuto said. “I just… shit, I don’t know why it makes me feel so vulnerable. I just don’t want it. And it hurts when I fight back.”

Bokuto wasn’t meeting his eyes. He was staring at the floor, like he was confessing something he wasn’t sure he should say. “Maybe I should just try to fuck it away. Or jerk it off. I don’t know. But it makes me feel so… hollow. And lonely. And I can’t—I’ve never been able to do it.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Akaashi reminded him.

“I mean—I want to. Kind of. My body does. But mostly I don’t. Or I can’t. It doesn’t feel right.” He scratched his cheek. “Everything feels… so much, it’s overwhelming and the idea of just—fucking, just to make it stop—it felt…” He hesitated. “It felt wrong. Like it would make everything worse.”

Akaashi didn’t speak.

“I guess I always expected my first rut to be special,” Bokuto said finally. “I thought it would be romantic. With you.” His voice was small. “But… things didn’t turn out like either of us expected and it was just frustrating and awful. And even if I’m not thinking straight—I don’t want to take just because I can. You know?”

Akaashi was watching him now. Bokuto looked like he wanted to vanish. His voice was threadbare and raw with regret, like he shouldn’t have said anything at all.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I know I probably made it harder for you.”

“Why would you have made it harder?” Akaashi asked.

Bokuto blinked at him.

“If you’d tried to push through it, just to be what you thought you were supposed to be or what you thought I wanted—if you’d used me to do that—I think it would’ve broken something. For both of us.” Akaashi’s voice was even. “You were scared. And you still trusted me. That meant a lot to me.”

Bokuto was silent for a long moment. Then he swallowed hard.

“I just wanted you near,” he whispered. “That was all I needed.”

“I was near,” Akaashi said softly. “I’ll stay near.”

Bokuto had gone quiet again—but not the same kind of quiet he’d been all week. Not that heavy, hurting silence. This one was thoughtful. Lighter.

“Keiji?” he asked, voice hesitant.

Akaashi looked at him.

“Can I—” Bokuto paused, then took a breath. “Can I hug you?”

Akaashi blinked. His heart thumped once, sharp and startled.

“Yes,” he said, softer than he meant to. “Of course.”

Bokuto stepped forward. His expression was tentative, almost shy. But when he reached out and wrapped his arms around Akaashi, he didn’t hold back. He buried his face in Akaashi’s neck and sighed—long and deep, like it had been waiting days to come out.

“Oh god,” Bokuto murmured. “I needed this so bad.”

Akaashi hugged him back, his body was no longer hot and feverish, it was just… warm.

“You’re warm,” Bokuto said, voice muffled against his skin. “You smell safe.”

He pressed his nose to Akaashi’s neck, breathing in slow, contented pulls. He wasn’t in rut anymore. Now his touch wasn’t desperate or wild—it was gentle. Like every inch of contact was something he chose , not something he needed.

“I couldn’t think straight before,” Bokuto said. “But now I can. And I still want you.”

Akaashi’s heart twisted. He reached up, brushed his fingers through Bokuto’s hair.

“I’m here…” He promised.

Chapter Text

Bokuto had called his coach on the seventh day of his rut to tell him he was already feeling better, but still, his coach had told him to take until Monday before returning to practice. A rut of a week was a rare thing, some alphas had a three day rut and that was already exhausting, more without a partner, an omega. So, Bokuto and Akaashi had spent the day together, watching movies, relaxing after the long days of Bokuto in pain, and then they had gone to bed together, just to sleep next to each other.

Bokuto was on cloud nine, seeing Akaashi sleeping quietly on his bed, wearing his shirt, between his sheets. He couldn’t ask for more.

He woke up with the warm weight of Akaashi’s leg draped over his, sunlight pooling at the edges of the curtain. For a moment, everything felt calm. Easy. His body still ached faintly, but it was a background hum now, not a scream.

Akaashi stirred beside him. “Good morning, Bokuto-san,” he murmured, still half-asleep.

“Good morning,” Bokuto said, leaning in to kiss him softly.

His eyes lingered on him—sleep-ruffled hair, the edge of his collarbone showing where the shirt hung too loose. His fingers twitched, restless with something unspoken.

“What is it?” Akaashi asked, voice gentle.

“Nothing!” Bokuto said quickly. “It’s just… I really like seeing you here. In my bed. Wearing my shirt…”

“My pajamas were dirty,” Akaashi replied matter-of-factly. “Wearing one of yours was the best option.”

Bokuto leaned in, burying his face in Akaashi’s hair. “God, you smell so good…”

Akaashi tensed slightly. “I haven’t had the time to shower the last two days…”

“I know,” Bokuto said before he could stop himself. “I mean—shit, sorry. I was too much and you didn’t even had time to shower. It’s just—I like how you smell. Not just your cologne, but… you.”

He paused for a moment.

“Is it too weird?”

“You liking how I smell?” Akaashi blinked at him. “Not particularly. Most people like the mix of products like shampoo and perfume with people’s natural scent, especially when they like them.”

“No, I mean—yeah, I like your scent, too. But I also like it when you’re sweaty, or just… you know.” Bokuto bit his lower lip. “I’m weird.”

“You’re fine.”

Bokuto hesitated again. “I also… really want to have sex. Like, right now.”

Akaashi blinked. “What?”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just had this whole week-long rut where I couldn’t even think about sex, and now I’m like, ‘Hey Akaashi, let’s do it!’ like a total idiot.” He groaned. “I’m sorry.”

Akaashi sat up a little. “I mean, you took me by surprise, but you don’t need to apologise…”

Bokuto reached for his hand. “Next time… I mean,I want to also spend my next rut with you, but this time…”

Akaashi interrupted him. “You don’t have to.”

“No, I want to, I would like… to try, with you, next time?” Bokuto asked, insecure.

“Are you sure?” Akaashi asked.

“Yeah!” He said. “I think… I want to try and… see if it feels like it is supposed to feel…”

A small, warm smile curved Akaashi’s lips. “Okay.”

A beat passed.

“Can we still have sex now?” Bokuto asked, voice soft, eyes hopeful. “Please?”

“Let me at least brush my teeth first,” Akaashi sighed, dragging the covers down. “I know you won’t let me shower.”

Bokuto hesitated, then smiled sheepishly. “I mean… you can shower. If it helps you feel more relaxed, but…” He shifted closer, eyes a little darker now. “Can I have my fill first?”

Akaashi blinked at him. “Your fill?”

“Yeah,” Bokuto said, voice dipping. “Of you. Like… smelling you. Just for a bit.”

Akaashi hesitated, but then nodded. “Okay.”

After all, Bokuto was an alpha. And he wasn’t an omega—he didn’t really understand what drove alphas sometimes. Maybe this was part of that. Maybe scent wasn’t just pleasant or comforting for Bokuto—it was something else. Deeper. Hungrier.

Bokuto’s hands were gentle as he nudged Akaashi onto his back, coaxing his arms up above his head. “Just stay like this for a minute,” he murmured, gaze already hooded.

His breath hitched as he pressed closer, nose trailing over Akaashi’s neck, the bare skin exposed beneath the loose shirt. It wasn’t a flowery or sweet candy scent—no, this was something raw and real. The faint, salty warmth of Akaashi’s skin mixed with a musk that was unmistakably his.

Akaashi’s body stiffened under his touch, heat rising to his cheeks. He knew he didn’t smell soft, like the omegas were said to smell. He smelled like a man—uneasy, a little sharp, and he felt utterly exposed.

But Bokuto inhaled deeper, head dipping to catch the scent of Akaashi’s armpits. The musk there was stronger, spicier, almost dizzying. Bokuto’s eyes fluttered shut, a primal ache stirring low in his chest. It was like an addiction he didn’t want to fight—this scent, this man.

His face drifted lower, fingers trembling as they reached Akaashi's waistband. The heat there made Bokuto’s breath hitch, almost unbearable. The scent—musky, intense, intimate—was already flooding his brain, even muted through the thin layer of clothing, making Bokuto’s pulse thunder in his ears.

It was Akaashi. All of him. And it was driving Bokuto fucking insane.

He buried his face gently against the bulge in Akaashi’s underwear. His lips brushed fabric. His nose inhaled instinctively. His fingers flexed where they clutched Akaashi’s hips, and his body trembled with the ache to claim, to mark, to be marked.

Mate, mate, mate… The thought throbbed in his head like a fever. His whole body screamed it, teeth aching, senses swirling—Akaashi was the one.

“Sorry, it’s just…” Bokuto’s voice caught. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing a kiss through the fabric. “It seems I can’t have enough.”

His hand slipped under Akaashi’s shirt, fingers splaying wide over warm skin, like he was mapping it, memorizing every inch. His mouth, meanwhile, stayed between Akaashi’s legs, kissing, mouthing over the outline of his cock. He heard the way Akaashi gasped—sharp, breathy, almost pained—and felt it as much as heard it, the way his thighs tensed under his palms.

“It’s so fucking good,” Bokuto whispered roughly. “I can’t help it. You smell so good, and you feel like—fuck, everything …”

Mate, mate, mate…

“Sorry…” Bokuto’s voice was rough, thick with wanting. “I’ll stop if it’s too much—”

Akaashi covered his face with one arm, his breathing tight and uneven. “Don’t stop,” he whispered. “Please don’t stop…” He could feel his eyes watering at the embarrassment.

Bokuto didn’t need to be given permission again. The sound of Akaashi’s voice—so vulnerable, so unlike the composed, careful version of him Bokuto had known for years—broke something inside him. He mouthed harder, licking and sucking through the fabric now, feeling the way Akaashi’s cock getting harder under the attention. Wetness was building there, a faint taste of precum bleeding through cotton. It made Bokuto groan, low in his throat.

And then he pulled the underwear down.

Akaashi’s cock bobbed free—hard, flushed, leaking. Bokuto licked his lips, wide eyes drinking in every detail before he leaned in and took him into his mouth all at once—deep, no hesitation. The stretch of it in his throat made his eyes flutter shut, but he didn’t pull back. A moan, low and desperate, filled the quiet room—pure pleasure at finally having him there, on his tongue, claiming him, like it fed something ancient inside him, something he needed to live.

Akaashi’s back arched, his fingers fisting the sheets. “Bokuto-san—!”

Bokuto moaned in reply, cheeks hollowing as he sucked harder. He couldn’t stop. The taste, the sound of Akaashi’s voice cracking on his name, the way his hips trembled—he was addicted already. One hand slipped to Akaashi’s thigh, the other gripped his hip hard. He was bobbing fast now, head moving with desperate rhythm, messy, loud.

It was overwhelming. How Bokuto was undoing him with his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, his hands steady where his mind was not. He was devouring him, desperate, like he couldn’t get enough.

Akaashi was going mad.

He bit down on his own wrist, panting. “I—I can’t—”

His voice cracked again, every nerve firing at once. Bokuto wasn’t giving him a single second to think, just warmth and pressure and need. His thighs quivered violently.

“Bokuto-san—!” he choked out.

And then he broke.

He came with a sharp, helpless sound, his body jerking, cock pulsing between Bokuto’s lips. Bokuto groaned deep in his throat, swallowing everything, hands holding him down through the spasms. He sucked until the last twitch, then eased off slowly.

Akaashi collapsed against the mattress, chest heaving, face flushed and damp with sweat.

“Fuck…” he exhaled.

Bokuto pressed his cheek to Akaashi’s inner thigh, still catching his breath, eyes open with quiet awe.

There was a beat of silence as they both caught their breath. Then, Akaashi’s hand found Bokuto’s hair, softly caressing the tips of his hair, playing with them between his fingers.

Bokuto leaned up, hovering close, looking at Akaashi, his eyes in question, looking for an answer to a question he didn’t know how to word.

Akaashi held his face between his hands and kissed him, slow and deep. He needed to settle , to calm. They stayed like that for a few breaths, lips moving gently, trying to anchor each other.

“Let’s go to the shower…” Akaashi said, still breathless.

“Okay,” Bokuto said, forcing a calm he didn’t yet feel.

They padded into the bathroom, quiet and flushed, and stood side by side at the sink. The room filled with the low sound of running water, the soft scratch of bristles as they brushed their teeth.

It was strange, brushing their teeth after that—like coming back to reality—but also intimate in a domestic way.

When they rinsed and spat, Bokuto looked for the razor to shave, applying cream to his face before shaving away the small beard he had grown in those few days.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

Akaashi nodded, his voice still unsteady. “Still… coming back to earth.”

There was a silence. Then, Akaashi murmured, “I think I once saw you with a beard. In a sports ad.”

Bokuto chuckled under his breath. “Yeah? Grows pretty quick.” He rinsed the razor again.

“I like it,” Akaashi admitted softly. “The beard I mean, looks… masculine, I like it… tickles a little.”

“Really? Umm… I usually just shave everything.”

“I know,” Akaashi said quietly, eyes dipping down. “I noticed.”

Bokuto paused, glancing sideways at him—waiting.

“I mean…” Akaashi hesitated. “You shave down there too.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bokuto said, a little sheepish. “It just feels cleaner. Easier for sports too.”

Akaashi nodded slowly. Then, after a pause: “Should I shave too?”

Bokuto blinked, caught off guard. “Only if you want to.”

“I just…” Akaashi trailed off, thumb brushing the edge of the sink. “I wanted to know if you had a preference.”

Bokuto paused razor mid-air. “I like that you don’t.” He said. “But if it makes you more comfortable, I can help you shave.” He smiled. “C’mon. Let’s get inside.”

They stepped into the bathroom together, bare feet against warm tile, and Akaashi reached to start the bath. He kept his back turned as he adjusted the temperature, water rushing into the tub in a quiet stream.

Then he reached for the shower head and began rinsing himself, steam curling around his skin.

His breath caught when he felt Bokuto’s presence behind him—warm and solid, radiating heat. Bokuto smiled and took a sponge, beginning to gently bathe him. Akaashi stood still, letting himself be cared for. He noticed Bokuto reaching for a plain, scent-free bar soap, rubbing it in the sponge before washing Akaashi’s shoulders. He also noticed it wasn’t the same soap Bokuto used on himself.

“You don’t use this one,” Akaashi said quietly. “Yours smells like something else.”

Bokuto hesitated, hands pausing mid-stroke. “…Yeah. Mine’s different.”

“Why?” Akaashi asked, voice barely audible over the sound of running water.

He let out a short laugh. “I got it because it helps dull my pheromones a bit.”

Akaashi tilted his head, processing that. Then, after a pause—“What do you smell like? Under it?”

The question landed soft but heavy between them. Bokuto looked at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in Akaashi’s voice.

He tilted his head. “You mean… under the products?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve never smelled me? Like… a little?” Bokuto asked after a moment, voice low.

Akaashi shook his head, almost sheepish. “Not really. I mean… I know how you smell after a match. Soap, sweat, deodorant. But you —your pheromones—I wouldn’t know. I guess I’ve always wondered.”

Bokuto’s expression softened. “Right…” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a hush. “It’s… different.”

“I don’t mind not smelling it,” Akaashi said quickly, then hesitated. “I just… I want to understand it. What omegas smell when they see you.”

“Well… Kuroo says it’s like… intense and earthy? Like… truffles. Or truffle oil, more like. Especially when I’m… distressed. He says it’s strong and kind of too much.” Bokuto gave a small laugh. “But apparently alphas don’t really like each other’s scents. I read somewhere it’s biology—like, it’s supposed to keep us from bonding with each other and to make pups with omegas instead.” He scratched his cheek. “Oh, but Yaku said it’s not bad. Just… overwhelming. But definitely unforgettable.”

He paused, glancing towards Akaashi. “But it settles when I’m with you. You calm it down. Kuroo always said I smelled way better when you were around. Less… gasoline-y.”

“Truffle oil?” Akaashi asked, surprised.

“More like gasoline, I think… My sisters used to make a huge deal out of it when I was distressed, said the whole street smelled like a gas station.” He glanced at the shelf—at the bottle with the scented one and the plain, unscented bar he used for Akaashi. “That’s why I use this,” he said, picking up the bottle, “It helps dull it, so I’m not, like… all over the place.”

Akaashi reached out, taking the bottle from him and turning it in his hand. He unscrewed the cap, lifted it to his nose, and breathed in.

“Mint.” Akaashi whispered.

Bokuto smiled, a little embarrassed. “Yeah. Like, real mint. Not candy. A little grassy. And yuzu, I think. I just… I like it. It feels clean and a bit sweet around the edges. It smelled… comfortable.”

Akaashi’s fingers curled gently against Bokuto’s damp skin. He leaned in, brushing his nose against the space beneath Bokuto’s ear. He inhaled deeply—not catching what an omega might, but recognizing it all the same. The yuzu-mint scent was familiar, calming—soothing, like the version of Bokuto he’d grown used to. The scent of sweat-damp jerseys, the way Bokuto’s hair smelled after practice, the warmth of his hoodie, the boy who cried during romance movies, who wore socks with sandals and the man who called him “Keiji” while they made love.

“I can’t smell it,” he said quietly. Not a trace of truffle or gasoline. Just skin, salt, and heat. He hesitated, then added, “Not the truffles, but the yuzu and your skin… it smells like you. I didn’t realize this scent was something you picked to mask your pheromones.”

Bokuto let out a soft laugh, a little sheepish.“Yeah… I guess I liked it because of how it made me feel. Kinda fun. Not like pine or cedar or what people think alphas should smell like.” His gaze flicked toward Akaashi, a little shy. “I wanted something that wouldn’t be too much for you. Something you’d want to be around.” A pause. “I wanted you to like what you could smell.”

Akaashi’s breath caught.

“…I do.”

Bokuto's breath hitched, his arms slowly wrapping around Akaashi.

“You’re the only one I ever wanted to smell me,” he murmured. “I’m happy you can’t pick up my scent, it’s not something I’m proud of, once I went to a gourmet store and picked a bottle of truffle oil and it was… it wasn’t good, so… I’m happy with what you can smell on me.”

Akaashi just held his face and kissed him again. His heart swelled with how much thought Bokuto had put into him, since forever.

Bokuto tilted Akaashi’s head back and wetted his hair, applying shampoo and smoothing his fingers through the strands. He cleaned him completely, even going to his knees to wash Akaashi’s legs and feet. Once they were both clean, he helped Akaashi step into the tub, and, after he finished shaving his body, he settled in the warm water with Akaashi nestled between his legs.

The water lapped quietly around them, soft ripples echoing against tile. Bokuto’s chin rested on Akaashi’s shoulder, arms loosely wrapped around his waist, just enjoying the fact that Akaashi was there.

Akaashi could feel his heart slowing. Everything had been so raw earlier, so charged. He was still trying to understand, to grasp the reach of how much Bokuto liked him.

His fingers moved lazily over Bokuto’s thigh, half-submerged. He could feel the press of Bokuto’s cock against the curve of his lower back—half-hard—Bokuto hands just moving soothingly on Akaashi’s chest.

“I liked hearing that,” Akaashi murmured.

“Hearing what?” Bokuto asked.

“That you chose something to smell like… something that I could smell.” Akaashi’s voice was quiet, but the words settled in Bokuto’s chest like a punch. He hadn’t expected him to say it aloud.

Bokuto’s fingers tightened slightly on his waist, and he dipped his head, brushing a kiss to the back of Akaashi’s neck—right at the base of his hairline, where skin was soft and warm. His breath caught there for a moment. He lingered. His lips stayed pressed to that spot, like they could say all the things he couldn’t.

Then Akaashi tilted his head forward—barely, just enough to expose his nape more—and that tiny gesture undid him.

It wasn’t an offering.

It wasn’t submission.

It was trust.

And Bokuto’s whole body locked up with the weight of it.

His breath stuttered as he pressed another kiss to the nape. Then another. His teeth grazed the skin—not biting, not truly—but enough to make Akaashi shiver beneath him.

“ Mate… ” Bokuto whispered, so low it almost wasn’t sound. The word slipped from somewhere deep, older than logic, carved into the marrow of his bones.

Akaashi froze.

His entire body responded before his mind could catch up—muscles tightening, breath stalling, heart slamming into his ribs. He knew what that word meant. Knew that it wasn’t supposed to be for him. Betas didn’t get to be…

And still, something inside him burned at hearing it. It was wrong. It was impossible.

But it felt true.

Bokuto groaned softly, chest rising and falling against Akaashi’s back. “Fuck…” he murmured, helpless, aching. “Akaashi… you tease…”

He leaned forward again, this time dragging his teeth gently across the skin, then biting—soft, but firm.

His cock was hard again, pressing hot and needy against Akaashi’s body. Still, he didn’t force himself on Akaashi. He didn’t rut or thrust. He just held him there like he was trying to memorize everything—his body warmth, the taste of skin, the sound of his shaky breath.

He kissed down the line of Akaashi’s neck, tracing his shoulder with his lips. His hands smoothed up and down Akaashi’s chest, reverent—like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch like this.

His thumbs brushed delicately over Akaashi’s nipples, coaxing soft reactions, memorizing every flinch, every breath.

It wasn’t just sex.

It had never been.

It was love despite biology—unspoken longing, the tragedy of almost.

The wanting to mark what couldn’t be marked.

Of calling someone “mate,” knowing they couldn’t be.

But Bokuto meant it anyway.

He felt it—in the ache beneath his skin, in the tenderness in every touch. He would never be able to name anyone else that way again.

Akaashi let out a shaky breath. His head dropped back against Bokuto’s shoulder, lips parting slightly. “You’re hard,” he said, voice quiet. Not teasing. Not accusing.

Just… noticing.

“So are you,” Bokuto whispered, mouth brushing over his damp skin. His cock throbbed between them, heavy and flushed. “Want me to take care of you?”

Akaashi didn’t answer at first. His hand reached beneath the water, finding Bokuto’s and lacing their fingers together. His grip was warm, damp, trembling slightly—and then he nodded. Barely.

Bokuto kissed the side of his neck.

They shifted slowly, the water sloshing around them, warm and cloudy. Bokuto helped him, guiding him until Akaashi was on his knees, bracing himself against the porcelain. Steam clung to his skin, droplets sliding down the curve of his back and dripping from his elbows.

His ass was slick and flushed from the heat, and Bokuto couldn’t stop staring.

He palmed gently over his thighs first, then ran his hands up to his waist, smoothing over the sharp lines of his hips. Finally, he cupped his ass, thumbs dragging slowly over the cleft, easing him open.

Akaashi gasped softly, breath catching as he felt the cool air meet the heat between his cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful,” Bokuto murmured, unable to stop himself. He leaned in and kissed the swell of one cheek.

Akaashi’s fingers curled tighter around the edge of the tub. His head dropped forward. He didn’t say anything, but the subtle twitch of his hips told Bokuto everything.

Bokuto didn’t rush. He kissed down Akaashi’s spine, each press of his lips deliberate. Then lower, until his breath warmed the space between Akaashi’s cheeks. His thumbs eased him open again, exposing the tender skin, and he leaned in to lick—slow and steady, tongue flat and warm as it dragged up the center of his hole.

The reaction was immediate.

Akaashi jolted and made a sharp, breathy sound, his thighs tensing. 

“Ah—!” 

His cock twitched beneath him, half-hard and growing with each slow, deliberate lick. Bokuto moaned against him, licking again—long, broad, thorough.

Akaashi wouldn’t say it out loud, but he was becoming addicted to this—to Bokuto’s tongue, the heat of it, the pressure, the way it made his whole body shiver.

Bokuto groaned softly against him, licking again—long, broad, savoring every inch. He loved this. The taste of Akaashi. The way he trembled. The heat, the closeness. He wanted to bury himself in it, in him .

He dragged his mouth lower, kissing along the soft skin of his perineum, then back up again, tongue slipping over the fluttering ring of muscle. He pressed in deeper this time, slow but steady, until Akaashi was panting quietly, holding his breath like he didn’t know how to react.

Bokuto didn’t mind. The way his hole clenched around nothing, slick with spit, like his body was aching to be filled…

It was maddening, Akaashi felt light headed.

He bit his lip. His face was flushed, jaw tight, and his cock hung heavy and leaking between his thighs—but he didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

But Bokuto didn’t stop. He moaned softly against him, like this was something he needed, something that soothed something deeper inside himself. He dove back in, tongue working in circles, fucking Akaashi in shallow motions, then flattening again to drag heat and wetness over every sensitive inch of skin.

Akaashi’s breath stuttered. His thighs shook. He could feel the tension building in his lower abdomen—slow, insistent, unbearable.

He was rock hard now, desperate, aching, his hips twitching against nothing.

Akaashi’s voice cracked. “I can’t—Please—” 

He bit his lip hard, his hips twitching helplessly as Bokuto pushed him further—his tongue relentless, his hands steady. He pressed his face in deep, devouring like he was starved for it.

“Please, take me to bed…” Akaashi whimpered, helpless. 

He didn’t need to say it twice.

Bokuto rose without a word, urgency raw in every movement. He wrapped a towel around Akaashi, more instinct than thought, and lifted him as if it were nothing. The kiss that followed was messy—half-slick and still tasting faintly of the bath, but hungry. Like Bokuto was kissing the breath back into him.

If this was the only way he’d ever get to see Akaashi like this—pink, flushed, begging softly—then Bokuto would bathe him every night.

Akaashi's body was burning. Overwhelmed. Still trembling from Bokuto’s mouth on him, still haunted by the sound of that single word— mate. He wanted everything. Even if he wasn’t an omega. Even if it wasn’t possible.

He no longer cared.

He was burning up and he didn’t want to cool down.

He wanted to be filled.

Even if it hurt.

Even if it meant breaking apart.

Even if he was only a beta, and this was something reserved only for omegas.

He wanted it.

They barely dried off before tumbling onto the bed, too far gone to care. Bokuto hovered over Akaashi, breath coming fast, while Akaashi cupped his face in both hands, pulling him into another deep, unsteady kiss—like he needed it.

Bokuto only pulled back to fumble open the nightstand drawer, grabbing the lube and snapping it open with one hand and squeezing a generous amount into his fingers. Akaashi spread his legs, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, eyes fluttering as Bokuto’s slick fingers found his entrance. The cold against the heat of his skin made him shut his eyes and whimper.

“Relax…” Bokuto said gently, pressing the first finger in with ease. Akaashi was so open, so pliant, his body already anticipating more. 

He moaned, eyes fluttering closed, and Bokuto leaned up to mouth at his neck—slow, reverent kisses against the damp skin, up over his throat, his Adam’s apple. It was tender, but the tension in Bokuto’s body betrayed just how much he was holding back.

Last time, when he’d helped Akaashi clean himself, he’d called him a good boy —and something about it had made Akaashi’s eyes flutter, like he’d liked it. Bokuto didn’t know if it was the words, the tone, or just the way he’d talked him through it.

“You’re so soft… does it hurt?” he asked quietly, curling his finger just slightly.

Last time they had been able to go all the way, but Akaashi had already been sore from the thorough cleaning he’d asked for, so Bokuto hoped this time would be better… easier and less painful.

“It doesn’t hurt…” Akaashi whispered, breathing uneven, chest rising and falling with each gasp.

“Good…” Bokuto murmured, brushing his lips against Akaashi’s ear. He pumped the finger slowly, savoring the way Akaashi moaned, his body tightening. Then he slipped in a second finger, feeling him gasp and clench.

“Don’t tense up…” Bokuto kissed behind his ear.

“Bokuto-san…”

“Relax, Keiji ,” he whispered, the name slipping out like a secret. “I’ve got you…”

He curled his fingers just slightly, pressing up against that sensitive spot inside—and Akaashi shuddered, full-body, overwhelmed.

Bokuto paused, just for a second, his breath warm against Akaashi’s cheek. Then, softer, more hesitant: 

“If I knot you… it’ll press right here. Right where it feels good…”

Akaashi whimpered, clinging to him. His whole body flushed, trembling. He couldn’t speak—he didn’t know how.

“I want to knot you.” Bokuto whispered.

His fingers stroked in deep again, slow and sure, curling just right. Akaashi made a noise he didn’t recognize—needy, straining, like his own desire surprised him.

So that was it, Bokuto realized. It was the way he had talked him through it. The words. The voice. The promise .

Bokuto kissed his temple, coaxing:

“Do you want it, Keiji?”

“Yes…” Akaashi breathed. “Please…”

Bokuto’s heart thudded hard in his chest. Not from rut, not from instinct—just the weight of being wanted back.

Akaashi's back arched slightly, breath catching. His thighs trembled faintly, but he didn’t pull away. He was flushed all the way to his chest, eyes shut, mouth parted in soft, helpless sounds.

“I’ll stretch you properly,” Bokuto whispered. “So it doesn’t hurt at all this time…”

Akaashi nodded shakily.

Bokuto kissed his cheek, then shifted slightly to see better, watching his own fingers disappear inside Akaashi’s slick, tight hole. He was already relaxed around two, so carefully, gently, he added a third finger, slow and steady, not forcing anything.

Akaashi whimpered, hips flinching.

“Shhh,” Bokuto soothed, pressing his free hand over Akaashi’s lower stomach, holding him still and grounded. “I’ve got you…”

He waited, rubbing gentle circles into Akaashi’s hip with his thumb. Letting the tension melt before moving his fingers again.

He stretched him slowly, kissing along Akaashi’s jaw, speaking softly between kisses, “You’re so warm inside, it feels so good…”

“But I––we didn’t…” Akaashi said, embarrassed, insecure. They hadn't done proper preparation in the bathroom this time.

“I know, I don’t care,” Bokuto said. “I’ve got you, let go.” 

And Akaashi did . His muscles eased around the intrusion, and his breath hitched in something close to relief.

“That’s it…” Bokuto crooned, beginning to move his fingers again—slow, deliberate pumps, spreading just a little wider with each pass.

When he felt the resistance lessen, he pressed a fourth finger to Akaashi’s rim.

“Can I?”

Akaashi hesitated, breath trembling—but then his eyes fluttered open and stared at the ceiling, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Yes…”

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

Bokuto slicked his fingers again, rubbed the lube inside of Akaashi gently. Then—pressing soft kisses to Akaashi’s knee—he began easing in the fourth. His fingers worked carefully, watching every shift of Akaashi’s body, every twitch of his thighs, every breath that caught or faltered.

It was tight—of course it was—but he didn’t push. He rocked his hand gently, pausing at the first sign of tension, waiting for Akaashi’s body to catch up. His other hand stroked soothingly along his thigh.

“Breathe, Keiji ,” Bokuto whispered, voice low and coaxing.

And when Akaashi’s body relaxed again—truly gave in—the fourth finger slid in.

His breath hitched. A soft, broken moan escaped his throat. His thighs dropped wider on their own.

“Oh god…” Akaashi muttered, the stretch almost unbearable.

“That’s it…” Bokuto murmured, nearly breathless himself.

He pressed deeper, slow and steady, spreading them just enough to stretch him slowly. Akaashi was slick and open, hips twitching with every shallow breath.

“You’re doing so good…” Bokuto murmured, pressing the heel of his palm gently against Akaashi’s perineum, his thumb grazing the base of his cock, just enough to make him shiver. “When I’m inside you, you won’t even have to adjust. You’ll just feel good. I promise.”

Akaashi made a wrecked, high sound at that—throat tight, body trembling with it. “Don’t make me wait more…”

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Bokuto breathed, kissing him hard. His fingers slid deeper one last time, spreading just slightly. Akaashi’s hole fluttered, stretched open and wet, and Bokuto felt how ready he was now, how his body had softened for him completely.

“Can you get on your hands and knees for me?” Bokuto asked gently, kissing along his knee. “Only if it’s okay. I promise I’ll go slow—I read it’s easier this way…”

Akaashi nodded and moved slowly. He turned over and lifted himself onto all fours, knees sinking into the sheets. The position felt instinctive––easier on his mind. He didn’t have to think about how he looked, what expression he was making, whether his face betrayed too much. Like this, he could just feel.

Bokuto’s hand followed the curve of his spine, slow and grounding, making Akaashi shiver. He coaxed him to spread his knees a little wider, arching his back just enough. Then he reached for the lube again, slicking his cock generously, sighing as he rubbed the head gently against Akaashi’s rim.

It was red, still slightly parted from the stretch—soft, pulsing… open .

Bokuto held his cock steady, pressing in slowly. There was much less resistance than the first time, and he slid in halfway with a slick glide, the head breaching deep.

Akaashi gasped, fists clenching in the sheets. He couldn’t help it—his whole body jolted.

“Breathe,” Bokuto whispered, watching his shoulders seize.

Akaashi exhaled shakily, and Bokuto pushed deeper, bit by bit, guided more by instinct than rhythm.

Every inch dragged madness through him. Akaashi felt like there was no space left inside of him, but still Bokuto kept pushing more and more inside him. The pressure growing more intense the deeper Bokuto went—like being split open, filled past any limit. 

“That’s it… good…”

Akaashi’s thighs trembled, breath ragged against the mattress. “God…” he whimpered, every nerve lit up, trembling beneath the slow, steady pressure. That feeling again—like being turned inside out, stuffed full, reshaped around him.

“Shh… just a little more. Can you take a bit more?” Bokuto's voice was low, coaxing, warm.

Akaashi gave a dazed nod, flushed and wrecked already. Bokuto drew back slightly, then rocked forward again, groaning as he buried himself to the hilt. His hips met Akaashi’s with a soft, slick slap of wet skin, sweat and lube—and he gripped his hips tighter, his fingers leaving faint, blooming marks on his skin.

Akaashi choked on a sound, half‑moan, half‑sob, body shuddering violently. That deep last pressure inside him had him clenching down hard, his body fluttering around Bokuto’s cock like it didn’t know whether to push him out or drag him deeper.

“Wait—” His voice cracked. “I––it feels like… something’s gonna come out—”

Heat rushed to his face, tears burning in the corners of his eyes. Shame clawed at his chest, worse than the sting of being stretched open. I’m not… I can’t—

“Keiji,” Bokuto said softly, his hands steady on his hips. “Breathe. Deep. Slow.”

But Akaashi shook his head against the sheets, pressing his chest and cheek hard to the mattress as if he could hide. Every nerve screamed. He couldn’t get enough air, his breath catching ragged in his throat.

“Nothing’s coming out,” Bokuto soothed, his voice low and urgent against Akaashi’s ear. His thumb rubbed slow circles into the sharp jut of his back, grounding him, steady. “That feeling… it’s just the pressure. It’s me. Just me, filling you. All the way inside.”

The words sank into him through the haze, and Akaashi’s body quaked, clenching involuntarily around him like it didn’t know whether to expel him or hold him tighter.

“Bokuto-san—” he gasped, voice breaking, body trembling under the sheer weight of sensation.

“I’ve got you,” Bokuto whispered, pressing his forehead to the curve of Akaashi’s damp shoulder. He held still, chest heaving against his back, every muscle tight with restraint. His hands stayed locked on Akaashi’s hips, keeping him steady as Akaashi’s world shook apart around that unbearable, overwhelming depth.

Bokuto breathed deep, forcing himself not to move, not to give in to the raw instinct clawing at him. Instead, he rocked forward just slightly—barely a grind, enough for Akaashi to feel the thickness stretching him, enough to coax his body into remembering want.

“Easy…” Bokuto murmured. “Breathe with me. I’m not continuing until you tell me to.”

Tears pricked hot at Akaashi’s eyes, spilling despite himself. “It’s—too much—” he sobbed, cheek pressed hard into the sheets, thighs shaking as his body clamped down helplessly around him.

Bokuto kissed his shoulder, soft and reverent. “I know… I know it is. But you’re really taking me, Keiji. You feel so tight, I can barely move…”

He rocked once more, slower, deeper—enough to make them both shudder. “Does it hurt? Do you want me to stop?”

Akaashi sobbed again, high and wrecked, but shook his head. His hand reached blindly back, fingers curling tight around Bokuto’s wrist. “Don’t stop…”

Akaashi finally pushed back into him, wordless, needy, and Bokuto knew he could never forget the way this felt.

“F–fuck…” Bokuto hissed, staring down at the place their bodies joined. His hands splayed over Akaashi’s hips, thumbs digging in to hold him open, trembling as he took in the way Akaashi’s body strained to take him. “You’re… god, you’re perfect—taking me so deep—”

He dragged back, every inch dragging sparks from Akaashi’s body, then shoved forward again, harder, the slap of their hips obscene in the quiet room. Akaashi’s legs trembled violently, his spine arching, walls clenching down as if to force Bokuto to stay buried inside.

Bokuto bent close, voice barely audible over their breath. “You feel… incredible. Like your body won’t let me go.” His thrusts grew rougher, hips jerking with a hunger he couldn’t tame.

Akaashi cried out, fingers scrambling against the sheets, his whole body shaking with every wet grind. His mind fizzed out, melting into heat and static and something close to disbelief, every nerve screaming too much, too deep, too good. His throat tore open with a cry.

“Bokuto-san…” he sobbed, voice cracking. He felt stretched beyond reason, raw and overflowing in a way he couldn’t describe, every breath a plea for mercy.

But Bokuto held him, coaxing him through each thrust. He rocked in again, deeper, the rhythm getting faster, overwhelming—flesh slapping, slick, obscene.

Akaashi was taking him—but still so tight. Bokuto could feel the stretch, the tension in his own knot swelling, dragging heavier at Akaashi’s rim with every push.

And Akaashi—

Akaashi couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

It was pressure. Heat. Fullness beyond comprehension.

Too much. Too deep. Too thick.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. His mouth opened, chest heaving, but no air came. He choked on a sob when Bokuto pushed all the way in again, and he felt it—felt the blunt head nudge high, deep into his guts, his belly taut and full around the impossible stretch.

“Ah—” Akaashi whimpered helplessly, tears spilling freely down his cheeks.

Bokuto slowed, chest pressed to his back, sweat slick between them. His knot throbbed where it caught at Akaashi’s rim—hot, swollen, insistent. The pressure made Akaashi’s body flutter, clench, refuse and yield all at once.

“I want to knot you, Keiji…” Bokuto breathed, voice low and trembling.

Akaashi shook, the pressure almost unbearable. Bokuto’s knot felt huge, hot, slick. His rim burned, clenched and fluttered around the swollen base that refused to fit.

Bokuto folded over him instantly, cradling him close, forehead pressed between his shoulder blades, arms banded firm and protective.

“You’re okay,” he breathed, kissing the salt from his damp skin. “I’ve got you…”

A hand slid down Akaashi’s front—slow, reverent—palming his stomach, feeling the thick shape moving inside, before wrapping tenderly around his cock. He stroked just enough to tether Akaashi to pleasure, just enough to keep him grounded.

“You’re already taking me,” Bokuto murmured against his ear, voice low and raw. “You’re so soft inside… you’re opening for me. You want this. I can feel it.”

His hips moved barely, a shallow roll, letting Akaashi feel the swollen knot press, drag, retreat, press again. Every tiny grind was torture, promise, prayer.

“It’s gonna stretch you more,” Bokuto whispered, kissing behind his ear, “but I’ll go slow. Just breathe with me, Keiji. Deep… slow… I’m not going anywhere.”

Akaashi let out a breath that was more of a sob. His fists clenched tighter in the sheets, but he didn’t say no. His hips rocked minutely into Bokuto’s, helpless and shaky.

Bokuto’s own breath hitched, the strain breaking his voice. “We’re so close… Let me take you the rest of the way. Let me be inside you, all of me…”

Another shallow thrust—his knot catching harder on Akaashi’s rim this time, wet and obscene. Bokuto groaned softly, kissing the nape of Akaashi’s neck.

“If I knot you,” Bokuto said, kissing the nape of Akaashi’s neck, “It’s gonna press right where it feels good. You’ll be so full, Keiji. So warm. I’ll hold you the whole time. You’ll be safe.”

The words undid Akaashi. 

I’ll hold you the whole time. You’ll be safe.

What he had once dreamed of, before the word beta had been branded into his skin. Before he believed it was impossible.

Bokuto kept rocking—steady and slow—thrusting just enough to tease Akaashi, the thick swell of his knot catching harder each time, pressing deeper with each grind.

Then he whispered softly, like a vow: “Will you let me?”

Akaashi’s breath stuttered. The tears blurred everything, his throat too tight for words, brain shut down with sensation. “…Yes.”

Bokuto’s body shuddered with relief. He kissed his nape, tender, desperate. “I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

He pressed in slowly, the knot swelling, slick and hot and insistent, straining at Akaashi’s ring of muscle that burned and resisted. Tiny motions, rocking, coaxing, easing Akaashi’s body to open, pushing just a bit more each time.

A shudder rolled through Akaashi’s body, breath catching—on the edge, right at the limit, stretched to breaking.

And then Bokuto gave one deep, final thrust, pushing past the tight resistance. The knot breaching with a slick, obscene pop, swollen and thick as it forced its way in.

Akaashi cried out, the sound tearing from his chest, too raw to be called a moan. His body clenched violently, stretched beyond bearing, filled past the limit.

Bokuto groaned against his back, voice ragged with disbelief. “Fuck—Keiji—” His arms locked around him, trembling, holding him close as their bodies sealed together.

It was too much.

Too hot.

Too perfect.

Bokuto came with a ragged, broken moan, his knot pulsing inside as his hips bucked forward on instinct. His cum spilling into Akaashi’s stretched body in hard, rhythmic spurts, pushed deep by the tight lock of the knot, every throb sending another flood of heat inside.

Akaashi’s body seized, trembling violently around the thick swell inside him. His hole burned. His thighs kicked once, then locked. The stretch was searing, brutal, searing, impossibly wide, pleasure spiking into pain and crashing down in waves.

He sobbed, pinned under Bokuto’s weight, the heat of his body, the throb of the knot anchoring him in place.

It was too much. Too wide. Too deep.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He could only feel the thick swell seated fully inside him. The knot breached him so wide that he felt sick from it, overstretched, overstimulated, right over his prostate, stuffed past the edge of what he could handle.

He couldn’t control himself, the pain and the pleasure mixed and his body gave in.

The pressure broke him open. 

Akaashi sobbed, overwhelmed, every nerve alight with the impossible intensity of being filled and stretched. His body surrendered to the deep, steady pressure of Bokuto’s knot, letting go of everything he had been holding in. 

His cock jerked, twitching helplessly, and hot liquid spilled out of him in steady waves—trickling down his thighs, soaking the sheets beneath them as Akaashi’s body gave up entirely. Shame crashing over him like a wave as he peed himself.

Bokuto pressed himself closer, arms locked around Akaashi, chest heavy against his back, forehead buried in his damp hair. He couldn’t see, but didn’t need to; he could feel it—every tremble, every shiver, every tight clench of Akaashi’s muscles around him. Every gasp, every soft whimper as the warmth spilled out of his body.

“It’s okay…” Bokuto whispered, voice low and rough. He pressed himself further against Akaashi, nuzzling into the curve of his neck, breath hot against damp skin. “I’ve got you… You’re safe, Keiji… just let go… just let it all out…”

Akaashi sobbed under him, shaking, his cock still dribbling piss as his body spasmed again—tight, clenching down involuntarily as his own orgasm finally broke through.

His breath hitched in uneven gasps, whole body trembling, chest rising and falling too fast. His belly felt full, taut with the press of Bokuto inside him, stretched and weighted, the knot locking him completely, and his muscles quaking from the sheer intensity. He couldn’t control it—couldn’t stop the shivers, couldn’t hold back the sobs, couldn’t do anything but let the waves of sensation wash through him.

Bokuto’s body throbbed against him, still coming, still impossible to stop, every pulse sending more heat and fullness into Akaashi. He tried to slow, tried to stop thrusting, tried to regain control—but his body refused. The alpha inside of him wanted to breed Keiji. The knot stayed seated, the thick swell pressing insistently, and every movement he made drove them deeper into each other. He groaned low in his throat, voice rough with need and disbelief. “Keiji… I can’t… I’m still coming…”

The knot kept them locked together, heavy and full, each pulse of Bokuto’s orgasm rippling through Akaashi, every throb sending Akaashi higher, deeper, closer to losing himself entirely.

It didn’t stop. His cock throbbed, pulsed, spilled again—heat pouring into Akaashi in relentless waves. Bokuto clung to him, burying his face against his damp neck, panting ragged into his skin as his body refused to relent.

Akaashi gasped brokenly, the fullness unbearable. His belly felt round, tight, distended with the sheer amount inside him. He whimpered, trembling violently, unable to hold himself up.

Bokuto’s arms were around Akaashi, holding him, not letting go. He kissed the sweaty curve of his neck. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you,” he whispered hoarsely, shaking from the force of it. “I love you.”

Akaashi’s cock jerked, spilling weak, painful spurts into the puddle already soaking the sheets below him, barely holding himself up. His arms trembled. His thighs were soaked, the sheets beneath him hot and wet. His cock was still twitching, his body pulsing too full to process where he ended and Bokuto began.

Knotted. Bred. Crying.

Bokuto hushed him, murmuring against his sweat-slick skin. “You’re safe Keiji. My mate… ”

The word hit deeper than any thrust—cutting through the static like a blade. 

Mate.

Akaashi’s breath hitched. Something fragile inside him cracked open and flooded him with heat.

Bokuto kissed his shoulder, his hair, then began to ease them onto their sides—slowly, carefully, aware that his knot was still thick and buried, locking them together. Every motion was a challenge; his own body trembled, still spiking with each spurt of cum he released inside of Akaashi, each one making his hips lock and jerk, making it impossible to move smoothly. He had to adjust in small increments, rocking subtly, careful not to hurt Akaashi, letting his trembling hands slide a towel beneath them with clumsy, shaking precision.

They were soaked, both of them, but Bokuto didn’t care. He curled around Akaashi like a shield, one arm braced beneath his head, the other splayed protectively across his belly. His cock twitched relentlessly inside him, heavy, pulsing, too much—and yet somehow still not enough. Each throb pulled more cum deeper into Akaashi, making even the simplest shift a labor of concentration, a slow, deliberate maneuver to settle them into a more comfortable position.

Akaashi’s whole body throbbed with aftershocks. He was open, stretched wide, leaking slowly around the knot. His cock twitched in little, stubborn spasms against his leg, spent but refusing to stop, still reacting to every pulse of Bokuto’s body. He felt suspended, floating—disconnected, flooded, blinking slowly as if he weren’t entirely there.

His belly was taut, his thighs sticky, his nerves flayed open—but none of it felt real anymore.

Everything blurred. The heat and the wet and the smell of sweat, sex, shame. 

Time stopped making sense.

His mind had gone soft, slow. Nothing left in it but sensation.

Too full. Too hot. Still leaking. Still shaking.

“I feel floaty,” he whispered hoarsely.

“I’ve got you,” Bokuto whispered back, holding him tighter, like he was afraid. “You are safe, Keiji…”

Bokuto’s hips rocked forward, soft at first—barely a movement, just instinct driving Bokuto to grind his knot deeper, keep it seated, keep filling Akaashi despite him trying to calm down so he would be able to pull out of Akaashi.

Akaashi let out a faint moan, eyes half-lidded, head tipping back into Bokuto’s shoulder. His legs twitched. His body responded without him.

“Bite me…” he whispered, voice broken, almost pleading.

Bokuto didn’t ask. Didn’t pause.

He bit him.

His teeth sank into the back of Akaashi’s neck—breaking the skin, marking , holding him to reality. For an omega, this would be euphoria, a mark of eternal bond. But Akaashi was a beta. The bite brought only sharp, raw pain, a white-hot sting that made him flinch even as every nerve screamed from the overstimulation. Yet he didn’t pull away—couldn’t. He was too far gone, body completely undone by heat and pressure.

Bokuto’s hips surged forward again, rutting hard with the bite, with the intense push of the knot deep inside him. The thick swell dragged over Akaashi’s raw insides, grinding, hot and overwhelming.

Akaashi cried out, voice breaking into sobs and whimpers, cock spasming, weak spurts pumping against his leg. A fresh trickle of piss leaked from the tip, soaking the bed beneath them. His body seized again, gripping Bokuto’s knot, clenching with another wave of heat, shame, and helpless release.

It was shameful.

But it didn’t hurt anymore, it was maddening, how intense everything felt, how he wanted more.

He didn’t want Bokuto to stop, his hips moved on their own.

Bokuto moaned low in his throat, hips twitching helplessly. “Keiji—fuck, Keiji—I can’t, if you move against me like that I won’t be able to stop––!” He came again, locked deep, helpless against the clenching tightness, grinding down as his cock throbbed and spilled inside Akaashi—another wave, another flood of warmth.

Their legs tangled tighter. Their breaths came in sobs. Everything wet. Everything trembling. The room smelled like heat, like sex, like sweat and cum and tears.

Bokuto held him close, rocking slowly against him even as his body still shivered with overstimulation. He could feel how full Akaashi was, how open and surrendering, and it lit something in him he couldn’t control. He couldn’t pull out yet, not until the knot had softened.

So he waited. Locked inside him, he kissed every inch of Akaashi he could reach—shoulders slick with sweat, the damp hair sticking to his nape, the delicate curve of his ear. His hands moved over Akaashi’s belly, tracing, caressing, grounding, letting him feel held and adored, even in the overwhelming chaos.

“ Mate, ” Bokuto whispered, holding Akaashi desperately tight, rocking against him until his knot finally went down.

He pulled out carefully. Akaashi’s hole was still agape, cum spilling onto the sheets. Akaashi moaned softly, eyes closed, mouth parted.

Bokuto didn’t know if he had passed out. He reached up, brushing some hair from Akaashi’s forehead, and was relieved to feel steady breaths against his fingers.

Still, something didn’t feel quite right.

He tucked the blankets over Akaashi carefully. Then he forced himself out of bed to go to the bathroom and get some towels to clean Akaashi. But as he walked out of the bedroom, he spotted his cellphone over the table.

He hesitated—then grabbed it, heart pounding, and dialed.

Kuroo picked up on the second ring. “Darling! Is your rut finally over?”

“I’m gonna regret this…” Bokuto muttered.

“Hmm?”

“I… I had sex with Akaashi and I was… still going down from my rut…”

Silence.

“…You what?” Kuroo’s voice lost its playful edge, low and sharp now.

Bokuto shut his eyes. “And he is like… he is like too quiet now? He told me he got dizzy during sex. Said he felt floaty. Then he… he just got really soft. Quiet. But he’s breathing fine?”

“…Wait,” Kuroo said. “Did you…?”

Bokuto flushed. “Yeah. I knotted him. He cried a little. And then—” He didn’t mention the other details. “He asked me to bite him, Kuroo. He wanted it. But now he’s just…”

“Describe it,” Kuroo said, voice calm but serious.

Bokuto swallowed. “He’s warm. Breathing steady. But like he was not all here. And he kept rocking onto me, even though he was not saying much. Just… soft. Quiet. Like drifting.”

There was a pause, then Kuroo hummed low. “That doesn’t sound bad. Sounds like he’s in subspace.”

“Sub—what?” Bokuto whispered.

Kuroo sighed. “Sweet child of mine…”

“Subspace,” he explained. “It happens after really intense sex—when a partner gets overwhelmed emotionally or physically. Sometimes after a knot, too. The body floods with endorphins and cortisol, and it’s like they’re floating. Quiet. Mellow. A little dazed. Not dangerous, as long as he’s safe and grounded.”

Bokuto’s chest squeezed tight. “So… I didn’t break him?”

“No, idiot," Kuroo said, dry but not unkind. “If he’s breathing steady and looks relaxed, that’s a good sign. Just stay with him. Keep him warm, keep touching him, talk if it helps. He’ll come back when he’s ready. What he needs is you there, so he doesn’t crash.”

A shaky breath of relief escaped Bokuto.

Kuroo chuckled softly. “ Anyway, try not to kill him, okay? Have you seen the size of your cock? You probably hit his second ring. And don’t tell me you were gentle, I don’t believe you.”

“I—!” Bokuto sputtered, flushing hot.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Kuroo’s smirk was audible. Then his tone softened. “When he starts stirring, offer him a sports drink. Something sugary. Maybe some salty snacks. That’ll help.”

“Okay… okay.” Bokuto rubbed a hand over his face. “God. Are you sure?”

“Positive. You didn’t break him—you just overwhelmed him. And the that fact he asked for it means he trusted you to take him there, Bo.”

Bokuto swallowed hard. “…Okay.” Quieter this time.

“And Bo?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m happy for you. Let me know when he wakes up, alright?”

“…I will. Thanks, Kuroo.”

He hung up and hurried back to the bedroom. The sheets were still damp, the air heavy with sweat and sex. He couldn’t leave Akaashi there. Bokuto grabbed clean blankets from the closet and gently took Akaashi onto the couch in the living room. He sat down with him on his lap, cradling him close, Akaashi’s head resting against his shoulder.

“Hey, ‘Kaashi…” Bokuto’s voice was soft, almost fragile.

“Mmh.” Akaashi hummed, his tone sluggish, drifting.

“How’re you feeling?” Bokuto asked gently. “The bed was a mess, so I moved you here.”

The words came quiet, like anything louder might shatter the calm.

Akaashi blinked slowly, still catching up, like he was surfacing from somewhere far away. His body felt heavy—hollowed out, the tension drained too quickly, leaving only an aching stillness. His chest felt tight. His fingers twitched on the blanket, disconnected, slow.

He was warm. The blankets faintly damp against his skin. Everything around him felt intimate. Tender.

Bokuto leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Akaashi’s like he was waiting for him to come all the way back.

Akaashi drew a deep breath—but it hitched, stuttering at the end as the sharp pain of the bite on his nape suddenly flared.

Bokuto tensed instantly. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt?”

“My neck…” Akaashi murmured.

Bokuto’s first instinct was to press his mouth there, to soothe it with his tongue, but he forced himself to hold back. “I’ll go grab the med kit,” he said quickly, easing Akaashi down against the cushions and slipping away just long enough to return with it.

He came back and settled beside Akaashi, the kit balanced on his thighs. Akaashi tilted his head to the side in quiet permission, exposing the mark. Bokuto’s throat rumbled with a low, instinctive growl he barely managed to choke down.

It wasn’t deep, not dangerous—but it was his . The sight of it made his chest ache with something fierce and possessive.

Mentally scolding himself, he focused on cleaning the wound with careful, steady hands. He placed a fresh bandage over it, his fingers brushing softly against Akaashi’s skin.

“Was that… too much?” Bokuto asked finally, his voice cracking. “I mean… I think I kinda was,” he swallowed hard. “I let go of myself. I couldn’t control it. When you asked me to bite you, I didn’t even think, I just… did it. And then you got so quiet, and I think you might’ve gone into something called subspace.”

Akaashi blinked at him, his dark lashes heavy against fever‑pink skin, silent as if weighing the words.

Bokuto looked wrecked. His hair a mess. His cheeks were flushed. His body still humming with leftover adrenaline, like he hadn’t come down yet—but his expression was all guilt. Like he expected Akaashi to say he’d ruined something.

“I’m just… tired,” Akaashi murmured. He sat up slowly. “What is that? Subspace?”

“Oh. Yeah, right.” Bokuto exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, like he himself was also coming back down.

The whole time he waited for Akaashi to open his eyes, Bokuto’s chest had felt full and hollow all at once. He hadn’t expected that. The crying. The shaking. Definitely not… how overwhelming everything was.

What broke him was how vulnerable Akaashi had looked. The way he trembled , body bare and used and beautiful. The way he’d let go completely. Not just physically—emotionally. Trusting Bokuto so much he had gone into this whole subspace thing.

It had wrecked him.

“It’s… I think it’s a physical response when someone feels too overwhelmed,” Bokuto said. “Like, after—uh—intense sex. Not dangerous, just… your body kinda floods with stuff and you go floaty for a while.” 

Akaashi looked at Bokuto. “Did you call Kuroo-san?” He asked, not accusatorily, just knowing.

Bokuto grimaced. 

“I mean, I was worried…” he said, apologetically. “He has had sex with betas before and I… I thought I had broken you somehow, I pushed you too much, I went too far.” Bokuto blurted, panic edging in despite himself. His big hands trembled slightly as he smoothed the blanket over Akaashi’s lap. “You—you cried, and I couldn’t tell if it was good or bad, and then you got so quiet, and—and—”

Akaashi’s fingers twitched weakly, brushing against Bokuto’s wrist. “It wasn’t a bad thing,” he said.

Bokuto froze. “…Not bad?”

A faint nod. “It was overwhelming. But… not bad.” His words came slow, deliberate, like he had to fish for each one from somewhere far away. “You didn’t hurt me. I wanted everything we did.”

The knot in Bokuto’s chest loosened. He bowed his head, pressing his forehead to Akaashi’s chest. “You scared me,” he admitted quietly. “I didn’t know who else to ask…”

“It’s okay,” Akaashi said, his breath warm against Bokuto’s neck. His eyes drifted shut, heavy with exhaustion, but his voice was steady. “I’m fine.”

Bokuto didn’t say more, that it had broken him a little. That he’d never seen anything more beautiful than Akaashi trusting him like that.

Silence stretched between them. Akaashi shifted slightly, feeling the faint bloom of bruises on his hips, the soreness deep in his belly, the echo of being opened so fully. The memory of the pressure, the heat, the overwhelming stretch lingered like a ghost in his body.

“I felt safe,” he finally said. “You told me I would be safe, I was.” He paused for a moment. “I didn’t mean to worry you, Bokuto-san, but I’m not so fragile, so you don’t have to worry.”

Bokuto’s breath caught, a quiet laugh escaping as he looked for Akaashi’s face. “Sometimes I forget…” he murmured. Then, gentler, “You need to hydrate. I’ll get you something to drink—and you should eat, too.”

He got up and went to the kitchen to grab everything Kuroo had recommended for Akaashi and after that, he even prepared him a bath so Akaashi could relax while Bokuto cleaned everything up.

In the bedroom, while Bokuto gathered the sheets in his arms, the scent clinging to them—sharp and raw and real—made his knees buckle.

He pressed the sheets to his nose, breathing deep.

His eyes burned.

Then he remembered he had to send Kuroo a message.

Chapter Text

They had spent the whole weekend together, barely leaving the apartment for the first two days. Bokuto couldn’t keep his hands off Akaashi—couldn’t stop touching him, curling around him, kissing him, holding him close even in his sleep, as if afraid Akaashi might slip away the moment he let go.

Afterward, when they finally managed to step outside, Bokuto had taken Akaashi around Osaka showing him every favorite noodle shop, every alleyway with nostalgic weight, the bookstore that reminded him of Akaashi, the bench by the river where he used to spend time some afternoons.

They wandered until their feet ached.

It was domestic. Quiet. Precious.

But not permanent.

On Monday, Bokuto had to return to training. And Akaashi… he still wasn’t sure where he belonged now.

He finally confessed what Bokuto hadn’t noticed through the haze of rut—that he had resigned from his job to be able to be with him during his rut. As a beta, he had no access to permits to be with an alpha or omega during their heat, so in the moment he had taken the decision to simply resign.

Bokuto’s face fell, guilt written all over him, but Akaashi only shook his head. He’d hated the place for a long time. Not the work itself, but the suffocating environment. Leaving had felt less like sacrifice and more like he had been waiting for the right excuse. Now he only needed to find something else.

Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—Bokuto told Kuroo everything, or almost everything, so he of course mentioned that Akaashi had walked away from his job just to be with him during his rut.

Akaashi had asked Bokuto not to tell Kuroo, he still felt a bit apprehensive after their last conversation, mostly because of how he himself had spoken about his relationship with Bokuto, but he had to agree Kuroo was a great friend nonetheless, and Akaashi didn’t really hate him or anything.

That’s when the email came through.

A manga publisher. An editorial job. Not what Akaashi had envisioned—he preferred literature, essays, the written word in its rawest forms—but Kuroo had gotten him the interview, and it was a foot in the door. A way to stay in Osaka. A way to stay close to Bokuto.

When Akaashi told him, Bokuto lit up like a sunrise.

“That means you’re staying?! You’ll be here?!”

“Seems like Kuroo-san doesn’t want me leaving either,” Akaashi had answered flatly.

Bokuto hugged him hard, lifting him from the floor and spinning around.

The new job was… different. Manga had never been his preferred medium, but the energy of the place was nice. His coworkers were loud in ways literature editors rarely were—half the office ran on caffeine and inside jokes, the other half on looming deadlines and desperation.

He learned how to read storyboards, how to phrase editorial notes so artists didn’t take them too harshly and got depressed, how to navigate the delicate balance between a mangaka’s vision and a reader’s patience. The authors were as varied as their works—some never left their desks and worked fast, others sent notes entirely in emoji while pushing deadlines to the max, a particular one called him “Editor-kun” with a wink that made his pen stutter mid-sentence.

But despite all that Akaashi adapted quickly. He always did.

Every night he found himself on Bokuto’s couch, talking about their days, eating together and drifting into monotony and domesticity.

And then, one night, after eating reheated nikujaga and brushing their teeth in the same cramped bathroom, Akaashi spoke.

“I want us to rent a place together.”

Bokuto blinked, mid-bite. “What?”

“I want us to rent a place together.”

“You don’t like my apartment?”

“I do,” Akaashi said. “But you said it yourself, Bokuto-san. It’s your apartment.”

Bokuto pouted, shoulders hunching just a little. “It can be yours too.”

“I know.” Akaashi’s voice was calm, but steady. Intentional. “But I want us to choose something together. Something that’s ours from the start.”

There was a pause.

The kind that held weight—meaning. Like taking a step forward into something that would be harder to walk back from. It wasn’t just about renting a place together. It was a shift. A redefinition.

Something about it hit Bokuto hard. The quiet phrasing. The ours of it.

The need rose up again in his chest—familiar and aching—the want to hold Akaashi’s hand in public. To walk beside him, not just next to him, not in secret, not like he was something to be hidden. It always ended in the same place in Bokuto’s mind:

I want to marry him.

They started browsing listings that night. Bokuto got excited over sleek, modern condos with smart appliances, touchpad lighting, and automatic blinds. Places that looked like they were meant for magazine spreads or athletes who didn’t do their own laundry.

Akaashi leaned towards traditional homes—quiet, weathered things with wooden beams, creaking floorboards, small inner gardens, sliding doors, tatami mats and sunlight filtering through paper screens. 

“That looks like a retired samurai’s house,” Bokuto said, squinting at one of the listings.

“That’s part of the reason I like it,” Akaashi said simply.

They bookmarked twenty listings and agreed on zero. But somehow, every new option, every conversation about storage space and water pressure and balconies—made them feel closer.

It built something. Something that stretched past the what-ifs. A shared future.

And beneath all of it—beneath the warmth of domesticity, Akaashi’s new job, the promise of stability—Bokuto kept returning to the moment everything had shifted. When Akaashi had dropped everything—Tokyo, his job, his carefully balanced life—and came to Osaka without hesitation. Just because Bokuto needed him.

Bokuto, caught in the grip of a rut that felt more like a sickness than desire. Because he had never known how to deal with his ruts, the longing, the need for it to feel like it meant something. Akaashi had endured every raw, aching hour of it. Bokuto’s sadness, his shame, the way he refused to “just fuck it out” like everyone told him to. He hadn’t been able to look Akaashi in the eye half the time.

But Akaashi never left.

And––more importantly––how, after a week-long rut, he had allowed Bokuto to make love to him. Had let him knot him.

He had cried, and trembled, and let himself be held down and filled until his body couldn’t take anymore. Had wrapped his arms around Bokuto like it was okay. Like it was safe. Like he was safe.

Bokuto couldn’t forget it.

The way Akaashi had let go—not because it didn’t hurt, but because it did and he still chose him anyway.

Bokuto didn’t talk about it. Not out loud. But it had cracked something open inside him.

It still made his chest tight just thinking about it. That someone could love him like that. That he could love someone like this.

Bokuto knew he had brought up the topic before, about marriage, because he wanted to tell the world Akaashi was his, but now… he really wanted to ask Akaashi to marry him.

“How about this one?” Bokuto said, tapping on a listing as they laid on the couch, Akaashi curled beside him. “The ceilings are high, it was remodeled, and it’s got good insulation.”

Akaashi leaned closer to see. A quiet, sun-drenched traditional house. Tatami floors. Sliding doors. A deep bath and a tiny inner garden shaded by persimmon trees. His chest tightened just looking at it.

“It’s nice,” he murmured. “But they’re not renting it.”

Akaashi pointed at the listing. “It’s for sale.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I know,” Bokuto said, without even pausing to think. “Let’s buy it.”

Akaashi turned to him. “What?”

“Let’s buy it,” Bokuto repeated, more quietly this time. “I want to live with you, ‘Kaashi. Not just for a while. I mean… really live with you.”

Akaashi stared, caught off guard.

Bokuto pressed on, voice cracking a little under the weight of what he was trying to say. “I want to come home to you, wake up next to you, argue about groceries and fight about curtains and make up over stupid things like soy sauce brands.”

He huffed out a laugh, nervous. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Just that… I want this. With you.”

Akaashi’s hand curled slightly over his knee. He didn’t speak right away. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but something in his expression had softened. Like the words had knocked something loose inside him.

And Bokuto—flushed, exposed, running too far ahead of himself—bit down the rest of it. He’d said too much already.

“Fine,” Akaashi had said. “Let’s buy it, together.”

Later one evening, over steaming bowls of curry at a noisy little diner crammed between a coin laundromat and a karaoke bar, Bokuto leaned across the table, dropped his voice like he was admitting a crime, and muttered:

“I think I’m gonna ask him to marry me.”

Kuroo didn’t even blink. “Didn’t you just buy him a house?”

Bokuto scowled. “We bought a house.”

“Oh, right, my bad. That’s totally different,” Kuroo deadpanned, stabbing a piece of katsu and waving it vaguely in the air. “You’re just, what, two platonic bros sharing a mortgage and matching toothbrushes. Real masc friendship goals.”

“Shut up,” Bokuto groaned.

“I’m just saying,” Kuroo went on, casually, like he wasn’t trying to get under Bokuto’s skin but clearly was, “you’ve been acting married since high school. He used to bring homemade bento and you’d sulk if he didn’t share it with you.”

“I did not sulk.”

“You absolutely sulked. You once almost skipped training because you thought he was mad at you for not eating lunch with you that day.”

Bokuto flushed, half out of shame, half out of indignation. “That’s not what happened.”

“Yeah, okay, like you didn’t call me from one of the bathroom stalls interrupting my practice,” Kuroo said, smirking. “Point is—this isn’t news. You and Akaashi have always had that domestic tension. The ‘honey, we’re late for PTA’ kind.”

He left out the other part—the one where Bokuto was one of Japan’s most visible athletes and a relationship with a beta, let alone a proposal, could easily light up social media for the wrong reasons. It wasn’t about a scandal exactly; Bokuto had never been anything but wholesome in the public eye, but Japan was a conservative country and Kuroo knew it. Besides, he worked in the JVA’s promotion division—if something blew up, the fallout would land squarely in his lap.

Still, Kuroo knew how happy Bokuto really was. How he had chased after Akaashi since forever. And he wasn’t about to be the one to dim that.

Bokuto dropped his spoon and groaned again, slumping forward until his forehead thumped against the edge of the table. “It’s not the same.”

“No?”

“No.” His voice was muffled but serious. “Akaashi’s not like that. He doesn’t just assume things. He needs order. Steps. Like… structure, y’know? If I don’t say it—if I don’t do it right—it won’t be real to him.”

Kuroo leaned back, eyeing him. “So you’re trying to romance a Virgo.”

“Akaashi’s a Sagittarius!” Bokuto snapped, lifting his head. His hair was a mess from the table and his curry was getting cold.

“Which means nothing,” Kuroo shot back, smirking. “He’s the most Virgo-coded person I’ve ever met. Organized, sharp-eyed, always fifteen seconds from sighing at your antics. Remember that time in second year when you started drinking coffee and he gave you a ten-minute lecture about blood sugar regulation and caffeine dependency?”

Bokuto chuckled despite himself. “Yeah…”

“Yeah,” Kuroo echoed. “That guy’s been carrying your only brain cell since 2014. He probably has a spreadsheet about your relationship milestones.”

“He does not,” Bokuto said, frowning—then paused. “...Actually, he might. I don’t know.”

“Exactly. You can’t half-ass this.” Kuroo pointed his chopsticks at him. “You wanna propose? You gotta think like him. Structure. Intent. Clarity. Bonus points for literary metaphors and stable domestic references.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Bokuto groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “I just don’t know how to propose. Like, how do you do that? When’s the right time? What do I say? I can't just say ‘wanna marry me?’ over curry.”

“I mean,” Kuroo drawled, “you could. Spices things up. Go viral. I’d watch that livestream.”

Bokuto gave him a withering look. “Kuroo…”

“Fine, fine,” Kuroo relented, even as his grin widened. “You want advice from me, the emotionally constipated manchild?”

“I guess I’m that desperate.”

“Okay.” Kuroo leaned forward, like he was about to drop some ancient wisdom. “Tell him you want to argue about laundry with him for the rest of your life.”

Bokuto frowned. “Wait—isn’t that from a movie?”

“It is,” Kuroo admitted without shame. “But it’s a good one, right?”

“I can’t propose with a stolen phrase!” Bokuto groaned again and dropped his head into his hands. “You’re messing with me!” Bokuto groaned, half laughing, half mortified. “I’m never telling you a thing again.”

Kuroo snorted, utterly unrepentant. “You say that every time. And yet—here we are.”

Bokuto dropped his head back into his hands. “Ugh. Why am I even asking you?”

“Because I’m a well of wisdom and you love me,” Kuroo said, mouth full of katsu.

“You’re so annoying.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You know Akaashi,” Bokuto muttered, rubbing his face. “How do I make it mean something to him? Like… actually mean something. Not just—like we’re playing pretend.”

Kuroo’s teasing softened. He leaned back a little, chopsticks still in hand. “You already do, dude.”

Bokuto glanced up.

“That guy left Tokyo for you. Quit his job. Said goodbye to his routine, his safety net…. He plans everything five years ahead and he still dropped everything the second you needed him. He’s already in it.”

Bokuto’s mouth tugged into something small and wistful. “I know. But he needs me to say it.”

“Then say it,” Kuroo said, shrugging. “Maybe even over curry!”

Boxes littered the floor, the walls, the hallway. Most were half-open, books spilling out in careful stacks. Others remained sealed, marker scrawls on the sides revealing their contents in Akaashi’s neat handwriting: Literary fiction, Manga references, Essays–fragile. And in the center of the living room, barefoot, hair slightly mussed, Akaashi knelt among them—surrounded by books. His books. Shelves were slowly being filled, spines carefully aligned. He moved with focus, lips slightly parted in concentration, as though arranging a library was a form of prayer.

The afternoon sun filtered through the shoji screens, painting lines of warm light across the floor. The tatami creaked faintly beneath him.

When Bokuto stepped into the room, he didn’t speak.

He lingered in the entryway for a moment, just watching—how Akaashi knelt on the tatami, surrounded by books, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled from hours of slow unpacking. He ran his thumb gently along each spine, sometimes even opening up and reading the marked pages before placing it down with reverence. Every now and then, his expression shifted—something fond, something surprised—as he unearthed a title he hadn’t seen in years.

There was a quiet to him that Bokuto could never touch without awe. Something about the way Akaashi moved through space—soft, deliberate, present—made Bokuto feel like the world had slowed down.

He padded across the floor and sat beside him, close but not touching.

Akaashi glanced at him, offered a small smile, then returned to fitting books into a low wooden shelf like pieces in a puzzle.

Bokuto reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a small, square box.

He set it gently on the floor between them.

Akaashi paused.

His eyes flicked to the box, then to Bokuto. He said nothing. Just shifted towards the box, hands brushing his knees. Slowly, carefully, he reached forward and opened it.

He sucked in a quiet breath.

Two rings.

Silver. Plain. No gems, the design minimal. No engraving. No flash.

Just… a promise.

Akaashi’s hands trembled.

“I thought you wouldn’t appreciate an audience,” Bokuto said softly. “So there’s no surprise party, no flash mob, no big speeches. Just… us.”

Akaashi didn’t respond right away. His gaze stayed fixed on the rings.

“We haven’t even been together a year,” he murmured.

“I know,” Bokuto said.

“It’s too soon.”

“I’ve been wanting to marry you since I was fifteen,” Bokuto replied without hesitation.

Akaashi looked up, eyes searching his.

“We already live together,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “We brush our teeth together. We even bought a house.”

There’s no need to go so far.

“I know.” Bokuto’s smile was small.

“I’m not…” Akaashi’s voice wavered. “I’m not special. I’ll never be. There won’t be big moments, or mating, or children. I’m not…” He hesitated, then gave a tiny, almost apologetic smile. “I’m not what you were supposed to want.”

I’m not an omega, I will never be.

“I know,” Bokuto said quietly. His hands flexed at his sides, wanting to reach for him but letting Akaashi set the pace. “But I love you. I want to marry you. I want to hold your hand in public, and wake up next to you when we’re both eighty. Would you?”

Silence hung between them.

And then, finally, Akaashi exhaled. A soft sound—something like surrender, something like relief.

He closed the box gently, holding it in his hands.

“Yes,” he said, quiet but sure. “I would.”

Bokuto didn’t speak again. He just moved.

He leaned in arms sliding around Akaashi, and he pushed him gently back against the tatami floor. Akaashi let out a startled breath, still holding the closed ring box to his chest.

Bokuto hovered above him for a second, eyes wide, face flushed with wonder and joy.

And then he kissed him.

Akaashi let out a surprised laugh against his mouth.

Bokuto kissed him again.

And again.

“You’re ridiculous,” Akaashi murmured, smiling.

Bokuto grinned and kissed the corner of his mouth. “You said yes.”

“I did.”

He kissed him again—this time slower, more focused.

Akaashi laughed again, softer now, the kind of laugh that came from somewhere unguarded. And Bokuto couldn’t stop—he kept kissing him through it, lips brushing laughter, until the laugh caught and changed.

Until it turned into breathlessness.

Until Bokuto pressed closer and Akaashi tilted his head to meet him, fingers curling into the back of Bokuto’s hoodie. Until his laughter faded into a quiet, open-mouthed sigh against Bokuto’s lips.

There was no rush. Just warmth. Just the sound of their breathing, the creak of old wood beneath them, the feeling of lips meeting over and over again until they were warm and needy.

Their kisses deepened. Became slower. Warmer. Bokuto’s hand slid along the floor, searching, bracing beside Akaashi’s shoulder. Akaashi’s legs shifted, knees brushing Bokuto’s hip. The air around them thickened, heavy with the gravity of what they’d just promised.

Bokuto’s nose brushed the corner of Akaashi’s jaw. “You’re mine,” he whispered, so quiet it sounded like a confession. “You said yes.”

Akaashi exhaled shakily, and his hands pulled Bokuto in closer by the hem of his hoodie. “I did,” he murmured. “So make me yours.”

Bokuto kissed him again, deeper now, his mouth parting with a low sound as Akaashi’s fingers threaded through his hair. The floor was warm and soft beneath them, and Bokuto would have to agree tatami was a great choice. 

He shifted his weight, hands roaming—slow, careful. He pushed Akaashi’s shirt and sweater up, lips brushing the skin he uncovered, worshipping him in soft kisses, in breathless murmurs.

Akaashi arched slightly when Bokuto’s mouth found his chest, lips dragging over his sternum, his ribs.

“You always hold back,” Bokuto murmured against his skin. “Even when you’re falling apart.”

Akaashi swallowed hard. “I don’t mean to.”

“I know.” Bokuto kissed lower, slower. “Would you let me have all of you today? I want to see what it's like beneath it…”

His mouth closed over Akaashi’s nipple without warning, tongue warm and insistent. Akaashi gasped, hips twitching, breath catching in his throat. Bokuto sucked slowly at first, groaning low in his throat, like he’d been starving for this—like this was a kind of meal he’d dreamed of.

He dragged his teeth gently around the peak, then flicked his tongue again, lips tugging with intent.

Akaashi trembled.

“Sensitive?” Bokuto asked, already breathless, already going back for more.

Akaashi bit his lip hard. “Yes…”

“Good.”

Bokuto sucked harder, his hands roaming, pinching at the sides of Akaashi’s chest, cupping the soft skin like he was holding small breasts. His thumbs brushed deliberately beneath, then up, circling the flushed tips, teasing them to an aching red.

“God, I love these,” he whispered, voice hoarse, kissing across to the other one. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

He latched onto the other nipple and moaned like it hurt to finally have it, sucking it until Akaashi squirmed beneath him. Bokuto's hand found the first nipple again, rolling it between his fingers while his mouth worked the other, overstimulating him.

Akaashi turned his head and groaned into the tatami, legs shifting, back arching involuntarily.

“It’s too much,” he whispered, “Bokuto-san, it’s—”

“Tell me what you want,” Bokuto murmured, pulling off with a soft pop and kissing just below. He pinched the side of Akaashi’s chest again, thumb pressing in, teasing the underside. “Tell me what you need…” he whispered, dipping low and kissing the curve like it was cleavage.

“Let me see all of you,” Bokuto murmured again, voice deep, lips still brushing flushed skin.

Akaashi’s hands curled in the fabric of Bokuto’s hoodie, tugging him closer. “I want you,” he whispered. “Here. Now. Like this. I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to go to bed and undress.” His voice cracked slightly, and he flushed deeper. “I want to do it here with my clothes half-on, on the floor…”

Bokuto’s breath hitched—sharp and immediate.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re—fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

He scrambled briefly, reaching behind him and flipping through the boxes until he found one labeled bathroom stuff––Thank you Akaashi for labeling boxes––and opened it, pawing through it until he found the lube. He nearly dropped it in his hurry, then turned back to see Akaashi watching him silently, spread out on the tatami floor like a fever dream—his shirt and sweater still rucked up to his collarbone, exposing his flushed chest. He had taken off his pants and underwear, one leg drawn up, hands over his abdomen. His glasses sat crooked on his nose, and he looked wrecked—messy and open and beautiful.

Bokuto positioned himself between Akaashi’s legs, opening the lube and pouring a good amount on his fingers, pressing one inside without preamble—deep, smooth to the knuckle. Akaashi exhaled hard, but didn’t flinch, eyes fixated on Bokuto while he gasped softly.

“You’re so warm,” Bokuto pressed a second finger inside and scissored them, and Akaashi whimpered, his eyes closing in pleasure.

“Don’t make me wait,” Akaashi said. Not begging—demanding.

Bokuto didn’t think. He shoved his pants and boxers down, freeing his cock. It looked flushed, thick, heavy—already aching with need and leaking precum.

He gripped Akaashi’s legs and hooked them over his shoulders in one fluid motion.

And then, without asking again, he pushed in.

Akaashi gasped, back arching off the floor—body tensing momentarily under the sheer weight of it. Bokuto was big, filling him deep, thick and it was still a lot. But Akaashi took it. Slow, silent, lips parted around a sound he didn’t let out.

It hurt. But it was surprisingly good. Feeling it hit inside, the stretch… it was overwhelming in a different way. His body trembled as Bokuto sank deeper, as his inner walls fluttered helplessly around the massive girth inside him.

“You feel—fuck, you feel so good,” Bokuto groaned, voice cracking. “You’re always so tight—hot—Keiji—”

Akaashi’s hand shot out, grabbing at Bokuto’s wrist, holding on. “Don’t stop,” he breathed, eyes squeezing shut. “I don’t think I can hold it…”

Bokuto swore under his breath. “Keiji…”

He sank deeper, nearly trembling as the tight heat pulled around him, squeezing with every inch.

Bokuto exhaled hard, forehead dropping to Akaashi’s shin. “Fuck. You’re perfect,” he groaned low in his throat, and the sound barely ended before he was moving—fast, rough, fucking Akaashi into the floor with messy, full-bodied thrusts.

Akaashi choked on a moan. His legs bent higher, folding under Bokuto’s grip, and Bokuto took the hint—hauled him up, folded him in two, pressing his thighs towards his chest as he drove in deeper.

The floor creaked under them. Their clothes shifted and bunched—Akaashi’s shirt still rucked up to his collarbones, glasses sliding halfway down his nose. His eyes were unfocused, lips parted around soft, shattered sounds he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Bokuto leaned forward—and realized his shirt was brushing between them, dragging over Akaashi’s cock with every thrust. He grunted and grabbed the hem, yanking it up and catching it between his teeth, biting down hard to keep it off Akaashi’s oversensitive skin.

It gave him a better view too—of Akaashi trembling beneath him, flushed and slick and gasping, hair a mess against the floor. His cock was flushed and leaking, twitching with every deep stroke.

“Fuck—fuck, Keiji—” Bokuto rasped, voice muffled by fabric. His rhythm faltered, then surged harder—desperate now, fucking him fast and deep, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the empty room.

Akaashi’s hands scrambled for purchase—one grabbing Bokuto’s forearm, the other clutching at his discarded pants like it could anchor him. His head tipped back.

His whole body was flushed, trembling, and the angle had Bokuto brushing right over his prostate with every thrust.

Akaashi sobbed. “Bokuto-san—I’m—”

His cock jerked, untouched, between their bodies. His moans broke apart into gasps and hiccups, hips twitching, every breath catching like it hurt.

Then he came.

Hard.

Spasming around Bokuto’s cock, crying out as his release spilled hot and helpless between their bellies. His rim clenched tight, fluttering in rhythmic spasms, milking Bokuto’s cock in perfect, unbearable pulses.

Bokuto choked, barely holding back. His knot was swollen—pressed hard against Akaashi’s hole—but he didn’t force it in.

He cried out instead, head dropping, and came in thick, pulsing waves—hot spurts spilling deep but not locked in, flooding Akaashi’s already stretched insides. His body trembled uncontrollably from the pleasure, small little thrusts as he came over and over inside Akaashi’s body.

“Shit—” Bokuto gasped, hands trembling as he tried to steady himself. He was about to try and pull out, but then—

Akaashi’s hand moved.

Still trembling, flushed and raw, Akaashi reached down and cupped Bokuto’s knot—fingers curling gently around the thick, swollen base with enough pressure to make Bokuto whine through the fabric still clenched between his teeth.

“Keiji—” Bokuto panted, hips jolting, his cock twitching with another spill of heat. “Fuck—fuck—”

He looked down, dazed. Akaashi’s glasses were askew, his clothes bunched under his arms, lips parted as he breathed shallowly. He didn’t say anything—just used his free hand to tug Bokuto forward, chest to chest, letting Bokuto slump over him.

He’d already come once and was still, steady; Bokuto’s body, though, kept moving on its own, driven by something deeper. Akaashi only stayed there, his palm a quiet anchor around the knot, accepting the pulse of Bokuto’s release.

Bokuto’s next climax hit hard. His arms shook where they braced by Akaashi’s shoulders, a low sound tearing from his throat as he pressed in, knot throbbing under Akaashi’s hand while more and more spilled inside of him. Spurt after thick spurt pushed in.

It was warm, wet and messy. So, so messy.

When it was finally over, he let go of the shirt in his mouth and collapsed slowly, panting, forehead resting against Akaashi’s flushed chest. His eyes were glassy, unfocused—like he couldn’t quite believe what just happened.

He was still buried deep, cock softening but his knot still swollen, still throbbing faintly in Akaashi’s hand. He couldn’t stop shaking.

Akaashi’s fingers carded gently through his hair.

“That was…” Bokuto tried to say, but the words wouldn't come.

Akaashi answered for him. “Exactly what I wanted.”

Bokuto let out a short, breathless laugh. “...Intense.” He sounded dazed. “I feel like my brain melted.”

“Did you not like it?” Akaashi asked, thumb brushing behind Bokuto’s ear.

“It was… different,” Bokuto admitted. “I guess I got used to taking care of you first…”

Akaashi’s hand was warm in his hair. “You asked me what I wanted,” he reminded him. “You don’t have to coax me into sex each time.”

Bokuto let out a soft exhale against his skin, and then stirred, shifting back a little. His eyes flickered, catching on the slick slipping from Akaashi—lube, come, and…

He didn’t flinch, just took off his hoodie and slid it under Akaashi’s hips to keep it from the tatami.

“I’ll go get a towel,” he said.

“I made you dirty, didn’t I?” Akaashi asked, his voice tense and his eyebrows furrowing.

“Don’t worry,” Bokuto replied, gently easing himself off. He leaned in and kissed Akaashi’s temple, warm and brief. “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.” 

When Bokuto padded away, Akaashi stared at the ceiling. The weight in his chest felt sharp, painful. He heard the cabinet open, the sound of running water filled the silence, too loud. He didn’t move, he didn’t want to see the mess.

Bokuto came back quickly with a warm cloth. He knelt and cleaned Akaashi carefully, silently. Warm cloth on his thighs, between his legs. Gentle, steady. 

Akaashi’s throat tightened. He turned his face away, blinking too fast. Bokuto didn’t comment. His expression stayed steady even as he picked up the soiled cloth, holding it like it weighed nothing.

“I should be the one cleaning it,” Akaashi blurted, voice low but sharp at the edges.

“You’d spiral if I let you do it,” Bokuto replied, not unkindly. “I know how your brain works.”

Akaashi lowered his eyes. He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t quite relax either.

“It’s disgusting, isn’t it?” he asked.

Bokuto paused. “No. But even if it was, I’d still take care of it.”

Akaashi didn’t answer.

When Bokuto left to toss the dirty clothes in the wash, Akaashi sat up slowly, wincing just slightly as he shifted his weight. The soreness was manageable, but the discomfort of shame was not so easily shaken.

“I’ll run us a bath,” Bokuto said once he returned.

“Okay,” Akaashi murmured.

They moved together, quiet. Bokuto peeled off the rest of his clothes while Akaashi undressed with precision, folding his shirt and sweater despite the wrinkles. He took off his glasses and placed them on top. Everything was neat, too neat. Like he was fighting to regain control.

He reached for the handheld shower and began washing himself—thoroughly. Methodically. Bokuto didn’t interrupt.

There was nothing, Bokuto had already cleaned him. But it didn’t matter. Akaashi scrubbed hard anyway.

If I were an omega, he thought, I wouldn’t need lube. I wouldn’t have to worry about messes or prep time or ruining the floor. I wouldn’t have to make him grab towels after sex to clean my mess.

He pushed the thoughts away and rinsed off. The tub was deep, big enough for the two of them, warm from the water still pouring in. Akaashi stepped in first and sat down slowly. He didn’t sigh, didn’t speak. 

Bokuto joined him moments later, sliding in behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist. His chin found its place on Akaashi’s shoulder.

They stayed that way for a while. The sound of the water dripping from the faucet, the hum of the washing machine somewhere down the hall.

Bokuto’s hands floated along Akaashi’s thighs beneath the surface. Slow. Thoughtful.

“What are you thinking?” he asked gently.

Akaashi didn’t answer right away. “I’m trying not to think, actually.”

Bokuto made a soft sound and pressed his nose behind Akaashi’s ear. “You’re not dirty.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

Akaashi’s shoulders dropped an inch, but his chest was still tight.

“That’s why letting go is so hard,” he whispered. “I get self-conscious. I try to pretend I’m not, but… I am.”

“I know,” Bokuto whispered. “But I liked it. All of it. It was perfect.”

Akaashi leaned back a little, until his back was pressed to Bokuto’s chest and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Bokuto’s arms tightened around him. Not possessively—just enough to say I heard you. I won’t let go.

“Don’t be,” he said softly. “I liked seeing you let go like that. I was… happy.”

Akaashi didn’t respond. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t peaceful anymore. It was fragile, tight at the edges, like it might splinter with one wrong word.

“I break down during my ruts,” Bokuto said suddenly, his voice hushed but fierce. “And I used to get off watching porn of people pissing on each other. Remember what you told me?”

Akaashi didn’t answer. His throat worked, but no words came.

“I’m not perfect either. I’m also ashamed of myself sometimes…” Bokuto admitted. His breath shuddered against Akaashi’s neck. “But I don’t want the things you’re ashamed of to stop us from doing the things that make you feel good. The things that let me see you, all of you.”

Akaashi opened his eyes slowly. The water lapped softly around them, the sound so small compared to the storm building inside his chest.

“I was happy,” he said after a moment. “Before. When we were on the floor. I meant it. I really wanted that. But I—” He swallowed, his throat tight. “I still feel ashamed.”

“I know,” Bokuto murmured. His lips brushed the damp skin at Akaashi’s hairline. “That’s why I cleaned everything. So you wouldn’t have to stare at it and think it changes anything. Because it doesn’t.”

Akaashi turned his head slightly, just enough to see the side of Bokuto’s face. His expression was open, unguarded—aching with devotion.

“You know it doesn’t, right?” Bokuto asked, meeting his eyes now. “You’re not less of a partner because it’s messy, or because your body doesn’t smell like some pheromone-coded fairy tale. That’s not what I want.”

Akaashi exhaled, the sound small and shaky, like he was holding himself together by threads.

“I just don’t want you to ever regret choosing me,” he said quietly. “Because of… all the complications.”

“I’ll always choose you,” Bokuto said. His arms tightened, his voice thick. “Again and again, even when it’s hard, even when it hurts. You’re the only one for me, Akaashi… I know it, deep inside, in some weird way I can’t explain…”

He paused for a moment, choosing his next words carefully, like they could break everything or bind it closer forever.

“Would you believe me if I told you I still think we are fated?” Bokuto whispered. His voice cracked on the word. “Because… it feels like we are. My whole being screams it when I’m with you. Not just during sex, not just when my rut is high. Always. My head keeps saying mate, mate, mate… and it’s only with you. The way you smell, the way you move, the way you are—it drives me insane, Keiji.”

Akaashi turned fully this time, water clinging to his skin, eyes wide and searching.

“What?” he asked in a whisper.

Bokuto held his gaze, fierce and helpless all at once. “I know it’s impossible, but it’s the only truth I know. You feel like mine.”

Akaashi lifted his hand and pressed two fingers gently over Bokuto’s mouth. His eyes softened. No words followed—just the quiet gravity of the touch, the way his breath lingered between them. Then he leaned in, sealing the silence with a kiss, slow and soft.

Because he felt it too, but didn’t have the courage to voice it out.

They stayed like that, bodies half-submerged, until the water cooled and the shame had faded away. Neither spoke; there was no need.

When Akaashi finally stirred, it was with a drowsy sigh, head heavy against Bokuto’s shoulder.

Bokuto brushed his lips to the damp curve of Akaashi’s neck and murmured, “Let’s go to bed.”

They moved unhurriedly, towel-drying in the soft glow of the bathroom light. Akaashi brushed his teeth while Bokuto padded around the house, fetching out clean clothes. Their quiet footsteps echoed faintly against the cedar walls, blending with the hum of the light and the faint scent of new tatami. It was a rhythm that felt natural already—domestic, intimate in its ordinariness.

By the time they settled into their futons, the sheets were cool, the lamps dimmed to a warm hush. Akaashi shifted close without hesitation, cheek resting against Bokuto’s shoulder, a hand resting just beneath his collarbone.

Bokuto settled in with a sigh, arms curling around him. “Comfortable?”

“Mm,” Akaashi hummed. “Very.”

They stayed like that for a long moment. Bokuto’s fingers traced the slope of Akaashi’s back through the thin fabric of his pajama shirt. Akaashi listening to the steady rhythm of Bokuto’s breathing.

Then—quietly, without preamble—he spoke.

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

“…About what?”

Akaashi shifted slightly. “Your kink.”

Bokuto stiffened. “What? Why?”

“You were the one who just mentioned it, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi reminded him.

“I know, and I’m already regretting it…” Bokuto muttered, rolling to his side to face him. His expression was open, panicked, already flushed.

“I read about it,” Akaashi admitted, he had actually looked it up online. “But everything I found was about… degradation. Humiliation. Control. Sadism.”

“I don’t—!” Bokuto’s voice cracked as he shot up a little on one elbow, eyes wide. “It’s not like that! I would never… I mean—” His throat worked. He looked terrified. “That’s not what it is for me. Not ever.”

Akaashi didn’t interrupt. He only watched, calm, steady, which somehow made Bokuto fumble harder.

“I’m not into hurting anyone. Or controlling them. And I definitely don’t want to humiliate you,” Bokuto rushed out. “The idea of doing that to you—it makes me feel sick.”

He hesitated, then added:

“I know that what I like gets tied to those things all the time. And maybe for some people it is. But not for me. Never for me.”

He turned his face away, jaw tight, fists clenching the sheets like he was bracing for disgust.

“What is it, then?” Akaashi asked softly.

Bokuto swallowed. His shoulders hunched as though he was trying to make himself smaller. “I… don’t know how to explain it,” he whispered. “It’s not something I chose. It just… turns me on. Always has. Since I was a teenager. And I hated myself for it. Still do.”

He breathed out shakily, eyes fixed on his hands. “But… for me, it’s about… letting go. Or watching someone I love trust me enough to let go. Not holding back, not pretending. Just… raw. Vulnerable. Intimate.” His throat bobbed, and his voice dropped to a hoarse murmur. “Peeing inside someone, or someone letting go on me—it’s… it’s not gross to me. It feels like the opposite. Like a kind of closeness I can’t get anywhere else. Not about control, not about shame. Just… trust. Intimacy.”

His breath caught, like the words were tearing him open. “When I knotted you and you… you peed yourself—” his voice cracked, thick with guilt, “—I… I can’t explain how it felt. I feel horrible because I know it was not like that for you, but for me…” His chest heaved, eyes squeezing shut as if he couldn’t bear to look. “For me it was everything. Like nothing I’ve ever felt. Like the world stopped.”

Akaashi’s expression softened, but he stayed quiet, letting the words sit between them, letting Bokuto breathe in the silence.

“And I know it’s weird. I know it sounds disgusting,” Bokuto went on, desperate now, like he couldn’t stop once the crack had opened. “But I don’t see it that way. To me, it’s beautiful. I used to search for it when I wanted to see porn, to watch people peeing inside others, to watch people squirting, when I was in rut and I couldn't think straight… It’s always been there…” His laugh was broken, full of shame. “And now you’re looking at me like—”

“I’m not,” Akaashi cut in gently.

Bokuto looked at him, unconvinced.

Akaashi shifted just enough to touch his hand, grounding him. His voice was quiet, certain. “I’m not looking at you like anything. I’m listening.”

Bokuto blinked at him, wide-eyed, like he couldn’t quite process that.

“And it makes sense,” Akaashi said at last, his tone even, thoughtful. “A space where there’s no performance, no rules you’re supposed to fit. Just honesty. Just release. I understand why that would feel comforting. Why it would feel intimate.”

Bokuto’s breath stuttered. “You do?”

“I do,” Akaashi confirmed, and then his gaze softened further, something unflinching in it. “And… I want to try.”

Bokuto stared, stunned, his mouth falling open, heart hammering like he’d misheard. “What?!”

“The other stuff scared me. Not the pain—but the idea of humiliation. But if it’s not about that for you… then I want to try. Not tonight. But sometime, I guess… you could give me a clue so I can just be prepared.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Bokuto let out a long, shaky breath like something deep in his chest had finally unclenched.

“Really?” His voice cracked.

“Really.”

“You’re not just saying it because—”

“You told me it was intimate for you,” Akaashi interrupted softly. “I want to try. I want it to be something that belongs to us.”

Bokuto collapsed onto the bed beside him, overwhelmed, every nerve trembling with disbelief and relief. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.” He exhaled again—not in relief exactly, but like he was finally, finally letting go of how tightly he’d been holding everything in. And when Akaashi’s hand brushed against his, steady and deliberate, it didn’t feel like permission. It felt like a promise.

Chapter Text

Akaashi was happy.

His new job as a manga editor was demanding in a different way than his old work had been—he still dealt with deadlines, stress, and long hours—but it didn’t make him miserable. If anything, he felt more like himself. There was a rhythm to it, a satisfaction that stayed in his chest even on the most exhausting days.

What made everything easier was knowing that when he got home, Bokuto would be there.

The only real stress came from his grandmother, who had taken his silence as a sign of scandal. The last few messages she’d sent were absurd—accusations that he’d run off with an alpha “ruining a nice omega’s chances at marriage.”, broken up a marriage, or worse, joined some kind of cult. The latest line of her interrogation had been: “Why won’t you give me an address? Are you hiding from the police?”

Akaashi hadn’t replied.

It was exhausting.

Bokuto was like recharging an internal battery. They had dinner together every night. They curled up on the floor watching some old film only Akaashi enjoyed. And cuddled to sleep at night. On the weekends, Akaashi read near the garden and Bokuto dozed off on his legs, sometimes snoring, sometimes just quietly holding on to his ankle.

It was quiet, peaceful.

Kuroo had been right: they were basically already married. Just the two of them, in their own small perfect world.

It was still early, Akaashi was sitting in the living room with his glasses on, wearing an old button-up, halfway open, one leg tucked under himself, a cup of hot coffee in one hand and a book on the other. 

From the kitchen, Bokuto stood in nothing but his boxers and it was pretty obvious how hard he was as he drank down a full bottle of water.

Akaashi slowly looked up from his book. “That’s your second.”

Bokuto swallowed hard.

“Your second bottle of water.”

Bokuto put the bottle down, like he'd been caught doing something shameful. “Yeah,” he said. “I just…”

He was so easy to read sometimes. “So… are we trying it today?”

Bokuto’s ears went red. “Only if you want to,” he said quickly. “I wasn’t going to ask if—if you weren’t in the mood. I didn’t want to pressure you.”

“In the bathroom?” Akaashi asked. Practical.

“Yeah,” Bokuto nodded, voice small.

Akaashi closed his book and set it aside. He looked at his coffee cup, still half-full, and downed the rest of it in one go.

“Okay,” he said, setting the mug on the table and rising to his feet. “I’m ready.”

“Just… like that?” Bokuto asked.

Akaashi gave him a calm look. “I don’t really know how it works.”

Bokuto blinked. “Oh.”

Then, almost bashfully: “Do you want me to… get you in the mood first?”

Akaashi looked at him for a long moment, then gave a tiny nod. “Yes,” he said. “I think I need that.”

Bokuto led him into the bathroom with a soft touch at the small of his back.

The room was cold, and Bokuto turned on the air to warm it up. Steam clung to the mirror above the sink and rolled down the tiled walls in slow beads. It was a typical Japanese bathroom—completely waterproof, with a wide floor, a mounted showerhead, and two stools in one corner. The deep bathtub in the back corner enough for the two of them to soak together.

Bokuto gently turned Akaashi towards him and began to unbutton the rest of his shirt. He didn’t rush. He undid each button with careful fingers, brushing them down the soft line of Akaashi’s chest. Then he slid the shirt off his shoulders and threw it to the floor, followed by Akaashi’s briefs.

Akaashi didn’t speak. He watched him, silent, his throat bobbing when Bokuto gently pushed him to sit on one of the low stools.

Then Bokuto knelt behind him.

Warm water ran down Akaashi’s back in soft waves as Bokuto poured it from a wash basin, taking his time to wet his hair and shoulders. His hands came next—gentle but sure—soaping his back, kneading his muscles with the flat of his palms. He worked at the knots in Akaashi’s shoulders, down to his lower back, then back up again.

Akaashi closed his eyes. His breathing slowed. The warmth of the water, the rhythm of Bokuto’s touch—it was hard not to give in to it.

“You’re so tense,” Bokuto murmured, voice low in his ear.

“Long week,” Akaashi said, but it was barely above a breath.

Bokuto hummed. He didn’t press. Just kept going, rinsing him carefully, massaging shampoo into his scalp, then tilting his head to pour warm water down his hairline. When he finished rinsing, Bokuto pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck.

Akaashi’s breath caught.

Bokuto kissed again, slower this time, letting his lips linger. His arms slid around Akaashi’s middle, hands warm against his belly, then slid lower, palms splayed across his thighs.

“Just relax,” Bokuto said softly.

Akaashi swallowed, his hands curling over Bokuto’s.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Bokuto added. “Let’s just… see where this goes, no pressure.”

Akaashi didn’t answer at first. But he leaned back a little, his hair brushing Bokuto’s shoulder. His breathing was soft now, and his skin warm from the water and attention. His thighs had parted slightly without him noticing.

“I want to do it,” he said, sure.

Bokuto kissed him again—warm, just below the ear, just where his skin dipped warm and soft—but his hands gripped tightly over Akaashi’s tights.

If Akaashi’s fear was feeling degraded or humiliated, then Bokuto would show him how much he loved and respected him, how he didn’t have to worry about that.

Bokuto’s hands slid up slowly over Akaashi’s hips, mapping the shape of his body like he was trying to memorize every line, every hollow. His palms came to rest on his chest—warm, steady—and Akaashi tensed slightly.

Bokuto leaned in and kissed the back of his neck again, then followed the curve of his shoulder with more kisses before shifting, guiding Akaashi gently to rest on the cold tiles of the floor so he could reach the front of his chest.

“You always get quiet when I touch you here,” Bokuto murmured, bending down and taking a nipple into his mouth, lips closing gently around the peak. “I love this part of you,” Bokuto said, voice low, husky, right at his ear. “You always try to act like it’s nothing, but you’re so sensitive…”

Akaashi’s breath hitched, but instead of looking away, he arched into the touch. “Maybe I like it too much,” he said, surprising even himself.

Bokuto groaned, almost buckling from the sheer confidence in his voice. “Keiji…”

“Don’t stop.” Akaashi asked softly.

Bokuto moaned against his chest. He sucked deeper, tongue flicking with precision, tracing small circles. His hand squeezed the other side, pinching lightly, rolling the skin like it was small, tender flesh meant to be worshipped.

“God,” Akaashi whispered, his head tilting back, his neck exposed.

Bokuto groaned low in his throat and kept going—switching sides, alternating, letting each one grow flushed and wet. He sucked and licked until the skin was shiny, reddened with attention, marked faintly with teeth. He worked him until Akaashi’s whole chest heaved with each breath and his thighs began to shift restlessly, the tension making his muscles jump under Bokuto’s hands.

Bokuto pulled back just enough to look at him, flushed and panting. Akaashi’s cheeks were red, lips parted, but his eyes were sharp, focused. Bokuto kissed him, tongue deep, messy—tasting the coffee still lingering faintly on Akaashi’s mouth—and slowly lowered himself down his body.

He didn’t ask. He spread Akaashi’s legs apart, the sight made Bokuto’s mouth water—Akaashi, flushed and wrecked from just his chest being touched, cock already twitching between his thighs.

Bokuto kissed his way down, licking over the sharp angle of his hip, then nosing between his legs before wrapping one hand around the base of Akaashi’s cock.

When Bokuto slid lower and took him into his mouth, Akaashi gasped, a hand tightening in his hair in quiet beg.

Bokuto obeyed without hesitation, sliding him in slowly at first, letting the head settle on his tongue, then deeper, inch by inch, until his nose pressed against the soft skin of Akaashi’s stomach.

He loved this—loved the stretch in his jaw, loved the twitching weight of Akaashi’s cock against his tongue, loved the way Akaashi gasped and bucked slightly when his throat closed around him.

Akaashi groaned sharply, gripping Bokuto’s hair, tilting his hips just enough to keep the motion steady.

Bokuto moaned around him, lost in the feel of Akaashi opening up a bit more, asserting his desire.

He held himself there. Nose buried in the dark hair at the base, eyes fluttering shut in bliss, letting himself feel every beat of Akaashi’s pulse against his lips and all the way into his throat.

And when he pulled back, it was only to suck harder, to drag his tongue along the underside with practiced ease, to hollow his cheeks and worship every inch like he couldn’t get enough.

Akaashi’s hips shifted on their own, tiny movements that guided Bokuto lower, deeper. “Bokuto-san,” he murmured, voice low, almost breathless—firm enough to let Bokuto know, soft enough to betray his hesitation.

Bokuto hummed around him—deep, guttural, lost in the feel of Akaashi claiming his pleasure—and took him all the way in again, slow and deliberate, letting Akaashi set the rhythm with his subtle movements.

His tongue worked greedily, pressing flat, hollowing his cheeks with every pull. Akaashi’s thighs trembled, but he gripped Bokuto’s shoulders, tilting and shifting as he needed, letting him know without hesitation, “More… Ah—”

Bokuto hummed low, a deep, throaty sound vibrating against Akaashi’s cock, taking every bit of him as though he could never get enough. His mouth slid down slowly, then back up, lips rolling, tongue pressing, sucking, swallowing, tasting. Every exhale, every shiver, every soft moan from Akaashi fed him, drove him deeper, made him crave more.

“I—I’m close…” Akaashi murmured, trying to warn him, voice shaky, almost lost in the wet, sloppy sounds of Bokuto’s mouth. His hips jerked forward on their own, betraying the pulse building in his belly.

Akaashi came with a soft, broken cry, hips bucking despite himself, and Bokuto took it—drank it down like something he needed, swallowing every drop with a deep, satisfied hum. His mouth stayed around the softening head, gently milking the aftershocks, letting Akaashi ride it out while his fingers stroked soothingly over his thighs.

When he finally pulled off, his lips were swollen, flushed, and slick. He looked up—glassy-eyed and wrecked, like he’d just tasted something holy.

“You taste so good,” Bokuto murmured, voice thick. “So, so good…”

Akaashi’s breathing was unsteady. His legs had gone slack on either side of Bokuto, and his hands were limp in his lap—but he didn’t flinch when Bokuto’s hands wandered again.

Bokuto kissed his thighs, then higher, tongue dragging gently along the crease where thigh met groin. His fingers squeezed Akaashi’s hips.

“I’m not done,” he whispered, and Akaashi felt the words all the way to his toes.

And then Bokuto was already bending him back, almost folding him in two, so he could gain access to Akaashi’s ass, staring with wide, hungry eyes.

He kissed the inside of one thigh. Then the other. Then lower still, licking a line from rim to balls—slow, savoring.

Akaashi gasped—high and sharp—and his legs tensed.

“Relax,” Bokuto murmured, voice low and tender.

“I am…” Akaashi whispered back.

Bokuto licked like it was his favorite thing in the world, like he’d been craving this all day. His tongue was firm, steady, circling and dragging, then pressing in deeper with each pass, until Akaashi’s fingers dug into his forearms, trembling, nails brushing against skin as he bit his lower lip to stifle a moan.

Bokuto groaned, hands gripping Akaashi’s thighs high, thumbs pressing for leverage, pushing in deeper, messy, wet, insatiable.

Akaashi gasped, holding hard to Bokuto, letting him know he wanted more without words. “Ah—Bokuto-san…” he whispered, voice soft, breath hitching, cheeks flushed, body trembling.

Bokuto didn’t stop. He moaned, lost in the taste, the warmth, the subtle insistence of Akaashi’s hands trembling on their grip, coaxing him, guiding him just enough. Each pass of his tongue unraveled Akaashi further—knees weak, eyes glassy, chest rising unevenly.

Akaashi let out a small, shivering breath, almost a sob. “So… good…” he murmured, letting the words escape despite his shyness, voice barely audible.

Bokuto growled low in his throat, burying his face deeper, tongue circling, pressing in, insistent, worshipful. He held Akaashi’s hips, steadying, adjusting, not giving him a second to think about anything else.

Akaashi’s cock twitched against his stomach, a loud moan escaping through his lips.

Bokuto just pushed further, tongue working its way inside, slow and relentless, until Akaashi was squirming in his grip. Bokuto moaned like he couldn’t get deep enough, like he wanted to live inside him. His hands held Akaashi’s hips in place while his tongue fucked in and out, shallow and then deeper—testing, teasing, coaxing him open.

“Bokuto-san,” he breathed, flushed and helpless, “Please—”

Bokuto pulled back just enough to say, hoarsely, “You taste so good I can’t get enough.”

His tongue worked faster now, more confident, and Akaashi’s head fell back, mouth slack, eyes fluttering shut. His hips rolled with every thrust of Bokuto’s tongue, chasing the feeling, his body trembling all over.

He wasn’t thinking anymore. Just feeling. Melting.

And Bokuto was starving for it. The noises he made were obscene, all wet suction and muffled groans, like he was the one getting off from this.

Akaashi cried out softly when Bokuto’s tongue twisted deeper, a sharp sound ripped from his throat, and Bokuto responded with a rough, eager growl—like he wanted to hear that again.

When he finally pulled back, his chin was wet, his mouth red and swollen. He looked up, panting, completely wrecked.

Akaashi’s thighs were trembling.

Bokuto stood slowly, reached for the nearby shelf, and pulled the lube from the corner. His hands weren’t trembling, but his breath was still ragged.

He kissed Akaashi once—slow, deep, messy—and then pulled away to slick his fingers.

“Tell me if you need to slow down,” Bokuto murmured, rubbing soft circles over his rim.

Akaashi’s jaw tightened, his lips parting as he forced himself to speak instead of just nodding. “I don’t want to slow down…” he said, voice rough and low, even if his breath hitched mid-sentence.

Bokuto pressed one finger in. Easy. Smooth.

Akaashi let out a quiet sound, not helpless but hungry, his body tightening instinctively before he willed it to relax. His head tipped back, a line of tension visible down his throat, chest rising with uneven breaths as he tried to keep steady.

“You’re so soft,” Bokuto whispered. “So warm…”

The second finger slid in, a little slower. Bokuto scissored them gently, watching Akaashi’s face for any sign of discomfort—but there was none. Just flushed skin. Glassy eyes. A half-lidded stare that didn’t look shy anymore, but steady. Intent.

“Do you want me?” Bokuto asked, his voice trembling now.

Akaashi’s lips curved faintly, breath stuttering. “Please,” he whispered, honest and unguarded. His hips rolled against Bokuto’s hand, as in answer, giving him the truth of what he wanted.

Bokuto nearly groaned at that.

He kissed his thigh once more, then stood up, slicking himself up with more lube and then lined himself up carefully, one large hand braced behind Akaashi’s back, the other holding himself steady. His breath caught as the head of his cock nudged against the softened ring of muscle—still tight, still clinging—but relaxed and wet with lube.

“Ready?” Bokuto asked, already pushing in slowly.

Akaashi gripped his forearms, grounding himself. His brows drew tight, not in pain, but concentration—his voice rough, sure. 

“Don’t make me beg…”

Bokuto let out a shuddered groan as he pushed deeper, inch by inch. Akaashi’s body resisted at first, clinging to every ridge of him—but then gave, stretching around him with a hot, slick squeeze that made Bokuto’s eyes flutter shut.

“God, Keiji,” he gasped. “You’re getting so good at taking me—”

Akaashi’s breath stuttered, his hips tilting slightly to meet him. “Don’t stop…” he said, more urgent this time.

He said it like he meant it. Everything, the stretch, the burn, the pressure—it had become part of the need.

Bokuto thrusted hard and fully sat inside, and Akaashi gasped sharply.

Bokuto groaned again, deeply, forehead pressed to Akaashi’s shoulder. “You’re so tight, Keiji. So warm.”

Bokuto began to move. Slow, grinding thrusts at first—deep and dragging, making sure Akaashi had time to adjust. But the moans that left Akaashi’s mouth weren’t from discomfort. They were from the sheer fullness of it, the way his body welcomed the intrusion now. Every push made his thighs tremble. His eyes were half-lidded with need.

Bokuto’s hands found his hips. His pace quickened slightly—enough to make Akaashi jolt, to force more breathy gasps from his lips.

“Tell me if I go too fast,” Bokuto whispered.

Akaashi clutched the back of his neck, dragging their foreheads together, voice low and unshaken despite the tremor in his breath. “Harder,” he said. “Don’t hold back.”

Bokuto moaned low and rolled his hips harder, sharper. The sound of their bodies meeting echoed off the tiled walls.

Bokuto kissed his temple, panting. “I love you,”

Akaashi’s breath hitched at the words, his body tightening around Bokuto in response. Overwhelmed, giving himself over more fully.

Bokuto's thrusts picked up—steady, strong, the kind of rhythm Akaashi could feel deep in his belly. The stretch no longer overwhelmed. It was thrilling.

Every time Bokuto bottomed out, the head of his cock brushed Akaashi’s prostate, and his own dick twitched untouched between their bodies.

The rhythm built—deep, driving thrusts that had Akaashi moaning hard. Demanding. Taking everything Bokuto gave and asking for more.

“Don’t stop,” he gasped, voice ragged but steady. “Just like that—right there—”

Bokuto growled low, clutching his hips, rutting into him with a ferocity that matched the way Akaashi clung back, the way he gave himself to Bokuto.

“You feel so good,” he panted. “Tight—so warm—fuck, I can feel you squeezing—”

“I’m close,” Akaashi whispered. “I’m gonna—” His whole body trembled. “Don’t stop—!”

Bokuto grunted, undone by the sight of Akaashi coming just from his ass. So sensitive and sexy.

“Fuck—Keiji—” Bokuto’s voice cracked.

Akaashi’s body clenched tight around Bokuto, milking him, dragging his orgasm out of him. He barely managed another thrust before his own orgasm tore through him—deep inside, groaning against Akaashi’s neck as his hips jerked forward and stilled, cock buried to the base.

Thick spurts spilled from him, hot and raw—filling Akaashi in waves. Bokuto moaned against his throat, one trembling arm holding him close, the other braced beside them to keep himself steady.

Akaashi felt it—every hot surge, every tremor in Bokuto’s body—and instead of wilting, his grip on Bokuto’s arms tightened. His breathing steadied. His mouth brushed Bokuto’s ear, his voice low and deliberate.

“Don’t hold back.”

Bokuto froze, a shudder ripping down his spine.

Akaashi tilted his head, lips grazing his temple, his words soft but deliberate. “Do it…”

Bokuto moaned brokenly, eyes squeezing shut, as if the single permission undid him completely. His whole body jerked, and the heat of him spilled even deeper, unstoppable.

Akaashi held him through it, steadying him even as his own muscles shook, anchoring Bokuto in that raw, overwhelming moment.

Akaashi felt it—truly felt it—how full he was, how intimate it was. A pressure low in his belly, strange but not frightening. Almost grounding. He blinked through the haze, watching the way Bokuto’s chest heaved, the way his stomach flexed, how his face twisted in bliss.

Bokuto’s whole body trembled as the last pulses hit. He slumped forward, letting his forehead fall gently to Akaashi’s shoulder, catching his breath.

“I can’t believe you just let me do that,” he whispered. There was a strange awe in his voice, something stunned and sincere.

Akaashi huffed out a shaky breath, sliding a hand into Bokuto’s damp hair, tugging lightly to make him look up. “I didn’t let you,” he corrected, voice low but steady. “I wanted it.”

Bokuto’s eyes widened, his breath catching. “Keiji—”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Akaashi said softly, lips twitching into the faintest smile. “You think I’d tell you to do it if I didn’t mean it?”

Bokuto swallowed, at a loss, and Akaashi leaned closer, his forehead brushing against his.

“It wasn’t just… tolerable,” he added, almost as if he needed Bokuto to hear it clearly. “It felt normal. Messy. Hot. Like something I—like something I actually wanted.” His voice faltered only at the end, not from doubt but from the weight of saying it aloud.

Bokuto let out a shaky laugh, eyes darting like he couldn’t hold all of it in. “I thought it was hot too,” he admitted in a rush, like confessing a secret. “Really, really hot.”

“Let’s do it again… I liked doing it in the shower,” Akaashi confessed, the words slipping out with a softness that made Bokuto blink.

He hesitated, then added in a lower voice, “Because it’s easier to clean. I can relax more here. I don’t have to think about the mess… I can just… feel it.”

Bokuto’s lips parted, and for a moment he just stared, struck dumb by the admission. He had to swallow hard before he could even speak. “That’s—Keiji, that’s perfect. I’ll do whatever makes you feel less worried. I don’t care about the mess, but if it helps you—then yeah. Shower. Anywhere. I’ll take you anywhere.”

Akaashi’s cheeks warmed, but he didn’t look away. “Don’t say it like that,” he muttered, fingers still tangled in Bokuto’s damp hair.

“Why not?” Bokuto said, a little breathless, half-grinning despite himself. “It’s true. You wanted me. You wanted this. That’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened in my life.”

Akaashi exhaled slowly, caught between embarrassment and something that felt dangerously like pride. His hand lingered, tugging Bokuto closer until their lips brushed again, soft and lingering.

Chapter Text

Akaashi had agreed to marry Bokuto. The words had left his lips, clear and certain.

But agreeing was not the same as doing. Now, they had to actually get married. And that meant facing the world outside the little sanctuary they’d built for themselves—the press, the speculation, the cruel logic of public perception. And by that, Akaashi meant the possibility of Bokuto’s career unraveling, all because of him.

What would happen when the world saw them and judged them?

Today was the day Bokuto had chosen to go public.

“Kuroo will go with me,” he’d said, when Akaashi hesitated again. “You don’t need to be there. Just… watch, please.”

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi had said, feeling his stomach and chest hurt. “I should be there, with you, but I…”

“It’s okay, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto assured him. “I’m used to the cameras and Kuroo will make sure I don’t say something stupid. I understand if you don’t want to make your life public, totally.”

“I can’t help but feel I’m failing you.” 

“Don’t say that. It’s okay, I’ll call you as soon as the interview ends.” Bokuto promised with a kiss. A kiss that made Akaashi want to cry.

Akaashi had buried himself in work. When his editor-in-chief asked him to personally check in on a mangaka behind schedule, Akaashi volunteered without hesitation. Anything to keep his mind busy. He helped an author finish their chapter from the floor of a cluttered, overheating room, and then boarded the train home with his heart tight.

He hadn’t checked the news yet.

He wasn’t avoiding it, he told himself. But he was. Scared of what people might say.

It wasn’t until he passed a store downtown, the kind with display windows full of cheap electronics and TVs tuned to public channels, that he stopped.

They were on display—dozens of screens showing the same broadcast. The news.

And there Bokuto was. Filling every screen. Dressed in his volleyball uniform, hair styled but still as fluffy as ever. Sitting next to Kuroo in a perfect suit with three pieces, in front of a small wall of microphones.

Akaashi stopped walking. The city noise faded around him. On the screen, the announcer's voice turned chipper.

"Star Athlete Bokuto Koutarou Announces Engagement to Beta Partner"

There were two reporters on the screen, then Bokuto and Kuroo next to him. The male reporter's voice cut clean through the screen.

“We’re joined now by volleyball legend Bokuto Koutarou, who’s confirmed he’s tying the knot. Bokuto-san, congratulations. Can you tell us a little about your partner?”

Bokuto’s voice came clear and steady. “He’s the love of my life. He’s smart, kind…”

“Oh? A he?” the female reporter interjected, eyebrows raised, faux-surprised.

Kuroo, seated next to Bokuto, cursed under his breath. Bokuto had already said more than he should have.

Akaashi’s hands clenched into fists. His mouth had gone dry.

“Oh, yeah,” Bokuto said with a nod. “He’s a guy.”

“And this guy…” the anchor smiled, voice turning slick. “May we know his name? Why isn’t he here with you today?”

“Well,” Bokuto replied, scratching his cheek, “he doesn’t really like the cameras, so I told him it was fine not to come. I didn’t want to pressure him––”

Kuroo leaned forward, stepping in smoothly with his official JVA tone. “We won’t be disclosing any further personal details. Out of respect for his partner’s privacy, we kindly ask that the questions stay focused on Bokuto’s career.”

“Oh, we totally understand a shy omega,” the female reporter said. “I think it’s actually very cute you’re protecting him.” 

“Ah,” Bokuto said, surprised by the assumption. “No, he is a beta…” He corrected.

“What?” The face of the female reporter dropped so hard she had to cover her mouth to try and fake she wasn’t as shocked by the revelation as she was.

“Yes, I… I wanted to come out to my fans, tell them…” Bokuto said.

“... and, how serious is this relationship?” the male reporter asked. “Aren’t you perhaps jumping to conclusions too soon?”

“I already proposed.” Bokuto answered.

“Very sweet,” she said, tone tightening. “We’re sure an omega would’ve made the effort to be here though.”

Bokuto blinked. “Excuse me?” Her discourse had completely changed after hearing that Akaashi was not an omega.

Kuroo interjected again, voice firm but professional. “We won’t be making comments that speculate on personal circumstances. Bokuto is here as an athlete, not as someone’s biology lesson.”

“Just an observation,” she replied, not missing a beat. “Some of your fans might be wondering—why a beta? You’re an Alpha. A top athlete. It’s a little... unorthodox. Was it not possible to find a more compatible partner?”

Akaashi felt like the floor had dropped out beneath him. His stomach twisted.

On screen, Bokuto took a moment before answering. Kuroo opened his mouth, ready to cut the anchor off again—but Bokuto’s voice was already steady, stubborn.

“I fell in love with him before he presented,” Bokuto said. “And it didn’t matter after that. It still doesn’t.”

“Of course, of course,” the other reporter jumped in, smiling like it would soften the knife. “It’s just… as an Alpha, some believe this kind of pairing goes against tradition. Against nature, even. Especially considering the importance of lineage, bonding instincts, and—”

Bokuto shifted in his seat, lowering his head slightly in that ingrained gesture of apology. His voice came out steady but raw. “I know this might disappoint some people. I didn’t want to hide it, but I also don’t want to cause trouble for anyone.”

Kuroo’s jaw tightened. He leaned towards the microphone, tone edged with controlled irritation. “With all due respect,” which in his opinion was none, “Bokuto’s private life isn’t up for debate. He’s here as one of Japan’s national aces, not to answer invasive questions. He’s being honest because he respects his fans, and because hiding would only feed outdated expectations. This isn’t about controversy. It’s about setting a precedent in a society that still tries to measure people by gender instead of who they are.”

But Bokuto leaned forward. “I know I’m stepping away from tradition. I know exactly what this looks like to some people. I know what they’ll say. But I’d rather be honest and judged than pretend and be miserable.”

“But you’re choosing to give up the possibility of a true bond,” one of the anchors pressed. “Don’t you worry this will confuse your fans? Especially young Omegas who’ve looked up to you?”

Kuroo bristled, his patience fraying. “Confuse them? With what—seeing that love exists outside of biology? That one of the best athletes in the world can make choices for himself without asking permission from outdated stereotypes?”

Still, the woman pushed. “Still… a male beta,” she said, laughing softly like it was a joke. “No biological bond. No heat compatibility. No family planning. Didn’t you ever want children? What about your ruts? Isn’t this going to affect your performance on the court?”

Kuroo was almost out of his seat now, one more word from snapping entirely—but Bokuto beat him again, his voice clear.

“I just want to be able to hold his hand in public,” Bokuto said. His voice was steady. “And I hope my fans can support me, because I’ve dreamed of marrying this person since I was fifteen.”

The interview limped on, Kuroo intercepting questions wherever he could, each time a little sharper, while Bokuto shouldered the weight with a stubborn, earnest honesty. By the end, Bokuto looked shaken, but Kuroo looked like he was about to strangle someone.

Akaashi stood in front of the glowing screen, people walking around him like noise. His eyes burned. The knot in his throat had started to ache.

He hadn’t meant for this.

Bokuto had said his name without saying it. Had defended him without making him a target. Had protected him, and still stood tall, taking the blows himself.

All this… just for him?

A Beta who wasn’t kind, but bitter and frustrated. Someone without scent. Someone who—

He shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. He couldn’t keep thinking like that. Not after Bokuto’s declarations. Not after everything he’d stood up for.

It was time to step forward too.

Kuroo’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, the rearview mirror lit up with headlights dogging them through every turn. Cameras still flashed even from a distance, bright pinpricks chasing them down Tokyo streets.

“Shit,” Bokuto muttered, tugging the brim of his cap lower. “I didn’t think it’d blow up this fast—”

“That’s the problem, Bokuto,” Kuroo snapped, taking a sharp corner. “You don’t think.” His phone buzzed violently on the console. He swore and jabbed the speaker on.

“Yes?”

“Tetsurou.” The voice on the other end was clipped, furious. “What the hell happened? That interview was a circus.”

Kuroo’s jaw flexed. “With all due respect, the line of questioning was bullshit. Bokuto’s private decisions aren’t up for debate. He came out to be honest with his fans. I stood by him, and I’ll stand by him again. Those reporters will issue a public apology, or they won’t get another press pass through me.”

There was a long silence on the line, then a grudging, “This isn’t over.” The call cut.

The car was quiet except for Bokuto’s uneven breathing. “Sorry,” he said, small for once. “I didn’t mean to—”

Kuroo sighed, rubbing his forehead. “No, I’m sorry, I’m just stressed already.” He said. “Look, the interview was a mess. You gave away too many details. Made it too easy for the press to track down who Akaashi is, but I’ve seen worse. We’ll spin it. You don’t need to apologize to me.”

Bokuto slumped in his seat. “Akaashi’s gonna kill me.”

Kuroo snorted. “Kill you? Please. That guy loves you too much for that. He’ll just give you that disappointed dad look until you’re on your knees begging for forgiveness.”

Bokuto laughed weakly, the tension in the car easing for the first time all night. But guilt was written all over his face.

“I shouldn’t have said so much. I got carried away. I just… I wanted to be honest, you know?”

“Stop,” Kuroo cut in, pulling out his phone. “You did what you thought was right, and honestly? It was right. I’ll manage the fallout. It’s actually my job, you know?”

“It’s just—Akaashi didn’t ask for this. I promised I’d keep him out of the cameras, and now—”

“And now the vultures are circling. Yeah, I get it,” Kuroo said. “But I’m not letting some reporter spin this into a scandal when it’s not. They’ll have to apologize. I’ll make sure of it.”

“…You really think they’ll back off?”

“They won’t have a choice,” Kuroo said simply. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re an athlete, not an idol. Nobody gets to demand anything out of your private life for the cameras.”

Bokuto exhaled shakily, rubbing his face. “…Thanks, man.”

“Just keep being honest with your fans. We will make a small update today and after that just post like normal in your social media. Show them who you are. You don’t need to put Akaashi’s face out there—but little things, you know? A coffee mug in the corner of the photo, the way you talk about him. People will see it. They’ll see how much you love him. And it’ll land a hell of a lot better than any PR spin.”

Bokuto’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “You think?”

“I know,” Kuroo said, finally clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ll see. Everything will work out in the end.”

By the time Kuroo lost the tail of photographers, it was nearly midnight. They pulled up outside Bokuto’s house, both wrung out.

“You coming in?” Bokuto asked suddenly. “We were driving around so long, you’ve gotta be starving, I know I am.”

Kuroo hesitated. “You just want someone to help you take the fall with Akaashi.” He joked, then shrugged. “Fine.”

When the door opened, Akaashi was already in the hall. His steps were quick, his eyes wide, worry written all over his face before he caught sight of Kuroo behind Bokuto. At once his posture straightened, composure sliding back into place like a mask.

“Sorry,” Kuroo said quickly, hands raised in mock surrender. “Didn’t mean to crash date night.”

Bokuto ducked his head, sheepish. “Sorry, Akaashi—”

“It’s fine,” Akaashi cut him off gently. “Everything is fine.” He assured him, the mask slipping off as his hands slid over Bokuto’s face, who immediately closed his eyes, and Akaashi pulled him close, hugging him tight.

Kuroo had to clear his throat to remind them he was still there. Akaashi gave him a look.

“I mean, I’m all in if you want a third, but Bo here promised me some food, and as far as I know, it didn’t have your face.” He joked to Akaashi.

Akaashi sighed. “I made curry.”

“Awesome.” Kuroo said.

The scent of curry drifted from the kitchen, warm and grounding. Bokuto’s stomach growled loud enough to make Kuroo snort.

“It smells really good,” Kuroo admitted.

That earned him the faintest flicker of a smile before Akaashi turned, leading them to the table. He moved with his usual quiet precision—placing bowls, setting chopsticks and a spoon just so—before seating himself across from them. Bokuto was the first to break the neatness, shoveling curry like a man starved.

By the time the bowls were empty, Bokuto stretched with a groan. “I need a bath. I’ll be quick.”  He pressed a kiss to the crown of Akaashi’s head before vanishing toward the bathroom.

Akaashi began clearing the dishes, the soft clink of porcelain filling the kitchen. When he returned from the sink, he set the kettle and poured steaming tea into a mug, placing it in front of Kuroo.

“For the road,” he said.

Kuroo lifted it with a lazy grin. “You know, I’m a decent cook too. I’d make a fine housewife. If you ever kick him out, I’m available for adoption.”

“I don’t date assholes,” Akaashi replied evenly, tone smooth as glass.

Kuroo chuckled, unbothered. “Fair enough.”

“I thought you’d have matured enough by now to stop relating to people by trying to provoke them,” Akaashi said, arching a brow.

“Maturing’s for fruit,” Kuroo shot back.

Akaashi hummed, considering him. “You should save those lines for the person you actually like,” he said. “I mean, being a decent cook and all of that.”

That caught Kuroo off guard. His grin faltered just a fraction. “Easier said than done.”

“Is it a beta? Maybe an alpha?” Akaashi asked lightly.

“Nah. Me and Bokuto think the same on that. Wouldn’t matter.” He took a slow sip of tea, then added, “It’s an omega.”

Akaashi blinked, surprise flickering across his face.

Kuroo smirked. “Didn’t expect that, huh?”

“Honestly? Not really.”

“Relax, it’s not like they’re married or some scandalous story or anything,” Kuroo said, waving it off. “It’s just… complicated. Distance and—well.” He hesitated, swirling his cup. “If we mated, it would be unbearable for their body so it’s not really a choice.”

Akaashi frowned. “You don’t have to mate.”

Kuroo’s laugh was quiet, but not amused. “Yeah. You say that, but… I don’t trust myself not to bite them.”

Akaashi’s gaze softened, not pitying—just understanding. “I see…”

“Don’t make that face,” Kuroo said. “It’s not tragic. It’s just… life. You grow up and realize love doesn’t always fit into what your heart wants.”

Akaashi nodded slightly, eyes lowering. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Kuroo replied easily, brushing it off. “Just… focus on you and Bokuto. People are gonna talk. They already do. They’ll notice how he looks at you, how you look at him. It’s gonna be rough before it gets better.”

“I know.”

Kuroo’s smirk softened into something almost fond. “Good. Because people can be cruel. But what’s worse is what you’ll tell yourselves if you start believing them.”

Akaashi’s fingers curled around his cup. “They can’t sound worse than the voices in my head,” he murmured. “I’ve heard them my whole life.”

Kuroo tilted his head, his expression gentling. “You know what? Between you and me, I’m impressed. Betas don’t usually… do what you’re doing. Not with guys like him.” He chuckled under his breath. “What I mean to say, you’re handling it pretty well.”

Akaashi gave a short laugh. “Thanks, I think.”

Kuroo looked into his cup. “He really did think he’d broken you that night, you know. I’ve never heard him sound like that.”

Akaashi’s hands stilled, eyes flickering.

“I get it,” Kuroo continued, more careful now. “You’re private. You don’t wanna talk about it. But it scared him because he loves you. Betas aren’t built to take what you take. But you do. And you come back wanting more. That’s… something special.”

Akaashi’s breath left him in a slow exhale. The edges of his mouth softened.

Kuroo leaned back, smirk returning, lighter this time. “Just… take it slow, alright? You go under again, he’ll probably call me crying this time.”

That finally drew a small laugh out of Akaashi. “Then I’ll make sure to spare you the trouble.”

They didn’t announce the date.

They didn’t throw a party.

Akaashi didn’t want to. This felt… private, he wanted to cherish it without the extra noise, without having to greet guests, without having to pose for photos, without having to dress up or anything, just… them.

They didn't even dress up and drove to a small office tucked far enough away that no one would think to look for them.

It was just paperwork. Pages slid across a desk, signatures written over. The clerk recited a speech he’d probably repeated a hundred times that week, faltering only slightly when Bokuto’s papers listed his gender as alpha and Akaashi’s as beta. His glance lingered, but there was no refusal, just a few extra seconds before the paperwork was handed over.

Akaashi felt nothing ceremonial about it, no sudden weight or shift. Just the motions of efficiency. He had honestly seemed more excited when they’d signed the papers for their house.

He hadn’t even wanted to exchange rings there. Because it felt too public. Too not theirs. To do it so under fluorescent lights would cheapen the gesture.

When the clerk finally said “Congratulations,” Bokuto beamed like they’d just won a championship match. Akaashi allowed himself the faintest smile in return.

Outside, the day was warm, the kind of early spring heat that carried Bokuto’s chosen scent—mint and yuzu—when the breeze shifted. 

They walked together to the car.

“Do you think we can make it to the onsen before sundown?” Akaashi asked quietly.

“Don’t worry, Akaashi—it’s gonna be perfect!” Bokuto replied with his usual unshakable enthusiasm.

Akaashi shook his head, amused despite himself, and slipped into the passenger seat.

It wasn’t a grand honeymoon. Just a few days at a quiet coastal inn they’d chosen together—no press, no family, no demands. A small room with tatami floors, a window facing the sea, and a futon big enough to hold them both without the world intruding.

It was, at last, exactly as Akaashi had wanted.

Because Bokuto couldn’t say no to him.

The road narrowed as they left the city behind, winding into quiet hills until even Bokuto had fallen silent, both hands on the wheel, windows cracked to let in the smell of grass and flowers. When the inn finally came into view—small, wooden, nestled between trees with its tiled roof weathered by years—Akaashi started slowly feeling the reality of being married to Bokuto settle quietly over him.

An old woman in a neat kimono greeted them at the entrance with a practiced smile and a polite bow.

“Welcome to our inn. Do you have a reservation?”

Bokuto’s face lit up. “Yes, under, uh, Akaashi Keiji.” They had decided not to do the reservation under Bokuto’s name just in case.

The woman checked her ledger. “A spouses’ room?” She glanced at them both.

“That’s right,” Bokuto confirmed.

She hesitated for just a moment before smiling again. “Of course. The yukata are already laid out by the futon. It’s a bit late, so you’ve missed dinner—would you like me to have something brought up to your room?”

“There’s no need,” Akaashi said.

“We ate on the way,” Bokuto added.

She showed them to their room and then turned around to leave.

“Very well, please let me know if you need anything,” she said bowing and then left them alone.

Once they were alone, Akaashi set his bag down with a sigh, already loosening his shoulders at the thought of changing into something more comfortable.

“Look, Akaashi! You can see the moon over the sea!” Bokuto called, leaning towards the window like a boy at a festival. He took out his phone and snapped a picture.

“Bokuto-san, some of the other guests might be sleeping,” Akaashi said mildly. Bokuto pouted. Akaashi chuckled.

Bokuto kept staring out; the view was breathtaking—the moonlight shimmering on the salty waves.

“Should we try the natural bath before sleeping?” Bokuto asked, turning back to spot the two yukata laid neatly across the futon—one a large size for a broad-shouldered man, the other delicate and narrow, clearly intended for a woman or an omega.

Akaashi followed his gaze and actually laughed, low and genuine.

“Well, that’s almost insulting,” he said. “I think the sleeves would end at my elbows.”

“I’m sorry, Akaashi—I should’ve said something when I booked—”

“I don’t mind,” Akaashi interrupted, still smiling faintly. “Honestly, I think I’m getting used to this by now. At least they’re consistent.”

The absurdity of it no longer stung. If anything, it felt like a private joke between them, one more thing that was theirs alone. Something they would make theirs.

“I’ll go ask for another large one,” Bokuto said, already half-rising, too restless to stay still.

But Akaashi’s hand closed around his wrist, firm but not harsh.

“Don’t go.”

The words were quiet, but they carried weight. His grip lingered a second too long, like letting go would cost him something. His expression was calm, yet there was a flicker beneath it—something fragile, something that would shatter if Bokuto stepped out the door.

“It’s our wedding night,” Akaashi continued, voice steady in the way only he could manage. “You shouldn’t leave your husband alone, right? Besides… we don’t really need the yukata…”

The word husband hit Bokuto like a spike to the chest. His throat tightened, his stomach fluttering with a nervous heat. He sank back down, sitting on the futon as Akaashi placed a firm hand against his chest, pushing him gently but insistently to lean back. Before Bokuto could say anything, Akaashi stepped aside, reached for the light switch, and clicked it off.

The room sank into shadow, the only light the pale wash of the moon spilling through the window. Akaashi stood framed by it, his silhouette sharp and slender, every edge and angle of him outlined in silver.

Without further preamble—perhaps because the darkness gave him courage—he spoke.

“This is… a one time alone special service,” he murmured, placing his glasses to the side. His voice caught, not quite steady, as though the words themselves felt too heavy on his tongue.

The sweater came up in one smooth motion, tugged over his head and dropped carelessly to the floor. Underneath, his long-sleeved shirt followed—methodically unbuttoned and then pulled free. The pale moonlight revealed the lean, sharp lines of his shoulders and collarbones. His body was all clean edges, the muscle that pulled tight over bone due to so many years practicing volleyball, never soft. Handsome, yes. But not what he had always expected he should be.

Akaashi felt the familiar twist in his chest as Bokuto’s stare burned into him. Sexy had never come naturally to him. Growing up, he’d thought he would be an omega, thought desire would look soft on his skin, cute on his frame. But he hadn’t turned out soft. He wasn’t round or yielding—he was all angles, sharp curves where he’d expected smoothness. Sexy didn’t feel like something that belonged to him, not really. And now, forcing himself to stand bare under Bokuto’s eyes, his hands shook faintly as he kept moving.

But Bokuto didn’t see any of that. His mouth had gone dry, chest rising and falling too fast. His elbows dug into the futon to keep him propped up, like if he laid flat, he’d be consumed completely.

Akaashi’s belt came next, fingers working with mechanical precision as he unthreaded the leather and tugged it free. The buckle clinked faintly as it fell aside. His trousers followed, unbuttoned and unzipped with unsteady hands. When they slipped down his hips, the faint dusting of dark hair across his lower abdomen came into view—narrowing into a line that ran down from his navel, darker and thicker as it disappeared beneath the waistband.

Bokuto’s breath hitched audibly. His eyes traced the trail hungrily, throat tight.

The trousers fell to the floor, pooling around Akaashi’s ankles. His briefs followed, sliding down in the same measured rhythm, until they joined the heap. He bent at the waist, one long leg then the other, tugging off his socks with deliberate care. Each movement felt rehearsed, intentional. To Akaashi, it was a task—a conscious effort of undressing for someone else, but something that didn’t sit right on him.

To Bokuto, it was unbearable, every flex of calf, every stretch of thigh making him want to sink his teeth into his husband’s skin.

Akaashi stood fully naked for only a moment, every inch of him cut in shadow and moonlight. His chest, lean but strong. His nipples small and hard against the chill air. His hip bones jutting, defined, leading the eye downward to the dark, natural hair between his legs. His hands twitched at his sides, resisting the urge to cover himself. He could feel Bokuto’s gaze like fire, and it made his stomach knot—half shame, half exhilaration.

Then, without faltering, he reached for the yukata laid neatly on the bedding. Sliding it on, he let the fabric fall loose, the sash tied only enough to keep it closed. The chest remained exposed in a deep V, collarbones and sternum framed perfectly.

The silence thickened, suffocating in its weight. Even the waves outside seemed to hush.

Akaashi lowered himself onto his knees, the tatami creaking faintly under his weight, then crawled onto the futon. Each shift forward made the tatami underneath creak louder, the air heavier, until he hovered above Bokuto, his hair falling slightly into his face.

Bokuto’s throat bobbed hard. His voice cracked when it came out.

“That was… wow.” His lips parted, eyes wide, pupils blown. “You look… amazing. Like—dangerous amazing.”

Akaashi’s mouth tilted minutely at the corners, though his chest still felt tight with the effort of holding himself there, pretending confidence he didn’t fully feel. He lowered one hand, pressing it firmly against Bokuto’s crotch. The heat there was undeniable, his erection straining almost painfully against the fabric.

“You’re hard,” he said. The words came out clipped, betraying just how much effort it took not to falter.

Bokuto groaned, head tipping back, because fuck—Akaashi hadn’t even tried to be sexy, not really. He had just… been himself. And somehow, that was sexier than anything Bokuto could ever have imagined.

Akaashi’s hand lingered against Bokuto’s stomach, fingers hesitating just beneath the waistband of his sweats. His breath trembled, but instead of pulling away, he pushed further, slipping inside until he found the heat of Bokuto’s dick over his boxers.

Bokuto’s hips jerked, a sharp breath breaking from him. “Keiji—”

“Let me,” Akaashi cut in, voice low, deliberate, and firmer than he expected. He leaned in, lips brushing Bokuto’s jaw, and pushed his hand deeper, curling his fingers around the outline straining against soft cotton.

Usually, Bokuto was the one taking the initiative, guiding Akaashi, initiating sex. But tonight, Bokuto went still, surrendering every twitch of his body to Akaashi’s careful pace.

Akaashi’s thumb dragged over the dampening fabric, teasing just enough pressure to make Bokuto gasp. “I want to…” He swallowed, tightening his hold, “…do this for you.”

The tatami creaked as Bokuto finally caved, head tipping back, chest shuddering. “You’re—fuck—you’re not playing fair, Keiji.”

Akaashi smirked faintly, leaning closer to murmur against his ear, “I didn’t intend to.”

Bokuto tugged his hoodie off in a single impatient motion, his t-shirt caught and tangled until he yanked it free and tossed both aside. He barely had a moment to breathe before Akaashi’s mouth was on his, steady but burning, their kiss as urgent as the hands sliding down his hips. Akaashi shoved his sweats and boxers low in one motion, freeing him, and Bokuto groaned at the sudden air against his cock before the warmth of Akaashi’s fingers cradled his balls, the other hand wrapping tight around his length.

The sound that tore out of him was raw, and Akaashi swallowed it, kissing him harder, lips slick and desperate. But then—he pulled back just enough, dark eyes locked on Bokuto’s, he placed his hands back to support his body and rocked his hips forward. Their cocks pressed together, heat to heat, the slide of skin nearly unbearable as he started to rut against him in slow, deliberate motions.

Bokuto’s breath caught. Akaashi was so close, their foreheads almost touching, breath mingling, every drag of his hips unhurried and torturous. His cock slid along Bokuto’s with each grind, precum slicking the friction, and Bokuto could only moan, undone by how fucking sexy it was—Akaashi, normally so composed, rutting himself against him like he couldn’t stop.

Akaashi’s body trembled, each thrust more ragged than the last. His chest rose and fell sharply, his hands holding onto Bokuto as though grounding himself, yet his eyes never wavered, staring into him like Bokuto was the only thing that existed. Vulnerable, open, coming apart in his arms.

Bokuto’s hands gripped his waist, steadying him, feeling the tremors rattle through his body. Akaashi threw his head back, throat bared, and Bokuto mouthed at his neck, teeth scraping, lips wet.

“So close…” Akaashi gasped, his voice breaking, his hips jerking in helpless little thrusts. Somehow, being on top made everything feel much more intense.

Bokuto’s own cock twitched at the sound, but he held himself back, voice low and rough against his skin. “Come… Keiji, let me see…”

That was all it took. Akaashi cried out, soft and raw, spilling between them, his cock painting Bokuto’s abdomen with hot, sticky release. His whole body shook as he came, hips stuttering, holding into Bokuto like he’d fall apart without him.

And Bokuto—watching Akaashi unravel like that, trembling and beautiful against him, was everything.

Akaashi’s body was still trembling from his release, his breath unsteady against Bokuto’s mouth when he pulled back just enough to speak. His voice was rough, low, like it scraped its way out of him.

“Bokuto-san… I want you to fuck me.”

Bokuto stilled, pupils blown wide, but Akaashi’s gaze didn’t falter—even as his cheeks burned dark with embarrassment. He shifted nervously on Bokuto’s lap, his hands clutching tight at his shoulders like he needed something solid to hold him together.

“I know I’m not—” his throat worked, words catching. “Not an omega. And I will never be able to give you that bond. But tonight—our wedding night—I want it to be…” He didn’t finish, he couldn’t put in words how he wanted even if just the fantasy that their bond was more than it was. Even if just for a moment. “... to be like that. For us.” His voice cracked, raw, pleading. “Please. I want you to knot me again. Make me yours.”

Bokuto’s chest constricted so hard it hurt, breath catching, but before he could speak, Akaashi rushed on—fast, ashamed, the words tumbling out.

“I… prepared. I brought wipes, in case—if it gets messy. I didn’t want to ruin it for you. I wanted to make sure—so we could…” He trailed off, jaw tight, eyes lowering, trembling.

Bokuto cupped his face, forcing him to look up. His voice broke when he whispered. “Keiji…”

Akaashi leaned into the touch, trembling but unflinching. “Please,” he whispered again, eyes glassy but determined. “Mark me in the only way you can. I want your scent deep inside me… even if I can’t smell it myself…”

The quiet pressed in around them—the dark room, the distant crash of waves, the soft creak of tatami under their weight. Every external thing seemed to tighten the moment until Bokuto thought he might split open. He kissed Akaashi like he was drowning, desperate and tender all at once, before reaching for the lube that Akaashi had so carefully set aside. His hands shook as he flipped the cap, the slick sound startlingly loud in the hush.

He coated his fingers until they dripped, then reached between Akaashi’s thighs. The first push of a finger made Akaashi gasp, his whole body clenching tight before shivering open, forehead pressed to Bokuto’s shoulder as he exhaled through it, his hips shifting as if coaxing the finger deeper.

“That’s it,” Bokuto murmured, lips against his hair as he pumped his finger inside slowly. “Good… just like that.”

Akaashi closed his eyes. His hands rested against Bokuto’s chest—warm, solid—and for a moment he could breathe. Here, in this small space carved out of the world, he could be someone else. Not the composed, dependable beta, not one who never needed comfort. He could feel small. Wanted. Cute, even.

He used to want that—to be seen the way omegas were, soft and precious, like something meant to be held. But he’d grown taller than most, his shoulders too broad, his voice low. People called him handsome, never cute. And he told himself that was enough—that being wanted like that was just as good.

But now, with Bokuto’s fingers stretching him open, that lie trembled and slipped away. He wanted to be cherished. Touched with reverence, with care.

A second finger slid in, and Akaashi let out a muffled sound against Bokuto’s skin, his thighs clamping tight around his hips. The sound embarrassed him—high, soft, almost pretty. And he didn’t know if he should hold it or let go.

Still, he rolled his hips down, chasing that ache, forcing himself to take more. Bokuto’s breath stuttered against his ear, and Akaashi thought that maybe it was okay to want this. Maybe it was okay if he wanted to be loved like this.

Everything was heavier tonight, sharper—the press of the sea air, the strange walls around them, the unshakable truth that it was their wedding night.

“Relax, Keiji…” Bokuto whispered, noticing the way his body trembled around his fingers, how his rim was too tight against two fingers. “Breathe deep…”

Akaashi obeyed, exhaling shakily. On that breath, Bokuto’s fingers sank deeper, and his whole body tensed, a quiet gasp escaping before he could stop it. Bokuto’s mouth brushed his shoulder, curling his fingers and pressing right over Akaashi’s prostate, rubbing slowly.

Akaashi choked back a moan and his hand flew to his mouth, ashamed of the sounds threatening to spill into the quiet. The muffled cries were maddening, each vibration of sound against Bokuto’s skin going straight to his cock.

And Bokuto almost groaned with it.

“Does it hurt?” Bokuto asked, breath unsteady.

Akaashi shook his head, breathless. “No… it feels—god, it feels good.” He hesitated, the words catching halfway up his throat. “I like it when you… treat me like that.”

Bokuto stilled for a heartbeat. “Like what?”

Akaashi’s lashes fluttered, eyes half-open, unfocused. “Like I could break,” he whispered.

Bokuto’s hand faltered for a second—not because he was afraid of hurting him, but because he finally understood. Like all the pieces slid quietly into place. The way Akaashi had once confessed to searching how to bottom while being a beta male online, his negative when Bokuto had offered to switch… He wanted to be handled like this despite the body he was born in. Despite his second gender.

Bokuto’s chest ached. He pressed his forehead to Akaashi’s temple, moving slower now.

By the time the third finger slid in, his breath was ragged, watching the way his husband’s body yielded, how Akaashi’s hips rolled in tiny desperate circles like he couldn’t get enough.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi gasped, shame and need tangled in every syllable. His face was flushed, eyes heavy-lidded, but he looked devastatingly open. “I’m sorry, I… I think I’m gonna come again…”

Bokuto’s heart twisted painfully at how vulnerable he looked—clinging to him, riding his hand, muffling his own cries out of shame. He kissed Akaashi’s temple, then grabbed him by the nape and pressed his mouth against his own throat, so the whimpers spilled over Bokuto’s skin instead of his hand.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, thumb brushing over his thigh, reverent. “It’s okay. You can—just let it go. You look…” His words broke off in a whisper. “You look so cute, Keiji…”

Akaashi choked on a sound, the words hitting something deep, too deep, and the next wave broke over him before he could stop it. His nails dug into Bokuto’s shoulders as he let out a low, broken moan right against Bokuto’s skin. His hips stuttered, and then he was spilling again, shaking apart on Bokuto’s fingers, muffled and undone.

When it passed, he sagged against Bokuto’s chest, limp and trembling, breathing hard. But Bokuto didn’t pull out his fingers, not yet. He kept them deep inside, like a promise, until Akaashi was ready again.

“You okay?” he murmured, but Akaashi just nodded weakly.  “Let’s wait a moment…” He said, giving Akaashi the time he needed.

The quiet pressed in. Akaashi felt unmoored. He could feel it, the taste of subspace so close now, warm, making everything feel kind of surreal, but he didn’t want to go there. His body was still hot, despite coming two times already, and it was yet not enough, every breath felt like madness.

Barely rising up his weight from Bokuto, he shifted, hips rolling faintly back against Bokuto’s hand, a wordless plea. His nipples brushed Bokuto’s chest with every movement, dragging another gasp out of him.

Bokuto raised a hand to tilt Akaashi’s head by the jaw until they were kissing again, deep, pliant, Akaashi was so open, so giving, his tongue brushing against Bokuto’s palate in soft licks until Bokuto groaned and sucked on Akaashi’s tongue, swallowing Akaashi’s cry as he pressed the fourth finger in. Akaashi’s body was almost fully relaxed by then, allowing it in as Bokuto pressed in small pumps, his rim pulsing against his fingers, so soft, so warm inside, swallowing Bokuto’s fingers up to the knuckles.

“You’re so warm, Keiji…” Bokuto’s voice cracked. His knuckles brushed at the edge of resistance, and the thought nearly undid him—how perfectly Akaashi opened for him, how much more he could take.

Akaashi’s body shivered as he forced himself to keep breathing through it, his lips parted, sweat gathering at his temple. Every small tilt of his hips said the same thing his voice couldn’t: more.

And Bokuto, already undone just watching him, thought he might go insane if he didn’t bury himself inside Akaashi soon.

He steadied Akaashi by the hips as he slowly withdrew his fingers. He was trembling himself, cock throbbing painfully hard between them.

“Ready?”

Akaashi kissed him again, wrecked and raw, and whispered against his lips: “Yes. Please.”

Bokuto kicked his pants and underwear down, socks still clinging to his feet, bending his knees and planting them into the futon for leverage. His cock leaned heavy against his stomach, flushed and leaking, and he coated it generously in lube, hand trembling around the thick length.

Akaashi shifted up, palms flat against the futon, breath unsteady as he braced himself to ride Bokuto. One hand reached back blindly, fumbling until his fingers brushed the tip of Bokuto’s cock. He angled it to his entrance, pressing down slowly. The pressure of the head finally breaching his rim made him whimper, head dropping forward as he covered his mouth, but he forced himself to sink further. Inch by inch, Bokuto filled him, the stretch both unbearable and intoxicating, until nearly half was buried inside.

“Easy, Keiji… that’s it, slowly,” Bokuto rasped, voice low, coaxing, steadying him through the intensity.

Akaashi nodded faintly, eyes shut tight in concentration as he tried to relax. The feeling was maddening—his insides felt raw, turned inside out, sensitive beyond reason as Bokuto’s cock pushed deeper, prying him open to make space. He gritted his teeth, tears burning at the corners of his eyes, and this time he didn’t try to stop them. Didn’t stop the way his chest constricted, his heart aching from too much—love, acceptance, desire all tangled together until it was unbearable. A shaky, broken moan escaped him as tears slipped down his cheeks.

“Keiji…” Bokuto cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the wetness away, aching at the sight. He didn’t say don’t cry—he never did. He thought it was the most devastatingly beautiful thing about him.

Akaashi pressed down further, guided by his own trembling need. “Almost…” Bokuto murmured, breathless. “You’ve almost got all of me. Just a bit more…”

Then Akaashi gasped sharply, bracing his hands on Bokuto’s chest as he sat up straighter. His thighs quivered, the muscles of his abdomen tight as he pushed down, forcing Bokuto’s cock past his second ring. His whole body buckled, but he didn’t stop until he dropped completely, fully seated on Bokuto’s cock. His rim stretched wide around the thick base, stuffed to the hilt.

Air left both of them at once. Akaashi’s chest heaved, body trembling violently, clinging to Bokuto’s shoulders like he might fall apart. The pressure was unbearable—Bokuto so deep he felt rearranged, speared from the inside out until all he could do was gasp and cling.

“Holy fuck, Keiji…” Bokuto choked out, eyes wide at the sight of him fully down, cock vanishing into him. The view of Akaashi, trembling and face wet, seated all the way on his lap, undid him.

Bokuto sat up instinctively, wrapping his arms around Akaashi’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest. Akaashi hooked his legs around Bokuto’s back, ankles crossing to anchor himself, arms wound tight around his neck. His head bowed forward, forehead pressed to Bokuto’s temple, trembling with every ragged breath as Bokuto rocked them gently, cradling him through the overwhelming fullness.

“You’ve got me,” Bokuto whispered into his hair. “You feel so fucking good,”

Akaashi shuddered and whimpered, small helpless sounds breaking from him with every subtle shift inside. His cock, trapped between their stomachs, twitched and leaked, betraying him with how hard he was again despite the tears streaking down his face.

Instinct took over; he moved his hips in tiny circles, grinding down, chasing friction against that swollen heat deep inside. Bokuto met him with slow thrusts, rolling his hips up in counter, each push driving into the spot that made Akaashi clench and sob into the skin of his shoulder.

Bokuto’s pace faltered as he felt the tight base of his cock beginning to swell, his knot thickening, pressing insistently against Akaashi with each movement. The stretch tugged at him, not yet inside, but demanding.

Akaashi gasped quietly against his ear, then moved. He rocked back, rolling his hips deliberately, pressing the knot against his rim. The push made him whimper, tears streaming anew, but he didn’t stop. Slowly, agonizingly, he opened himself to it, working the swollen base inside, bit by bit.

“Keiji… oh my god…” Bokuto’s voice cracked into a groan, eyes locked on Akaashi’s face—his furrowed brows, his flushed, tear-streaked cheeks, the raw sounds spilling from his throat. It was too much, too beautiful, the hottest thing Bokuto had ever seen. He reached between them blindly, wrapping his fist around Akaashi’s cock, stroking to tether him to pleasure as the knot forced its way inside.

A broken moan tore out of Akaashi as his body finally yielded, the knot sliding in with a wet, obscene pop. He convulsed, clinging desperately to Bokuto’s shoulders as the swollen mass seated itself fully inside, pressing directly against his prostate. The stretch was unbearable, maddening, but perfect. Exactly what he wanted.

But Akaashi didn’t stop there. His hips twitched, rocking shallowly, grinding over the knot. He let it almost slip from his body, only to force it back in, again, again, riding the thickness. Each movement made Bokuto’s vision blur, the overstimulation so intense he thought he might black out from it.

“Fuck, Keiji—fuckfuckfuck!” Bokuto cursed against his shoulder, biting down hard enough to break skin as his orgasm ripped through him. His cock pulsed violently, spilling hot and deep, filling Akaashi to the brim while Akaashi kept rocking over the knot, milking him, squeezing him tight.

Akaashi cried out, half whimper, half sob, as Bokuto’s hand worked his cock through it. His orgasm tore through him dry, nothing left to give, just raw shocks wracking his body, his cries breaking in Bokuto’s ear incapable of holding them back any longer.

Bokuto held him through it all, arms iron-tight around him, whispering broken words against his ear. Rocking them both as if to soothe him, as if he wasn’t coming apart himself. The knot locked them together, pulsing, stretching, their bodies fused until there was no space left between them.

And Akaashi, trembling and undone, still pressed down, still worked his hips faintly as if the only thing in the world was to keep Bokuto inside him, to hold onto that fullness, that bond.

The night grew quiet as Akaashi slowly came down first, his whimpering fading into soft, shuddering breaths, while Bokuto clung to him, trembling, spilling again inside him, unable to stop.

“Shit…” Bokuto panted, voice breaking. It was impossible to let go, impossible to stop—he could only give more, rutting helplessly, filling Keiji obscenely.

Akaashi made a soft, content sound, cheek pressed to Bokuto’s temple, arms looped around him, pliant and soft.

“Floaty?” Bokuto rasped.

“A bit…” Akaashi whispered. “Not quite there.”

Another wave tore through Bokuto, forcing a choked groan from his throat as his hands tightened on Akaashi’s hips, hard enough to bruise. “Fuck—shit—sorry, sorry—”

“I like it,” Akaashi murmured, intimate, eyes half-lidded. “I can feel it inside… each time. Warm… tickling…”

“Tickling?” Bokuto repeated, dazed.

Akaashi turned to face him, biting his lip when he saw the bewildered look, his mouth twitching like he might laugh. “A little.”

Bokuto silenced him with a deep kiss, moaning into his mouth as another orgasm tore through him, and Akaashi held him, steadying him, kissing him through the tremors.

“Give it to me,” he whispered, hoarse, voice barely there but hot enough to sear. “Come inside me all you want… I want it—I want you.” His voice cracked on the last word, a mixture of plea and confession, and Bokuto nearly lost it.

“Keiji…” Bokuto gasped, thrusting again, overwhelmed by the heat of him, the sound of him.

Akaashi moaned, soft but wrecked, head tipping back as if to bare himself completely. “I can feel myself getting hard again,” he admitted, breathless.

“You’re incredible,” Bokuto groaned, and he couldn’t stop—rocking into him, slow now, intimate, every roll of his hips deliberate. His hand slid between them, stroking Akaashi, keeping him with him, keeping them connected.

They moved together like that, small and close, not rushing, just sinking into the rhythm of each other. Bokuto’s hips trembled first, his breath catching as he spilled once, shuddering against Akaashi’s mouth—but he didn’t stop. It wasn’t enough, not yet. He kept rocking them together, kept his hand steady on Akaashi’s cock, guiding him through the slow grind of their bodies.

And then, they came together. Akaashi’s whimper broke free just as Bokuto’s last pulse spilled hot and deep, their bodies clenching and giving at the same time. The world narrowed to the sound of their mouths, kissing through ragged moans, trembling like they could dissolve into one another.

Bokuto was still inside him, knot swollen and unyielding, locking them together. Akaashi’s body trembled faintly, nerves wrung out, every twitch of fullness making him gasp. His thighs shook, his chest heaved, but he didn’t try to move away—he clung tighter, his arms wound around Bokuto’s shoulders, face buried in his damp skin.

“Stay,” he whispered, raw and breathless. “Don’t pull out yet.”

Bokuto kissed his temple, shuddering. He wanted to say something, anything, but his throat was too tight.

Akaashi shifted, fumbling weakly beneath the pillow until his hand emerged with a small box. He held it between them.

Bokuto blinked at him, dazed. “Keiji—what—”

“I know there’s no fireworks,” Akaashi murmured, voice frayed, but steady. “No big party. No bite mark… no muted pheromones that tie me to you forever, but—” he paused, swallowing hard, “would you put the ring on my finger?”

Bokuto’s throat closed up. His chest squeezed so hard it almost hurt, and he surged forward, kissing Akaashi with a desperation that stole his breath. The tears came before he could stop them, hot and sudden, slipping down his cheeks as his hands fumbled with the box, nearly dropping it.

Akaashi waited, trembling but calm, his lips curved with a faint smile. His body pulsed faintly around the knot still stretching him, a grounding heat that made everything around them feel unreal.

Bokuto slid the ring onto Akaashi’s finger with shaking hands, lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss to the new band of metal—and then, almost playfully, bit the finger where the ring sat. Not hard, just enough for Akaashi to gasp.

A quiet, breathless laugh left Bokuto’s mouth, still pressed against his skin. “Now it’s official,” he murmured, voice low and unsteady. “You’re my mate, Keiji.”

The word felt like a secret, something that didn’t belong to anyone but them. His eyes shimmered as he reached for the other ring and slipped it onto Bokuto’s finger, their hands clumsy and slick with sweat.

Akaashi’s lips curved softer, watching Bokuto cry over them exchanging rings. He was always like this—he cried at graduation speeches, cried over sad movies, cried over puppy reels. Of course he would cry on their wedding night. And somehow, that felt exactly right.

Bokuto pressed their joined hands together, the cool metal of the rings catching what little moonlight seeped through the window. He kissed Akaashi again, and again, until everything blurred into softness, wet and breathless against each other’s mouths.

It was messy—his knot still throbbing inside Akaashi, their skin tacky with sweat and come. No bond to mark them, no biology to force them together, no pheromones dictating fate. And yet, it felt heavier, more real, because it was theirs. A promise carved not into their bodies, but into the lives they chose to share.

Akaashi’s eyelids fluttered, exhaustion pulling at him, his hand still clasped in Bokuto’s. He whispered, barely audible, “Don’t let go.”

“I won’t.” Bokuto promised.

When the knot finally eased, Bokuto moved with care. He reached for the towel, laying it beneath Akaashi’s hips before slipping free. Akaashi rested on his side, yukata falling open, his face still flushed and streaked with the trace of tears, beautiful in the low moonlight. His body trembled faintly as Bokuto cleaned him, soft wipes over his skin, gentle and unhurried, making sure he wasn’t left sticky or cold. Then Bokuto cleaned himself, putting everything away before laying next to Akaashi, asleep on the futon.

Bokuto looked at the rings on their hands a last time before closing his eyes. It still felt like a dream.

They woke with the pale light of morning, a knock at the door rousing them. Bokuto stirred first, still naked. Akaashi beside him looked wrecked—yukata in disarray, hair mussed, neck and shoulders marked faintly where Bokuto had bitten him. The bruises on his hips and thighs stood out against his skin, fingerprints inked into his body.

Another knock, polite but insistent.

Breakfast.

Bokuto scrambled up, dragging some pants on with clumsy haste, while Akaashi drew the yukata close around him, hiding the mess on his skin. His body ached everywhere—his hips, his throat, his legs sore from holding on, his muscles trembling and slack, his body marked with the proof of how far he had gone for him. Even now, Akaashi could still feel the faint, aching stretch deep inside him, the heat and soreness that would linger for a couple of days.

He pulled the yukata closed over his bare chest, tying the obi tightly, hands lingering a beat too long at the collar before he crossed the door, crawling next to the window. He sat with his back straight, eyes lowered, posture neat—as if sheer composure could erase the remnants of the night.

The futons were a mess, damp sheets folded awkwardly aside in a pile, the air still clinging to the sharp tang of sex no matter how the shoji screens were cracked open. Bokuto scrambled up at the third knock, hair wild and grin still half-dazed.

When Bokuto finally gave permission to enter, the inn attendant slid the door open with practiced ease, balancing two black lacquer trays. Each tray was arranged meticulously: grilled fish still steaming, bowls of miso soup, rice gleaming in porcelain, pickled vegetables in tiny dishes, a rolled omelet cut neatly, and cups waiting to be filled with green tea. Her steps faltered just slightly when she looked up. The pause lingering a bit too long.

The smell of sex was impossible to miss. The air was thick with it despite the window being fully open, but there was no omega in the room. Just two men with rings on their fingers, necks marked and hair disheveled. The realization made her cheeks heat, though she quickly masked it with a bow.

She set the trays down, then turned to the futons, folding them with brisk, efficient movements. Even so, her eyes flickered back once, twice, catching on the rings. On Akaashi, sitting with his profile to her, throat marked, hair a mess, beautiful in a way that startled her. His jaw was sharp, his expression calm, but something about him drew her gaze before she could stop herself.

“My apologies for yesterday’s mistake with the yukata size,” she said quickly, straightening. “I’ll bring another yukata immediately.”

She hesitated a second longer, flustered, before slipping out.

When the door shut, Bokuto noticed the faint stiffness in Akaashi’s shoulders. “You’re in a sour mood,” he said gently, crouching near him.

“I don’t like being stared at.” Akaashi didn’t look at him, eyes fixed on the sea outside. His voice was steady, quiet, distant. “It’s never suited me well.”

Bokuto tilted his head. “She wasn’t thinking anything bad, Keiji. She was probably just thinking how handsome you are.”

The words earned him only the faintest flicker of a smile—polite, reluctant, almost bitter.

Akaashi’s beauty was the kind people admired from afar: too poised, too self-contained, like he’d built something elegant out of silence and didn’t know how to let anyone touch it.

“Didn’t you enjoy it when I used to stare at you?” Bokuto asked, voice softer now, nudging closer so his warmth brushed Akaashi’s knee.

“Sometimes,” Akaashi admitted after a pause. “But mostly I didn’t think I deserved it. And you used to stare a lot…” His hand came up, resting lightly over Bokuto’s chest—not pushing him away, but holding him there, as if asking him not to see too much.

“Because you’re so beautiful, ‘Kaashi.” Bokuto’s thumb brushed along his cheek, firm enough that Akaashi had no choice but to meet his eyes.

Another knock interrupted them.

Bokuto grinned, and before Akaashi could move, he tugged him close by the nape, pressing his face into the crook of his neck, holding him there. His grip was possessive, protective, shielding.

“Come in,” he called, voice easy.

The inn worker entered again, the neatly folded yukata set in her hands. Her cheeks tinted at the sight: Bokuto holding Akaashi close, his face hidden, his body shielded as though Bokuto meant to say—don’t look. He’s only mine to see. She bowed again, nervously, and slipped out quickly.

Only when the door shut did Bokuto loosen his grip. Akaashi pulled back at once, flustered to the point of trembling. He had never felt good enough for this—never thought he could be something worth shielding, worth cherishing, worth holding back from another’s eyes. And yet, Bokuto had hidden him as if he were precious. When he was younger, Bokuto’s eyes on him had felt heavy, unbearable, too much. Now, it was still unbearable—but in a way that left him shaking, because it was too much to accept he might actually be worthy.

Bokuto’s grin was all satisfaction. “Payback for last night,” he teased, nudging Akaashi’s nose with his.

Akaashi turned even redder, biting his lip, voice strangled.

“Now…” Bokuto said, voice low and playful, “wanna eat breakfast?”

Those words had never sounded more lewd.

They had booked two nights at the inn, hoping to spend their honeymoon tucked into a rhythm that felt quiet, a place far away from the city.

The innkeeper bowed with a too-long glance at their rings, a flicker of surprise she smoothed away with practiced politeness. Bokuto smiled through it, but he started noticing, the glance sticking like a burr.

The first day, they lingered mostly inside, letting the quiet seep into them. In the afternoon Akaashi suggested a walk by the shore.

“Not the tours?” Bokuto asked. Haven’t seen the brochures in the lobby—“couple packages” with heart-shaped frames, photo ops designed for lovers to pose and fit together.

Akaashi had only shaken his head. “I’d rather walk.”

So they did. They slipped to the quiet beach behind the inn, wearing matching yukatas and haoris. Akaashi had taken off his sandals as soon as his feet were near the sand and held them with one hand as walked forward, enjoying the sea air on his face.

Bokuto watched him in silence, enjoying each second of Akaashi being so open and happy just by being at the beach.

“I haven’t been to the ocean in years.” Akaashi confessed, his feet over the wet sand, laughing and stepping back when the waves wet his feet. It was like seeing a different person. Akaashi giggling and being playful. Bokuto almost felt like they had gone back ten years.

Their steps fell into rhythm on the sand, sea spray dampening the cuffs of their yukata, the horizon wide and soft. Bokuto reached for his hand, and for the first time, Akaashi didn’t let go. His palm was warm, steady, full with life. Bokuto’s chest surged with something almost giddy—he had dreamed of this, of walking openly with him, no sneaking, no excuses.

It should have been perfect.

But the more Bokuto let himself look—let himself see—the more cracks showed.

A poster nailed to a boardwalk post: Honeymoon Packages for Him & Her. A couple ahead, the taller man carrying both umbrellas while his omega tucked himself against his side. Souvenir charms shaped like cranes—blue and pink, always sold in sets.

Big and small. Masculine and feminine. Alpha and omega.

Everywhere, the same shape. Never theirs.

Akaashi tried to ignore it, though he felt how Bokuto’s grip shifted each time someone’s gaze lingered a beat too long. Squeezing too hard, wanting to protect, to shield, but the harder Bokuto tried, the more Akaashi noticed how impossible it was to hide.

By the last morning, the weight of it pressed heavy in his chest.

“Should we get presents for your family?” Akaashi asked as they stepped into a souvenir shop, narrow shelves lined with lacquered trinkets and pottery. His voice was mild, but his eyes flickered towards Bokuto, searching.

“They should be giving us presents,” Bokuto muttered. “We’re the ones who just got married.”

“Still,” Akaashi said softly, brushing his fingers over a box of sweets wrapped in pale ribbon. “We didn’t exactly throw a party. It feels… unbalanced.”

Bokuto trailed behind him until something caught his eye. A pair of porcelain bowls—one large, one small—tied together with red string. The tag, handwritten with a little heart, read: Couple’s bowls.

It was nothing, just a marketing trick. But it hollowed him out all the same.

He saw it all at once: the officiant at the registry office, pausing too long over his gender marker before stammering through the vows. The innkeeper giving them the wrong set of yukata, handing them one “omega’s” size by mistake. The side glances in the corridors of the inn, the brochures at the counter, the souvenirs lined in binary sets. And now these bowls.

Always paired. Always one big, one small.

Always whispering: This is how it should be. And you don’t fit.

His fists curled tight at his sides, his throat raw with words he couldn’t form. How many years had Akaashi been walking through this same world, swallowing it in silence? How many times had those messages carved at him, each one leaving another mark Bokuto had never even seen?

Akaashi’s hand appeared, gentle but firm over his knuckles. “You’ve been tense for days,” he murmured, his gaze lowered, lashes shading his eyes. Then, quieter still: “Are you already regretting marrying me?”

The question struck harder than anything else could have.

Bokuto’s chest seized, his mouth opening but no sound coming out.

Akaashi’s fingers pressed more firmly, almost as if bracing himself for the answer. His voice didn’t waver, but there was a rawness under it. “I would understand, if you were. You’re noticing it now, aren’t you? The way people stare at us. The way everything tells you you are wrong.”

He sighed, then:

“You could still get an annulment…” He muttered almost a whisper.

“I’m not!” Bokuto replied, the word bursting out of him, ragged, almost panicked. His chest heaved. “It’s not that, it’s—” his throat burned as he forced it out, “it’s not fair.”

Akaashi looked at him, his expression worried.

“It’s not fair,” Bokuto went on, voice shaking. “Just—” he gestured harshly towards the bowls, “Why? I never noticed how much the whole damn world tells you you don’t belong.” His voice cracked, hot and thick with shame. “And I never noticed.”

Akaashi held Bokuto’s hand between his own. “It’s fine.”

But Bokuto shook his head, breath coming hard. “No. It’s not fine. I don’t regret marrying you, Keiji—I regret not noticing sooner. It’s unfair, having to constantly feel you are… just wrong.”

His hand came up, clumsy and desperate, covering Akaashi’s where it still rested against his knuckles. “I don’t care if every ad says we’re wrong. I’m not going to let them make me regret you. Ever.” He assured him. “But… I just can’t ignore it.” 

For a moment, Akaashi said nothing. His gaze stayed fixed on the shelves, his lashes casting deep shadows over his cheeks. But his fingers trembled faintly under Bokuto’s palm.

When he finally spoke, his voice was almost inaudible. “You’re very silly.” His lips quivered, the smallest curve of something fragile and tender. “But maybe that’s what this world needs.”

Bokuto swallowed hard, blinking too fast, his chest aching. “Don’t ever ask me if I regret marrying you again.”

Akaashi finally met his eyes. His expression was soft, but in that softness lay something heavier than Bokuto had ever seen—a long-held ache, and the first hint of relief.

“I won’t. I’m sorry.” Akaashi promised. Then, without ceremony, he slid the smaller bowl aside and picked up another large one, setting them together. “There.” His fingers brushed Bokuto’s as he laced them together, tugging him forward. “Come on, we still need to buy the souvenirs.” 

He moved down the aisle, choosing a few small gifts—boxes of sweets, carved charms, and other trinkets—and placed them carefully on the counter. Just as the clerk began to wrap them, Bokuto reached out and added the two bowls on top of the pile.

Akaashi blinked, puzzled. “Bokuto-san?”

“It’s just…” Bokuto hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Something to remember our honeymoon.” He wanted to remember that despite not being the “cute couple’s set of bowls” they could still have their own.

“Okay.” Akaashi simply said, paying for everything.

When they stepped outside, the air had cooled, the street quieter now, painted with the faint light of evening. For a while, neither spoke. Then Akaashi’s voice broke the silence—soft but certain.

“When we get back,” he said, “I’m going to visit my grandmother. I’m ready to talk to her.”

Chapter Text

Akaashi had decided.

He was going to speak to his grandmother.

The thought had been simmering for months, maybe years, but after marrying Bokuto—after choosing him openly, with no pretense, no excuses, after seeing him choose him too, despite everything––he knew it was time.

And just as if fate had wanted it, he was scheduled to visit one of his mangaka in Tokyo that week, so he would have to stay the night.

“Not fair, Akaashi. I wanted to go with you,” Bokuto pouted, sprawled across the tatami, hair sticking in every direction.

“I’m sure it’s better this way,” Akaashi said simply, folding a shirt into his overnight bag. “She’s bitter, and nothing good would come out of it if you were there.”

“But… I’m your husband.” Bokuto’s lip jutted out even more. “At least take Kuroo with you, he lives there! He could—”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi cut him off with a sigh. “Kuroo-san is not a lucky charm I can carry around. I’m sure he is busy enough.”

“I just want to make sure you’ll be fine.”

Akaashi zipped his bag and turned, his expression softer. “I’ll be fine. I wouldn’t go if I weren’t ready to face her.”

That was the end of it. Bokuto had to go to training as usual, and Akaashi had work. They kissed goodbye at the door, Bokuto still reluctant but trying to smile.

The day itself was routine—script drafts, edits, making sure his mangaka remembered to eat, stocking the freezer with ready meals––who would’ve thought keeping his authors alive would be part of the job. Akaashi managed it all with quiet precision, but the weight never left his chest. Every tick of the clock pulled him closer to that moment.

By the time he left his mangaka’s home, the streets were dipped in soft orange twilight. He checked his phone. Seven. Late, but not too late. He boarded the train, slipping into a window seat, and decided to scroll through Bokuto’s social media to distract himself.

Before they had met again, Akaashi actually stalked Bokuto’s account from time to time, usually when he was at his lowest and couldn’t help but indulge himself in some stupid torture form by watching Bokuto’s life, his smile, his favorite mug on the photos and pictures with friends.

Still, he was surprised when he opened up the app and saw Bokuto had been posting about him. About their life together. The instagram that had once been filled with volleyball and cats on the streets was now filled with close ups of their life together, carefully chopped to keep their privacy.

A photo of the moon over the sea at the inn where they had spent their honeymoon. A close-up of their hands, rings glinting faintly––he remembered that one, they had taken it to send it to friends and family. A stolen photo of Akaashi’s hand wrapped around a coffee mug, another of a book Akaashi was reading two weeks ago. And then—Akaashi stopped—a selfie of Bokuto in bed, grinning wide, while beside him Akaashi lay turned away, bundled in the blanket to his chin, only the crown of his black hair peeking out.

It could’ve been anyone, really. But it had thousands of likes. Millions? Akaashi didn’t really understand social media numbers.

He stared at it for too long, then shoved the phone into his pocket just as the announcer called his stop.

He walked looking at the floor, and by the time he stood outside his grandmother’s estate, his collar felt tight. He loosened the top button of his shirt, inhaled slowly, then knocked.

The maid answered, her eyes widening in surprise. She gasped softly, then bowed and ushered him inside without a word, her footsteps hurrying off to announce his arrival.

Akaashi stood in the entryway for a moment, staring at the gleaming wood floors and the austere lines of the old house. He had spent so much of his childhood here, but now it felt foreign, like a part of his life he’d outgrown.

When the maid returned, she led him to the tea room. The air was cool, his grandmother was already waiting, straight-backed and immovable on a cushion at the head of a low table, every fold of her kimono sharp with precision.

Akaashi bowed politely, then knelt across from her.

She didn’t return the bow. She only looked at him—looked through him—with a face carved in disdain.

“I can’t believe,” she said, each word laced with venom, “that you would have the nerve to appear here.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Akaashi replied, evenly, folding his hands in his lap.

Her lips twisted. “Because you have disgraced yourself. Disgraced me. Do you think I haven’t heard the whispers? That you’ve run away with some alpha’s omega? That you’ve shamed the family name?”

“I see,” Akaashi murmured.

“Ungrateful boy,” she snapped. “I raised you after your parents ruined themselves. I gave you structure, discipline, values. And this is how you repay me? With scandal?”

Akaashi looked down into the tea cup the maid had placed before him. He had not yet touched it. “You did raise me,” he said quietly. “But that doesn’t give you the right to decide how I should live my life.”

Her eyes narrowed, sharp as a blade. “What?! I took you in when you had nothing! No one! You’re a beta. Betas must be practical. Reliable. You cannot afford delusions of grandeur. You will not have the choices an alpha or omega has. That is why I arranged a suitable omiai. A respectable beta girl. Someone of your station. You could have had a stable life. But instead—”

She cut herself off, breath hissing. “Instead you parade yourself like this. Tainting yourself with an alpha’s pity.”

Akaashi just looked at her. “You’re wrong.”

Her brows snapped together. “Excuse me?”

“You’re wrong,” he repeated, his voice steady, almost too calm. “He doesn’t pity me. He loves me. And I love him.”

“He?!” She almost had an aneurism when she realized it was not only an alpha indeed, but a male one.

Her hand trembled, then slammed against the table. “Shameless!” she barked. “A beta male and an alpha male? A union that would bring no children! An abomination! Do you know how people will laugh? Do you know what they’ll say about you? About us?”

“I’ve known what they’d say my entire life,” Akaashi said, finally looking her in the eye. “You made sure of that. Every word, every warning, every reminder of what I wasn’t. I thought I would be an omega like my parents. And then, when I didn’t turn out being one—I believed I had failed. Because of you.”

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, her carefully painted mouth trembling.

“I have loved him since before I presented,” Akaashi continued, his tone unwavering now. “And I buried it. Because you taught me it was wrong. That as a beta, I should never dream of being with an alpha. That I should take what was given to me and keep my head down. That I wasn’t worthy.”

“You aren’t!” she shouted, half-rising from her cushion, her hair shifting loose from its immaculate bun. “A beta isn’t worthy of an alpha’s devotion!”

Akaashi exhaled, slow, and for the first time, his voice cut through hers. “And yet, here I am.”

She froze, face twisting in disbelief.

“And you know what else?” Akaashi pressed, his calm suddenly sharper than any shout. “I’m sure my parents' marriage didn’t fail because they were both omegas. It failed because you poisoned them. You fed them doubt until they couldn’t breathe. You told them their love was a mistake until they believed you. You ruined it, not biology.”

Her breath came fast and shallow. “Lies,” she spat, but her face was blotched red now, strands of gray hair spilling loose around her temples. “You insolent—”

She snatched her tea cup from the table and hurled it. Akaashi tilted his head, hot liquid splattering over him.

He didn’t flinch. He only looked at her, calm as still water, while she trembled with rage, breathing ragged, hair fully unraveling.

“I will no longer do what you tell me to,” Akaashi said quietly. “I will live my life for myself. Because for the first time in my life, I am not ashamed of what I am.”

For a moment, the only sound was her uneven breathing. The once-unshakable grandmother sat trembling, undone by the grandson she had shaped with fear.

Akaashi stood slowly, bowing just enough to be polite. “Thank you for the tea,” he said, though his cup remained untouched. “I will not trouble you again.”

And with that, he turned and left her in the room, surrounded by the pieces of what she had sown.

Akaashi knew there would always be people who thought his life should have been different—that he should have been born something else, become something else, so it would be more of a story. They didn’t understand. He didn’t need to be rewritten, not anymore. He would live as a beta, without the constant reminder that he was not enough.

He exited the house and fixed his soaked clothes before walking towards the subway again, this time to reach his hotel.

There was no revenge or punishment for the years he had spent thinking he didn’t deserve Bokuto, for so many years of loneliness, years nobody would give him back. Just quiet.

This was not one of his books.

The hotel was modest, just something to spend the night so he could work the next day and return to Osaka on the last train.

The first thing he did at his hotel room was strip and take a quick shower, letting the steam clear the last traces of his grandmother’s voice. He didn’t feel broken, the way he might have in the past. Just wrung out, like he’d set something heavy down. He dried off, slipped into his pajamas, and collapsed onto the bed.

When he finally checked his phone, the screen was flooded. Dozens of unread messages, every few minutes a new one, Bokuto’s name glowing like a warning flare.

________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
"Hey, Akaashi, did you finish work already?"

________________________________________

________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
"Can you talk?"

________________________________________

________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
"Are you busy?"

________________________________________

________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
"Did you go and see your grandma?"

________________________________________

________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
"Please Keiji say something, I think I’m going
crazy."

________________________________________

Akaashi exhaled through his nose. He typed, thumb steady:

________________________________________

From: Akaashi Keiji
To: Bokuto Koutarou
"I’m sorry, Bokuto-san. I didn’t check my phone
after visiting my grandmother. I arrived at the
hotel not long ago."

________________________________________

________________________________________

From: Bokuto Koutarou
To: Akaashi Keiji
"Shit, Keiji. I’m calling you."

________________________________________

The screen lit up with the incoming call. Akaashi answered.

“Keiji!” Bokuto’s voice burst through the speaker—frantic, too loud for the quiet hotel room.

“You only call me by my name when something’s up, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said evenly, though a smile tugged at his lips.

“Ah—sorry, I––” Bokuto chuckled, the sound rough with relief. “I was just worried, you weren’t reading my texts and—uh, we should be calling each other by our names, right? You always use my last name, and you even add the ‘-san’ on top of that, and—”

Akaashi chuckled softly. “I like calling you that,” he said, voice lowering a little. “I was the first one to, remember?”

It was true—and it meant something.

Bokuto suddenly realized how long it had been since Akaashi had started calling him that. They had been young, really young, he was barely in his second year of high school, just a senpai, and people refused to call him that, his friends mocking him because Bokuto really really wanted to be a good senpai, and then he had met Akaashi. Young Akaashi. Softer face, curious eyes, and he had started calling him ‘Bokuto-san’ and Bokuto had thought his heart would jump his chest.

“That’s… unfair,” Bokuto said finally, a little flustered by the memory. “I still want you to call me by my name, though.”

Bokuto went quiet for a moment. He hadn’t thought about that in years. He suddenly realized how long it had been since Akaashi had started calling him that. Back then, he’d been barely fifteen, , all restless energy and desperate to be taken seriously as a senpai. His friends had teased him for it, of course. No one ever called him ‘-senpai’ without teasing. It had been a joke among his friends, something to laugh about whenever he tried to sound responsible.

But then Akaashi had appeared—big eyes, quiet, calm, so much smaller then—and had called him Bokuto-san with this simple, steady respect that no one else ever had. Bokuto remembered standing there, eye-struck, his chest feeling too tight, like his heart had just skipped something important.

“That’s… unfair,” Bokuto said now, voice low, caught somewhere between fondness and embarrassment. “You have no idea what that did to me back then.” He laughed softly. “Still… I kinda wish you’d call me by my name more often.”

“Your sisters call you by your name,” Akaashi teased, and Bokuto groaned audibly on the other end.

“Aka~ashiii~,” he whined, dragging the syllables until Akaashi’s laugh filled the room.

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi said, still smiling. “I’m fine, really. I just needed a moment to clear my head.” His tone softened. “You didn’t need to worry so much. I wouldn’t have gone to see her unless I was ready to do so.”

“… So you’re fine?”

“Yes. It was nothing I didn’t expect.”

“Was she angry?” Bokuto asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

“Of course she was.” Akaashi leaned back against the stiff headboard. “She doesn’t think betas should be with alphas or omegas. I told you before—she’s very traditional.”

“I’m sorry, Akaashi…”

“Don’t be. It feels like I’m finally free of whatever she tried to force into me. This was… actually very liberating.”

There was a pause—soft, heavy with things unsaid. “Okay, like… I’m glad if you’re fine, then.” Bokuto said.

“Thank you for worrying about me,” Akaashi said.

Bokuto let out a small, shaky laugh. “Now I feel kinda stupid for spamming your phone with, like, a hundred messages…”

“Maybe I should be the one apologizing,” Akaashi murmured. “It’s my fault you worried. A few months ago, I would have fallen apart after seeing her. You had every reason to think I might.”

“It’s not like that,” Bokuto said quickly. “I just—can’t help it. I want to be with you all the time. Maybe it’s biology or something.” He tried to joke, but it came out almost sheepish.

“Maybe it is,” Akaashi hummed, a small smile breaking through.

After a while Bokuto’s voice dipped. “This reminds me of when you used to live in Tokyo,” he trailed off, something shy and boyish coloring the words. “You remember? We used to––”

Akaashi did remember. He felt the old ache of distance, the way they'd used to talk each night, trying to grasp a bit of closeness. “I do.”

“Do you… want to pretend?” Bokuto asked, suddenly vulnerable. “Just one minute. I miss you.”

Akaashi swallowed. He was tired, but something in Bokuto’s voice made the last of his defenses loosen. He tilted the phone so he could snap a picture so Bokuto could see him properly, just from the chest down; just a shy and private photo. He lifted the hem of his pajama shirt a fraction, deliberate and small, showing his chest.

Before he could overthink it he hit send.

“Keiji,” Bokuto breathed, raw with want. “You’re—God, you’re perfect.”

Akaashi felt heat rise to his face. He heard Bokuto’s swallowed intake, the way the other man’s breaths hitched. For a brief second he imagined the distance collapsing: the weight of Bokuto’s hands, the press of his chest, the heat of him.

“Say something,” Bokuto whispered.

Akaashi’s voice came out low. “I miss you.”

“Me too.” Bokuto’s answer trembled with relief.

“I’m not having phone sex with you, Bokuto-san, I’m really tired.” Akaashi said, after a moment, which was answered with a growl. “Can’t you wait until tomorrow?”

“Fine.” Bokuto replied, not without a pout Akaashi could hear all the way to Tokyo. “But stay on. I want to listen to you even as you fall asleep.”

Akaashi let out a small laugh and obliged, leaning the phone to his pillow and breathing slowly as Bokuto babbled on the other side of the line. When sleep finally came it was soft and thin, a thin thread of Bokuto’s voice in his ear.

The train back to Osaka was a blur. When he stepped off the platform and around the corner towards their home his heart sped up. Everything felt right, exactly like coming home, and he knew he was actually coming home, but… It felt safe. The key turned, the door swung open, and before he could even close it Bokuto was already there.

“Keiji.” Bokuto’s voice was impossibly close. No words of greeting—only the urgent, breathless pull of a man who’d waited two days too long. He reached for him and pressed Akaashi against him, one hand at the small of his back, the other cradling the back of his head. The press was fierce but not unkind; Bokuto’s chest was hot against Akaashi’s, his breath rough on the side of his neck.

Akaashi’s knees went weak before he could stop them—an immediate, helpless reaction to Bokuto’s weight, to the solid heat of his body pressing close. The world seemed to shrink until there was nothing but that rhythm: the steady, enormous heartbeat against his chest, anchoring him.

He tilted his face and found Bokuto’s mouth, the kiss slow at first, then deeper, warmer, full of that quiet, familiar certainty that always undid him. He didn’t fight it this time. Didn’t hold his breath or try to appear composed.

He let his knees tremble. Let himself lean into the touch. Let himself be small, just for a moment.

Because with Bokuto, he no longer had to pretend that he was unaffected, or above the pull of need. He could let himself feel wanted—claimed even—in that wordless, human way.

He just let go.

They kissed again and again and again, like two days apart was too much, like teenagers who couldn’t get enough, hands tangling in each other’s hair, mouths talking without words.

When they broke for air, Bokuto rested his forehead against Akaashi’s, panting. “You’re home,” he said, like he needed to hear it out loud. “I missed you so much… I––”

Akaashi’s lips curved faintly. “I missed you too,” he murmured, but his voice was already unsteady. His fingers found the collar of Bokuto’s shirt, gripping tight, thumbs pressing into the hard line of muscle at his throat.

Bokuto’s mouth trailed down Akaashi’s neck urgently, lapping at his Adam's apple, tongue catching on sweat and travel salt, the taste of skin he hadn’t had in too many hours. And the more he breathed him in, the more it felt like coming back to life.

Akaashi shuddered. He hadn’t meant to melt so quickly, but the distance had made everything more intense, sharper. Like the memory of being apart was still too fresh. Bokuto’s hands were already on him, hot, familiar. And Bokuto felt it too—the tremor in Akaashi’s body, the way his grip faltered and then clung tighter. “It feels like you also missed me a lot, Keiji,” he rasped, his breath dragging hot against Akaashi’s ear.

Akaashi’s answer was a faint, helpless sound.

Bokuto kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw. “Do you want me inside you?” he whispered, voice low and needy, but edged with the kind of reverence that made Akaashi’s breath catch. “Please, I need it, I can’t––”

Akaashi’s reply came out somewhere between a sigh and a plea. “Yes.”

That was all Bokuto needed. He turned Akaashi around and guided him until his hips met the kitchen table, chest pressing to Akaashi’s back. He pushed him forward until Akaashi’s palms flattened on the table, wood cool under overheated skin. He bent forward, breath shaky, forehead almost touching the surface. His heart pounded too fast—like his body already knew what was coming and was trembling in anticipation.

Bokuto’s hands skimmed down Akaashi’s thighs, fingers already tugging at his belt and zipper with desperation. Akaashi yelped, fumbling, breathless, until his pants and underwear pooled at his ankles. The feel of clothes on his ankles made the heat sharper, more unbearable.

His palms were damp. His heartbeat loud. Beneath his ribs, something curled and twisted—want, fear, need. His skin feeling too hot, hypersensitive, like every inch of it is waiting to be touched.

The sound of Bokuto’s breath hitched as he took him in—how flushed Akaashi looked, how quickly composure gave way to want.

Bokuto ran a hand down the curve of his back, stopping at the small of it. “Stay still for a moment,” he said, his voice unsteady, deep. He stepped away, quick and heavy-footed, rummaging somewhere before returning.

He bent, pressing his nose to Akaashi’s nape, inhaling deep the scent of his hair before his hands slid lower, parting him open just enough to look, to breathe out a quiet, reverent sound that made Akaashi’s knees weaken.

The slick sound of the cap snapping open filled the silence. “I really missed you,” Bokuto said, rough with honesty. “I went crazy knowing I wasn’t there for you, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t think…” His voice sounded so needy that Akaashi felt his chest tighten.

Bokuto squeezed the bottle, dropping a trail of lube between Akaashi’s cheeks, not caring when some slid down his thighs. The sound it made—wet, faintly obscene—made Bokuto’s dick harder. He watched the slick gather and drip, then pushed one finger in, watching how Akaashi’s back tensed, how he breathed through it.

For Akaashi the pressure was immediate and sharp. He inhaled too quickly, his ribs tight. His hole clenched instinctively, trying to reject the intrusion, but he forced his muscles to relax. The stretch wasn’t painful—just intense, like every nerve inside him had been waiting.

His hands clenched against the table. His body was still slightly stiff from travel, his thighs trembling as Bokuto worked him open.

“Fuck, you’re always so tight,” Bokuto murmured, his other hand rubbing slow circles on Akaashi’s hip.

“Don’t wait, I want it…” Akaashi said, but his voice cracked. The pressure of the finger deep inside him was already making heat pool in his lower stomach.

He needed to be taken, to feel Bokuto deep inside of him to finally forget his grandmother’s words, that he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve Bokuto making love to him, wanting him instead of an omega, that he wasn’t worth it.

Bokuto bent down, pushing Akaashi’s sweater up, pressing a kiss to the base of his spine. The air between them smelled like sweat, lube, sex—sharp. “Still with me?” Bokuto asked, voice low and fraying.

Akaashi nodded. He could barely speak. His pulse thudded in his throat, loud and uneven.

The second finger joined, pushing into heat that hadn’t adjusted yet. Akaashi’s knees nearly buckled. He let out a sound—small, desperate—half-moan, half-frustrated exhale. It burned, but the burn made his cock throb. The pressure wasn’t enough and too much all at once.

For Bokuto, the vision alone, watching his fingers disappearing inside of Akaashi’s rim was enough to have him almost salivating. And the sounds it made when he moved his fingers, wet and low, went straight to his cock.

“Good?”

Akaashi’s breathing turned sharp, his thighs shaking. “More. I want it.”

Bokuto groaned.

Akaashi turned his head slightly, cheek pressing against the table, voice low, strained. “I… I think I might come…”

Bokuto’s chest tightened. He leaned in and bit the back of Akaashi’s neck. “Come then,” he said against his skin. He pulled his fingers out slowly, and Akaashi’s body clenched around nothing—empty, wanting. Bokuto didn’t tease. He lined himself up, breath shaking against Akaashi’s shoulder.

“Fuck…” he muttered. The blunt pressure of his cock pressed at Akaashi’s entrance—broad, big, familiar.

Akaashi braced his hands on the table. His muscles tensed, then forced themselves to let go. His breath left him all at once.

Then Bokuto pushed in.

Akaashi let out a high, breathless moan, his fingers sliding blindly over Bokuto’s hands where they held his hips. He clung to him, knuckles white, breath stuttering as Bokuto pushed into him, slow but so deep it knocked the air from his lungs.

He came just from that.

Just from being filled.

Heat spilled on the floor in sharp pulses, his body tightening around Bokuto in trembling waves. His cheeks flushed with humiliation and it felt dangerously close to pleasure.

He couldn’t believe it—couldn’t believe how good it felt to have Bokuto inside him like that. Hard, thick, stretching him in a way that hurt and still—god—lit something up inside him. The burn, the pressure, the way his body strained to take it—it should’ve been too much. Maybe it was.

But his cock was still hard.

Akaashi’s mouth trembled, shame and pleasure blurring together. He didn’t know if something was wrong with him. The thought flickered, but it was drowned out by sensation—the pulse of Bokuto’s length deep inside, the ache, the fullness.

Maybe he was a little twisted too. Maybe he liked the hurt. He didn’t know.

All he knew was that Bokuto, the pressure, the heat. It was perfect.

Bokuto stilled halfway, chest pressed to Akaashi’s back. “Fuck…” He groaned. “You’re so fucking tight, Akaashi…” He whispered, one hand sliding down Akaashi’s tights, feeling him tremble under his fingers.

Akaashi managed to breathe out, voice trembling, “Don’t stop.”

“You’re so perfect,” Bokuto said again, more a plea than reassurance. He bit the back of Akaashi’s neck, his voice coming out breathless, almost unsteady. “You feel so good.”

He eased back and then thrusted forward hard fully burying himself, every breath shaking.

Akaashi trembled, back arching, the sound that came out of him was small but raw, somewhere between pain and want.

He couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Only feel—hot, full, burning.

Bokuto’s hips moved fast and sharp. The sound was wet and heavy, their breathing echoing off the walls. Every thrust came a little harder, every sound from Akaashi made it harder to stop.

Akaashi’s knees wobbled. His cheek was pressed to the table, sweat beading along his temple. “Bokuto-san—” he gasped, voice thin.

Bokuto’s hand slipped to his waist, pulling him back with each thrust. “Keiji,” he panted.

Akaashi’s answer came out half a sob, half a moan. He pushed back into him anyway, hips rolling helplessly. “More—harder—”

Bokuto couldn’t believe it.

He buried his face against Akaashi’s shoulder, groaning as his rhythm grew messier, the slap of skin against skin filling the room. Their breaths tangled, raw and fast, the air thick with sweat and lube and the faint smell of home.

The thrusts turned frantic, Bokuto’s small self-control slipping with every squeeze of Akaashi’s body around him. The sounds between them grew wetter, filthier; every movement drew a sharp, stuttered breath from Akaashi’s throat.

“Bokuto—san,” he gasped, voice high, trembling. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah?” Bokuto groaned, his hand catching Akaashi’s jaw, forcing him to look back. “Come Keiji.”

Akaashi’s body seized at the words. Like they had hit something buried deep inside him. His breath caught, mouth parting on instinct. Bokuto, unable to stop himself, brushed his thumb against Akaashi’s lower lip, and Akaashi turned towards the touch like it was natural, inevitable.

He took the finger into his mouth, sucking on it, moaning around the digit. His lashes fluttered, his cheeks flushed, a faint sound escaping from his throat—half-moan, half-exhale—warm around Bokuto’s skin.

Then his body broke apart.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t perfect. His whole frame shuddered, breath stuttering against Bokuto’s thumb. Heat spilled between his legs in uneven pulses, his stomach clenching, thighs tensing uncontrollably. His muscles locked around Bokuto—everywhere Bokuto touched him—so tight Bokuto could barely breathe from the pressure.

“Keiji—” Bokuto managed, voice raw, but Akaashi wasn’t really hearing—his mouth still around Bokuto’s thumb, jaw slackening, a faint wet sound as he gasped, shoulders shaking with the force of it. His toes curled. His body arched, seeking, holding, needing.

He came like he was being pulled inside out—silent but shaking, breath broken, fingers holding as if to anchor himself to something real.

And Bokuto couldn’t control himself, thrusting harder, faster, like he was chasing something and if he stopped he would miss it.

His rhythm broke completely. The tight spasms milked him, dragged him straight to the edge until he was shaking too, barely holding himself up. “Shit—Keiji—I’m—”

His hips snapped forward one last time, hard, the base of his cock swelling fast, locking him deep inside. Akaashi cried out, his hands turning into fists, eyes closed shut as he felt the knot press and settle, sealing them together.

“Fuck,” Bokuto rasped, voice nearly gone. His hands were trembling where they held on the table. “I’m sorry—I just—”

He couldn’t finish. The second pulse hit, then another, and another—hot, heavy, relentless. Bokuto’s whole body went taut, a strangled noise tearing from his throat as he came, spilling deep inside Akaashi. Warmth spreading until Akaashi felt like he was melting from the inside out.

His own breath came in ragged, uneven bursts, the world narrowing to the sound of Bokuto’s panting, the pulse of his knot throbbing where they were joined.

Akaashi shifted slightly, wincing at how tight it was. Bokuto’s hands immediately grabbed him by the hips, steadying him.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, still shaking. “Not yet.”

Akaashi stayed still, trying to catch his breath. His thighs quivered, the ache between them sharp and good. He could feel every twitch of Bokuto’s cock, every tremor that ran through his body.

Bokuto pressed his mouth to the back of Akaashi’s neck, voice hoarse. “I… fuck, I can’t…”

Akaashi closed his eyes. “It’s fine, I’m here…” He placed a hand on top of Bokuto’s own, trying to reassure him. 

Bokuto bit Akaashi’s neck, still panting, still trembling with the aftershocks. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over Akaashi’s ear.

The room was quiet except for their breathing—their bodies locked together, heat still radiating off them, the faint from outside mixing with the low hum of their hearts finally slowing down.

“Keiji I need…” Bokuto whispered.

“Yes.” Akaashi answered. No hesitation.

Bokuto bit at his neck again, harder this time, tongue dragging over the mark before he let go—warmth spilling into Akaashi again, different this time, running down his thighs, messy, filthy, but somehow so good it pulled a sound out of him, soft and helpless.

For a second, Akaashi tensed. He could feel everything—the warmth, the wetness, the smell, the heat of it clinging to his skin. But he felt relief. Arousal even. Like he’d been holding his breath for too long and finally let it out.

Bokuto was already kissing whatever skin he could reach—Akaashi’s hair, his ear, his cheek—messy, out of breath, voice hoarse and soft all at once.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice still unsteady, forehead resting against Akaashi’s shoulder. “I’m sorry…”

Akaashi let out a laugh.

It was quiet, shaky, more air than sound—but real. Bokuto tensed for a second, confused, until Akaashi spoke.

“I’m not laughing at you,” he said quickly, still breathless. “It’s just… I really needed this.” He admitted.

Bokuto stared—then let out a low laugh too, pressing his face to Akaashi’s neck as if to hide it. “Yeah… yeah, me too.” Bokuto replied. “I’ve… I’ve never felt like that before, didn’t know… I kinda went insane without you, knowing you what you were going through… knowing I wasn’t there, it was like something inside of me was screaming.”

It was like Akaashi was his mate, his omega, like his very core was screaming at him for not being there for him.

“I promise I won’t do anything like it again…” Akaashi said softly.

Bokuto mumbled in agreement and then glanced down at the mess between them, cheeks faintly red. “We—uh—we made a mess…”

“I’m sure we did,” Akaashi agreed, finally letting his weight relax against him. Bokuto’s knot was already going down, leaving only warmth and soreness. “But it was good.”

Bokuto’s voice dropped, small and guilty. “I’m sorry I’m so weird. I promise I’ll clean everything.”

“I think I might be weird too,” Akaashi said softly. “I do need a bath though.”

Bokuto eased out of him slowly, careful. Their clothes were a mess—Akaashi’s pants and underwear damp and dirty, Bokuto’s from the waist down just as bad. Bokuto didn’t even hesitate. He helped Akaashi step out of his clothes and folded them, taking them straight to the washing machine. Then he grabbed a clean dishcloth and warm water from the sink.

His hands were gentle, reverent, as he cleaned Akaashi’s thighs, the inside of his legs and his feet so he could walk without discomfort. Quiet. Careful.

When he finished, he put the cloth away and said, “Go to the bath. I’ll clean up here and start the laundry before I join you.”

Akaashi leaned in and pressed a small kiss to Bokuto’s lips.

He could have said a dozen things—that he had made just as much of a mess, maybe more; that betas weren’t supposed to be needed like this; that he should stay and clean too, make himself useful, make it less… dirty and embarrassing.

But instead, he just breathed out, “Thank you.”

Because that was enough now. Because Bokuto didn’t look disgusted or disappointed. Because even with his thighs sticky, his clothes ruined, and the ache still pulsing deep inside, he didn’t feel wrong—just wanted.

He no longer had to apologize for being a beta. He didn’t have to pretend to hide.

He was loved. And this time—he let himself believe it. Damn his grandmother’s words.

Akaashi stepped into the bathroom and took off the rest of his clothes, dropping them into the laundry basket. They weren’t as urgently dirty as the ones Bokuto had taken to the washing machine. He turned on the shower and waited for the temperature to settle before stepping under the spray. Bokuto had already cleaned most of the mess from his legs and lower back, but Akaashi still scrubbed himself once more.

He filled the bathtub next, sinking into the warm water just as the bathroom door opened and Bokuto stepped in.

“Sorry—took me too long to clean up?” Bokuto asked.

Akaashi shook his head, shoulders dropping into the water. “No. I was just getting in.”

Bokuto stripped, showering quickly, then glanced over. “Is your body too sore?”

“No,” Akaashi said, chin resting on his folded arms at the edge of the tub. “Just… what’s left after. Not pain.”

Bokuto let out a breath. “Good. At first—it looked like it hurt a lot. I… wanted it to feel good for you. So I’m—just really happy it does now.”

Akaashi looked at the ripples in the water. “Weren’t you ever worried? That maybe we wouldn’t be able to… at all?”

Bokuto frowned. “I told you, ’Kaashi—I wanted you. However that looked.”

“That sounds romantic but—”

“You’re my mate, Keiji.” Bokuto said it simply, like it was a fact. “I don’t care if it’s not biological or if it sounds crazy. It was you, or no one.”

Akaashi’s lips twitched. “Come here.”

Bokuto rinsed his hair and slid into the tub behind him, arms wrapping around Akaashi’s waist, pulling him against his chest.

After a moment, Bokuto asked quietly, “Did your grandmother get really angry?”

“Yes,” Akaashi said. “So much that she threw hot tea at me.”

Bokuto tensed. “What?! Are you okay—did it burn?”

“I’m fine,” Akaashi murmured. “She said what we’re doing is wrong. That I don’t understand my place. Then she admitted… she never thought I deserved anything more. Like after my gender results, my future was decided. No dreams. I could only… accept what I was given.”

Bokuto didn’t say anything. He only held him tighter.

“It’s okay,” Akaashi said, voice steady. “I know we’re always going to look wrong to some people. I’ll always be the beta who stole a nice omega’s alpha. And you’ll always be the alpha who made a mistake.” He smiled faintly.

“I saw your Instagram… on the train to my grandmother’s house,” Akaashi said quietly, head resting against Bokuto’s shoulder. His voice was tired, but softer now—still warm from the bathwater and Bokuto’s arms around him. “You’ve been posting a lot. And not just volleyball or training or… dumb selfies. You’ve been posting about us.”

Bokuto’s cheeks flushed immediately. “Ah—yeah.” He scratched his neck, water dripping from his fingers. “Kuroo told me to. He said I shouldn’t hide it.”

Akaashi blinked. His fingers traced lazy circles on Bokuto’s forearm under the water. “It has a lot of likes…”

Bokuto huffed a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Actually… I think my numbers kinda doubled.”

Akaashi turned to look at him. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Bokuto nodded, hair damp and sticking to his forehead. “I get tons of notifications now. Comments, shares. Some of them are mean—people saying I’ll regret it, or asking if I’ve lost my mind—but most of it is…” his voice softened, eyes lowering. “It’s good. Really good. People saying they’re proud. Saying I look happy. Asking who you are.”

Akaashi hesitated. “I didn’t read the comments.”

“It’s okay,” Bokuto said quickly, as if afraid Akaashi would feel guilty. “I can show you later if you want. Just… I want you to know it isn’t all bad.”

There was a pause.

“Some people are asking to see your face, even,” Bokuto added with a small laugh, trying to make it lighter. “They’re curious.”

Akaashi frowned. “What? Why?”

“They want to know you,” Bokuto shrugged. “What you look like. I keep talking about you. What you cook. How you organize your books by publisher instead of author. How you steal my sweaters. And how cute you are, obviously.”

Akaashi let out a quiet sigh. “I did see that part. You exaggerate.”

“I do not,” Bokuto said, immediately leaning in. He placed a gentle kiss to Akaashi’s hair. “I totally see you like that. Always have.”

Akaashi’s eyes softened. The warmth of the bath, the steady pulse of Bokuto’s heartbeat against his back, the sincerity in his voice—it all sank in slowly, like heat spreading through cold fingers.

His voice came out barely above a whisper, almost embarrassed but unable to hide the comfort beneath it. “You’re very silly, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto only smiled. “Maybe.”

Chapter Text

Everything was good in Akaashi and Bokuto’s life. They were married, living together, both doing well in their jobs. Akaashi hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was actually starting to enjoy being a manga editor—and manga in general, too—more than he had expected. He had coworkers he could almost call friends. Bokuto kept posting on Instagram as usual. Akaashi had seen some comments, and most of them were surprisingly kind, but he still refused to let Bokuto post any picture that showed his face.

Even the interviews and questions about their relationship had quieted down. It finally felt like everything was settling into something almost ordinary.

Bokuto still worked weekends sometimes—photoshoots, commercials—but he was still shining, still loudly in love with Akaashi. And, for the first time in a long time, it felt like the world wasn’t watching them anymore. They went to cafés, the library, took the train—quietly, anonymously.

Until one afternoon—no warnings, no strange messages, nothing—it happened.

Akaashi was leaving work late. He was tired, relaxed in the way routine makes you. His glasses were sliding down his nose, the top button of his shirt undone, a book in one hand, his eyes already drifting over the words as he walked. He barely registered the first flicker of a camera flash in his face.

He blinked, looked up.

Another flash. And another.

At first he didn’t understand, like his brain refused to believe it was happening—like reality needed a moment to catch up. And then someone said his name.

A paparazzi pushed forward, shoving a camera so close he could see his own reflection in the lens.

“Is it true? You’re Bokuto Koutarou’s partner—”

That’s when Akaashi froze.

Somehow, they knew. Somehow, the world knew who he was.

His body moved too late—he lifted the book to hide his face, but phones were already out, flashes firing, people filming, voices overlapping. But Akaashi’s ears were ringing.

A hand grabbed his arm. Instinctively, he pulled back.

“Come on,” Kuroo’s voice said—quiet, firm. He draped his jacket over Akaashi’s head, one arm steady against his shoulders.

Akaashi swallowed hard and let himself be guided in silence. Kuroo pulled him across the pavement towards his car and opened the passenger door. Akaashi slid inside, still hiding his head with Kuroo’s jacket as flashes exploded around them like fireworks.

Kuroo was too calm.

Akaashi’s pulse was too fast. Anxiety crept up his spine like cold water.

It felt like forever before Kuroo got in the driver’s seat and sped away, leaving the cameras behind.

Akaashi’s shoulders began to tremble almost immediately. His palms were cold, numb, pressed together in his lap like he was afraid they might float away. Kuroo was already on the phone—voice sharp, clipped, professional. Akaashi caught fragments: privacy, harassment, legal consequences. At some point Kuroo raised his voice. Yelled, maybe.

Akaashi couldn’t tell. The words slid off him.

What was there to say, anyway?

Kuroo took him to his apartment after what seemed like they had been driving for hours. As they entered, Akaashi just walked in and sat on the sofa. Quiet. Too quiet.

Kuroo exhaled, pulled out his phone, dialed, then handed it to Akaashi.

“Bokuto.”

“Akaashi?”

That finally got a reaction from him and he reached for the phone, holding it against his face.

“Bokuto-san?” He asked, and the voice on the other side of the line seemed to finally pull him back to reality.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto’s voice burst through the speaker, loud and terrified. “Shit, are you okay? I saw the news, I’m on my way there.”

“News?” Akaashi was just understanding the magnitude of everything. Why were they treating Bokuto like an idol or something? Why were they giving them so much attention? They had kept a lower profile, never kissed outside their home, just held hands when there weren't that many people.

“I’m fine,” Akaashi said automatically. The lie slid out clean, practiced. “I just—”

He looked up at Kuroo, silently asking for context.

“The fact that I physically dragged you out of a paparazzi swarm is confirmation enough that you’re Bo’s husband,” Kuroo said dryly, as if commenting on the weather.

Akaashi looked to the floor and held the phone tighter. “I’m fine, you don't need to worry. I’ll wait for you here.”

Kuroo took the phone back before Bokuto could argue and ended the call. Then he sat beside Akaashi and opened a delivery app.

“Not in the mood to cook.” He simply said.

“I can understand that.” Akaashi said. His body was still trembling, but he forced himself to act like it wasn't. He couldn’t fall apart. Not in front of Kuroo. And definitely not in front of Bokuto. What good would that do? Bokuto was already under scrutiny for choosing him. Akaashi refusing to hold himself together would only give the world more ammunition.

So he forced his hands to stop shaking. He swallowed the knot on his throat and discreetly dried his eyes as he took off his glasses.

Be strong. Push through it.

He sighed, slowly, deep, and looked for his bag, pulling his cellphone out to check his notifications, but as he was about to unlock the screen, Kuroo placed a hand on top of it and shook his head.

“Why don’t you tell me about that boring book you’re reading,” he said instead.

Akaashi huffed softly. “Not very subtle.” He replied, with less of a bite as he would have wanted. “Please don’t tell Bokuto-san,” he added quietly. “I’ll be fine. It just… took me by surprise.”

“That’s a lie,” Kuroo said calmly.

Akaashi didn’t deny it.

“I don’t want to worry him more than I already have,” he said. “I don’t want to be another burden on top of the mess I already created.”

“You’re aware this isn’t your fault, right?” 

Akaashi’s mouth twisted. “I’m a beta, of course it’s my fault,” he said softly. “And I knew it was wrong, and it was hard enough without cameras flashing in front of my eyes,” he hesitated, then added, almost pleading.

“Please. Don’t tell him how bad it was. You know he’ll panic.”

Kuroo seemed to ponder for a second. He didn’t know how true Akaashi’s words were, but truth was, he had never seen Bokuto going full Alpha mode over Akaashi being threatened, and he didn’t know how bad it could be.

“Fine,” Kuroo said at last. “But talk to me, at least, if you need anything. I won’t have you lying to both of us.”

Akaashi nodded.

“Now,” Kuroo continued, lighter, “relax your shoulders and tell me about the book.”

Akaashi thanked the opportunity to try and act normal, despite the fact that anxiety was making his hands shiver again. He steadied his voice, as best as he could and was in the middle of explaining the plot to a very undeserving Kuroo who didn’t seem to catch on to the quiet subtleness of the character’s actions, when Kuroo scrunched his nose, proceeding to cover it with his arm.

“Bokuto’s here.” He announced.

Akaashi looked towards the door, startled. Nothing happened.He couldn’t even hear footsteps or anything. Still, not two minutes later, Bokuto knocked on the door and Kuroo was already opening up for him. He barely bothered to take off his shoes before crossing the genkan, running straight to the sofa to wrap his arms around Akaashi. The impact of it almost knocked the air out of him.

“Oh my god, Akaashi—oh my god.” Bokuto’s voice was breathless, relieved, almost trembling.

“I’m fine,” Akaashi said automatically. He wasn’t.

“That’s not—” Bokuto started, but Kuroo’s phone rang, sharp in the tense silence.

“He is fine.” Kuroo said. “Please, you stink, calm down.”

Bokuto looked at Kuroo for a moment before shame came onto his face with the realization that his pheromones were all over the place.

Kuroo just looked at the screen. “It’s the food. I’ll go pick it up.”

When the door closed behind him, Bokuto knelt in front of Akaashi, his hands touching his knees.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Akaashi, I…” Bokuto tried, the words tangling in his throat, too many all at once. “Please don’t leave me.”

Akaashi simply smiled, one hand coming up to caress Bokuto’s cheek, grounding, familiar.

“You told me once that Kuroo-san said your pheromones were calmer when you were with me, right?”

Bokuto looked at him, confused, eyes wet, not quite understanding what Akaashi was trying to say.

“I’m fine,” Akaashi continued softly. “You don’t need to worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

Bokuto swallowed. He felt stupid, embarrassingly so—like a teenager again. He could almost hear his sisters’ voices, teasing him for being too sensitive, for worrying too much and spreading his pheromones all over the street.

“I can’t… I can’t calm down, Akaashi. I—”

“It’s fine,” Akaashi said again, gentle but firm, pressing his forehead against Bokuto’s, close enough that Bokuto could feel his breath. “I’m here.”

Bokuto’s hands tightened in Akaashi’s shirt, chest still too tight, but the panic loosening just a little under the weight of those words.

He opened his mouth to speak again, but the front door opened and Kuroo stepped in, balancing a circular lacquered tray in his hands, the faint scent of rice vinegar and seaweed following him inside.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Kuroo said as he set the tray on the table. “Let’s eat.” He put the tray on the coffee table in front of them. The tray was neatly packed with a selection of sushi—salmon, tamago, tuna rolls, and shrimp nigiri, arranged in a precise ring around a small plastic cup of soy sauce. 

Bokuto’s eyes darted to the tray. “Sushi?”

“I was feeling generous.” Kuroo replied, opening packets of chopsticks.

Akaashi didn’t feel hungry at all, but he knew now that his worries were not misplaced, Bokuto had been panicking too much and he needed to fake being okay.

“Feels like a celebration.” Akaashi said.

Kuroo just smiled. “Let’s think of it like you being completely out in the open. You know. Even if they forced you out.”

Akaashi just shrugged, Bokuto was silent, probably trying to calm down.

“So,” Akaashi finally asked. “What happened, did we make a mistake or something?”

Kuroo shook his head. “Someone sold the story to the media.” He said. “I cheap made up version of you being the villain, whoever it was, they don’t like you.”

“How much of it it’s true?” Akaashi asked.

“The press is saying you were engaged to someone else while dating Bokuto. That you used his rut to trap him and left your fiancee.” Kuroo’s voice was steady, stripped of emotion. “And that’s just the start. Your old company info, your medical records—”

“The fact that I got tested three times.” Akaashi said, because it was obvious.

“Yeah,” Kuroo said flatly. “The ones you took after being told you were a beta. They’re using them to say you’re bitter for not being an Omega.”

Akaashi focused his eyes on the floor. So it was like Kuroo said, half of it was true. Him being bitter about not being an Omega? He couldn’t deny that.

Kuroo continued, reaching for a piece of sushi and popping it into his mouth. “And since you left your last job abruptly, they’re spinning that too. Saying you were difficult to work with.”

“So, what do I do?” Akaashi asked. “It’s not true.”

“I know,” Kuroo replied dryly. “But right now, truth doesn’t matter. The only thing keeping things from collapsing is Bokuto’s public image. People like you because they like him—but that could change fast.”

Bokuto looked suddenly small, like a sad wet puppy, eyes flicking between them.

Kuroo sighed, reaching for another piece of sushi. “Let’s eat. I’ll deal with the rest later. I’ll fix it. I just don’t know how yet.”

Akaashi felt his chest hollow, throat burnt from holding back… everything. But he couldn’t crumble. Not when Bokuto already looked like he could cry if someone breathed too harshly.

He looked at the tray, beautifully arranged with nigiri and maki, and asked quietly, almost absurdly.

“Why sushi?”

Kuroo paused mid-bite, glancing at him. “I already told you, we are celebrating.” He said, with that smirk that Akaashi knew so well.

“You're a horrible person.”

“Maybe,” Kuroo answered, then popped the nigiri into his mouth. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. If he was horrible, then whoever had outed Akaashi was about to learn the definition of vengeful.

Akaashi reached for a piece of salmon nigiri and ate in silence.

Beside him, Bokuto seemed on the verge of collapse, watching Akaashi intently, like trying to decipher what he should do.

Kuroo watched the exchange without comment. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and precise: “Okay. First thing,” he said, tapping his chopsticks against the table. “No apologies. None. You didn’t do anything wrong, so you do not apologize.”

Bokuto swallowed hard, then he nodded so quickly it looked painful.

“Post something small, neutral, and boring. ‘This isn’t true, please don’t spread misinformation.’ Nothing more. Don’t engage. Don’t reply. Don’t let them drag you into the mud.”

Bokuto finally whispered, “O-okay.”

Kuroo’s stare softened for the first time. Just a second. “I know you wanna protect him,” he said. “But the worst thing you can do right now is give the hyenas more meat.”

Bokuto finally reached for a piece of maki—hands trembling.

And for a moment, the three of them sat there—one pretending to be fine, one pretending not to drown, and one pretending sushi could fix the world.

Bokuto and Akaashi went home after dinner and Kuroo had moved like a man on a mission.

Within hours, a legal team was assembled. Drafts of cease-and-desist letters hit inboxes overnight.

The tabloids that ran the “gender” story received the strongest warnings—explicit references to meiyo kisonzai (defamation) and shakai-teki meiyo (violation of social dignity). He leveraged Bokuto’s athletic status, his sponsors, his television appearances—no one wanted to risk being frozen out of sports coverage.

By the morning, three articles vanished from major websites. The rest blurred their wording, hiding behind vague “sources close to Bokuto’s partner.”

Still, the damage was done. Once a story leaks online there's no stopping it. The official sources had deleted some of them, others offering a half-apology. The internet wasn't so polite or mild. Forums were having a feast with the news and there was no stopping it.

Kuroo had called Akaashi’s company first thing that morning. Behind the scenes, he was already making his move—meaning a calm, polite, dangerous call.

If you fire him, I’ll ruin this editorial. He didn’t need to say it. The tone was enough.

So by the time Akaashi made it to work the next morning, his editor-in-chief didn’t ask for explanations. Just if he felt capable of continuing work.

“Take time if you need to,” they said. “We’ll manage.”

He wanted to work. He needed to feel useful. Luckily for him, mangakas were not exactly people who tend to read tabloids or keep up with gossip, so they had no idea that he was actually in the middle of a defamation scandal.

The days crawled forward.

The news cycle didn’t die down—if anything, it sharpened. Each day brought a new headline, a new “anonymous source.” Some unofficial tabloids published entire timelines of “Akaashi’s lies,” dissecting photos and speculating about hormone treatments.

It was invasive, ugly, and everywhere. But mostly anonymous and impossible to trace.

Bokuto kept posting like normal—volleyball clips, training photos, his dinner. After his conversation with Kuroo, he had done exactly as told: one short statement saying it wasn’t true, that he wouldn’t engage with the media. And, against his own instincts, he stuck to it. Akaashi’s name never appeared in the captions. Despite already being outed, Akaashi still refused to show his face. Bokuto didn’t push.

The narrative softened, but it didn’t disappear. Because behind all the lies, one thing was still true: an Alpha had chosen to marry a male Beta, and people wanted to talk about it.

Japan was a traditional country, in the end. A marriage that wasn’t between an Alpha and an Omega was already frowned upon—but a marriage that couldn’t produce children was worse—spoken about in lowered voices, framed as selfish, unnatural. Taboo.

Kuroo was angry. And maybe—if he was honest—he felt a little guilty, too. He remembered, uncomfortably clearly, how he himself had once pushed Akaashi into the narrative of being an Omega, before Akaashi had even received his second gender results. How easy it had been to assume. How careless.

So now he wanted names. He wanted consequences. Now, he wanted revenge.

There was no point chasing anonymous posts online; those would burn themselves out eventually. This wasn’t about the noise. This was about the source.

Someone had sold Akaashi.

This was personal now. No longer professional.

He hadn’t spent the last ten years watching Bokuto cry himself to sleep—hadn’t watched him slowly, painfully build something real with Akaashi in defiance of society—just to stand by and see everything crumble because someone wanted a payout. He trusted their relationship. That didn’t mean he wanted to see how much it could take.

There was no point chasing anonymous posts; they would burn out on their own. Whoever had sold Akaashi’s story, though—that was different.

Lucky for him, he wasn’t the only one who was angry.

There was someone else who wasn’t particularly enjoying what Akaashi—specifically—was being put through, and who had quietly started tracking the IPs of the most persistent posters on the forums: Kenma.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Kenma asked, giving Kuroo a sideways look from beneath his hood.

“You’re really asking me that,” Kuroo replied, lips quirking into something sharp and humorless, “after you handed me the name?”

Kenma hesitated. Then, softer, “He’s back, you know. He—”

Kuroo’s hand lifted immediately. A short, final gesture.

“Don’t.”

Kenma frowned. “Kuroo—”

“Don’t talk about it.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm in a way Kenma rarely pushed past.

There was a pause. The hum of the computer fan filled the space between them.

“I just don’t want you to throw your life away because of…” Kenma trailed off, searching Kuroo’s face.

Kuroo looked away, jaw tightening. “I didn’t even know he was here.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“It does to me.”

Kenma sighed quietly. He leaned back in his chair, accepting the wall for what it was. “Fine. I won’t say it.”

The silence stretched again—until Kenma spoke, his tone shifting, weighted now.

“I can’t help you more than I already have.”

Kuroo glanced at him. “What?”

Kenma’s fingers curled into the sleeve of his hoodie, gripping it. “Shouyou is pregnant.”

Kuroo blinked once. “What?”

“I know.” Kenma sank further into himself, shoulders rounding inward. “I didn’t think it was possible either.”

“That’s…” Kuroo searched for the word, something neutral, something safe.

“Statistically almost impossible,” Kenma supplied quietly. “And complicated.”

There it was. The part no one liked to say out loud.

“So,” Kuroo said after a moment, carefully, “do I congratulate you, or—”

“We’re keeping it.”

“You don’t look happy.”

“I’m not,” Kenma replied honestly. “I’m still figuring out how this would even work.”

His fingers tightened around the sleeve of his hoodie. Shouyou was an Omega. A professional volleyball player. Pregnancy meant months off the court. Bodies changing. Public scrutiny. Commentators speculating about whether he’d ever return, whether he should.

And Kenma was a beta.

He had never really thought about children. About what it would mean to raise one in a world that already scrutinized mixed-gender dynamics like they were a problem to be solved. About how quickly private decisions became public debates.

Kuroo didn’t joke this time. “If anything, I’m happy you’re keeping it.” He said.

“I know.” Kenma said, not elaborating further.

After a moment, Kuroo stood. “I have to go.”

Kenma looked up. “You’re really doing this.”

Kuroo didn’t deny it. “Tell the little shrimp I’m happy for you. And that… I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Kenma’s mouth curved into a small, tired smile. “I will.”

Kuroo paused at the door, hand on the handle. For just a second, it looked like he might turn back.

He didn’t.

Akaashi was barely holding himself together.

Not well. Just enough.

From the outside, it almost worked. He answered messages. He kept up with work. He smiled in the right places, nodded along when Bokuto talked about practice, about food, about anything. He said he was fine often enough that it started sounding rehearsed.

But Bokuto noticed the pattern.

Akaashi barely slept. And when he did, it was shallow and restless, eyes darkened with shadows he couldn’t hide behind his glasses. He was always awake before Bokuto now, already dressed, already working, laptop open on the table long before the sun came up.

He worked too much. Took on tasks no one had asked him to. Replied to emails at hours that didn’t make sense. As if staying useful—productive—could keep something worse from catching up to him.

And he avoided being touched.

Not openly. Never rudely.

Just… subtly. A step back when Bokuto reached for him. Turning sideways instead of leaning in. Hands busy, always occupied with something else when Bokuto’s fingers brushed his wrist.

Inside the apartment, Bokuto tried to pretend not to notice. But pretending got harder when Akaashi refused to go outside with him.

“I’ll go alone later,” he’d say, softly. “It’s crowded.” “Another day.” When Bokuto suggested the supermarket. “I’ll just order it.” When Bokuto offered to go together.

Always reasonable. Always calm.

But never a yes.

The curtains stayed drawn more often than not. The world beyond the windows might as well have been hostile territory. Cameras. Phones. Eyes. Akaashi flinched at sounds that came from outside—voices, engines, laughter drifting up from the street.

It was as if being seen together would be another failure. Another burden. Another reason for the world to decide Bokuto had chosen wrong.

It was all restraint. All control.

And it was fragile.

Akaashi was one intrusive thought, one bad night away from breaking—and he knew it. That was the worst part.

But he kept pretending, because he couldn’t bear to think about worrying Bokuto further, being another problem.

Bokuto went to the supermarket alone. Again. And when he came back he had too many bags, arms full, cheeks red from the cold, talking as he kicked off his shoes about discounts and how he might’ve bought the wrong brand of rice again.

Akaashi listened from the kitchen, nodded, gave a quick smile, thanked him, helped unpack.

But it was rehearsed, like he wasn’t really there. He didn’t engage, not for real.

And when Bokuto leaned close, instinctive, seeking, Akaashi made an excuse and avoided him.

Dinner was quiet that afternoon.

They sat at the table, plates between them, the soft clink of cutlery the loudest sound in the room. Akaashi ate dutifully, methodically, like food was another task to complete. Bokuto watched him more than he watched his own plate.

Even here, even now, Akaashi kept a careful distance. Like wanting was wrong. Like reaching for Bokuto even inside the safety of their own home would be wrong, like he was asking for too much.

Like it had been a mistake to ever believe he was allowed to want him.

Bokuto set his chopsticks down.

“Keiji,” he said.

Akaashi froze, just slightly.

“I need you to look at me.”

Akaashi hesitated, then lifted his eyes.

Bokuto swallowed. His voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t commanding. It shook a little, like he hadn’t practiced this enough.

“I know you think you’re protecting me,” Bokuto said. “But you’re scaring me.”

Akaashi’s hands tightened around his chopsticks.

“You’re trying to be strong, but… You’ve been pulling away,” Bokuto continued. “Every day. Just a little. Like you’re… already halfway gone.”

“What?” Akaashi’s voice trembled.

“You did this before,” Bokuto cut in, not accusing, just terrified. “In high school. You smiled. You acted normal. And then one day you were just… gone. You stopped answering. You stopped letting me in.”

He laughed, weak and breathless. “I keep fearing I’m gonna come home and the house will be empty.”

Akaashi’s eyes burned.

“I’m not leaving,” he said quickly, too quickly. “I—”

“I know,” Bokuto said. “I know. But I also know that you’re acting like you don’t have the right to be here. Like being with me is… wrong.”

Akaashi looked down because that was exactly it.

He was a beta. A male beta, married to a male Alpha, in a world that tolerated them at best, pitied them at worst. A world that was very clear about what someone like Bokuto was supposed to choose.

Akaashi felt like he had wished for too much. And now the world was reminding him of that, loudly.

“I’m just trying to not make things harder for you,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to give them another reason to talk. I don’t want to be a thing you have to defend.”

Bokuto stood up abruptly, chair scraping the floor, then stopped himself, hands clenching at his sides like he didn’t trust them.

“I want to defend you,” he said. “I want to choose you. Every day.”

He stepped closer, slow, careful, like approaching something skittish.

“But I can’t do that if you’re already half-way out.”

Akaashi’s breath hitched. His ghosts crowded in—years of being told he was less, wrong, temporary. Years of learning that wanting too much only ended in loss.

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely audible. “I don’t… I’m not sure what I should do.”

“I know,” Bokuto said softly. “I just want us to be together, I don’t care about the society…” Bokuto lifted a hand and placed it on Akaashi’s cheek, touching him after what felt like forever.

“Please…” He begged. “Don’t leave me again… I don’t think I can take it.”

Kuroo met her by accident.

Or at least, that’s how it looked.

The bar was part of the hotel—one of those lounges designed to make people feel important. Low lights. Leather stools. Soft jazz played just loudly enough to discourage real conversation. The kind of place where business trips quietly bled into bad decisions.

Yamashita was already there.

She sat alone at the bar, legs crossed, phone in hand, scrolling with exaggerated boredom. Her clothes were expensive in the way that wanted to be noticed: a tight cream blouse that clung too deliberately, a pencil skirt riding just high enough on her thighs to invite glances. Her heels were impractical. Her scent was worse.

No suppressants. No patches. No attempt at restraint.

Candy-crane sweet, cloying, sharpened by heat.

Kuroo clocked it instantly.

Asking for it, he thought—with irritation. Like someone leaving a door wide open and acting surprised when something crawled in.

He adjusted his jacket before sitting down beside her, tailored charcoal, crisp white shirt, cufflinks understated but unmistakably expensive. He ordered whisky, neat. Didn’t look at her until the bartender walked away.

“Long day?” he asked casually.

She turned, eyes sweeping over him in one efficient pass. Tall. Broad shoulders. Confident posture. The watch on his wrist cost more than her monthly rent.

Alpha.

Her smile sharpened.

“You could say that.”

They talked.

Nothing dangerous. Nothing intimate. Tokyo traffic. Hotels. Work frustrations. Kuroo laughed at the right moments, leaned in just enough to seem engaged, kept his pheromones muted—pleasant, neutral, the kind Alphas used to be liked.

She relaxed quickly. Too quickly.

When she complained about Bokuto—just once, bitter and offhand, about an Alpha who had rejected her, who had made her feel like she smelled wrong, like she wasn’t enough—Kuroo noted the phrasing. The resentment hadn’t dulled. It had fermented.

“Figures,” he said lightly. “Men like that never notice what’s right in front of them.”

That did it.

Her smile bloomed, warm and pleased, like she’d been validated. Like she’d won something.

And when he suggested somewhere quieter, she didn’t hesitate at all.

The hotel room was quiet in the way expensive rooms always were—soundproof, neutral, safe. Or meant to feel that way.

Kuroo shut the door behind them. He didn’t lock it.

Instead, he reached for the scent patches on his wrists and peeled them off slowly, deliberately.

The change was immediate.

His pheromones spilled into the room—not the warm, reassuring presence Alphas cultivated in public, not the protective edge people romanticized. This was something else entirely.

Pressure. Weight. Authority.

Yamashita stiffened. Her breath hitched, body reacting before her mind caught up. Her knees weakened—not in desire, but in instinctive submission, the kind Omegas were taught to call natural.

“What—” She turned, words dying as she met Kuroo’s expression.

He wasn’t smiling.

Kuroo watched her carefully, clinically, like a reaction under observation.

“You’re the one who sold Akaashi,” he said calmly.

The color drained from her face.

“That’s— I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He stepped closer.

The air thickened. Her scent soured, panic bleeding through the sweetness. She tried to straighten, to resist—but her body betrayed her, shoulders curling inward, gaze dropping despite herself.

“You contacted three tabloids,” Kuroo continued. “One paid you. You used a burner phone. You assumed no one would bother tracing it back.”

Her back hit the wall.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered, voice shaking. “He deserved it. He—”

“Oh, I understand,” Kuroo interrupted, voice flat now. “Perfectly.”

He let his pheromones press harder.

Her head dipped. Hands curled uselessly at her sides. Tears welled, uninvited. This wasn’t seduction. This wasn’t romance. This was biology turning against her.

“This,” Kuroo said quietly, “is what people don’t write about.”

He leaned in just enough for her to feel his breath against her throat.

“Do you know what would happen if I bit you?”

She shook her head frantically, though everyone knew the answer.

A forced bond without consent meant stigma. Dependence. Employers turning away. Other Alphas unable to scent her. A life permanently narrowed. Survival, not choice.

“And if I walked away afterward?” he added.

Her breath broke into a sob.

“You wouldn’t die immediately,” Kuroo said clinically. “But you’d never recover either.”

He stepped back.

The pressure lifted just enough for her to stay standing.

“I’m not going to touch you,” he said. “I don’t need to. You’re going to retract everything. Publicly. Quietly. And you’re going to disappear from this story.”

She nodded desperately.

“If I ever see your name near Akaashi’s again,” Kuroo finished, “I won’t threaten you.”

He turned towards the door.

At the threshold, he paused.

“This is why Alpha/Omega dynamics aren’t romantic,” he said without turning around. “They’re not destiny. They’re not love.”

He glanced back then, just once, eyes flat.

“They’re biology. Hierarchy.”

Another step closer—not enough to touch, just enough to remind her.

“And in case that wasn’t clear enough,” he added calmly, “you’re the one on the bottom of it.”

Her breath hitched.

“Don’t try to come after me,” Kuroo continued. “I have more connections than you. More credibility. And even if you screamed this to the world—” a pause, deliberate, cruel “—who do you think they’d believe?”

He opened the door.

“Disappear.”

The door closed behind him, leaving her alone with the silence—and the understanding that this hadn’t been a threat born of passion, but of certainty.