hiii i love your writing so much omg ..... could i please request a konoha akinori x reader :3? good luck with your exams !!!! hopefully those rude anons leave you alone ...
stay over
— sometimes your best friend, akinori, is a human barnacle who refuses to let go, and sometimes you don’t really want him to anyway.
konoha akinori x f!reader
c: a ton of fluff!!
thank yew bby >3< i js delete most of the rude ones these days, their insults are boring
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
it starts with the kind of stubborn grip usually reserved for toddlers in toy aisles and grandmas clutching coupons on sale day—except it’s not a toddler or a grandma, it’s konoha akinori, who currently has both arms looped around yours like you’re a particularly warm and squishy pillow he just found in a store and immediately decided he’s never returning.
“nooo,” he groans into your sleeve, dragging out the word like he’s auditioning for the lead role in a tragic opera. “five more minutes. actually, five more hours. actually—you live here now.”
“akinori,” you deadpan, trying to tug your arm free, which only results in him koala-clamping tighter. “i literally have to go home.”
“home is a state of mind,” he declares, cheek mashed against your shoulder, hair sticking up in about six different directions. “and your home is here. with me. forever. congratulations, y/n, you’ve just signed a lifetime lease.”
you blink. “…with no rent?”
“free rent, free snacks, free me—what more could you want?”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
konoha doesn’t just cling. no, “cling” is for amateurs, for casuals. konoha adheres. konoha latches. konoha is a certified human barnacle.
he tucks your hand into his pocket as if you’d wander off without a leash. he cups your face like you’re a priceless vase he has to check for cracks every five minutes. he drapes himself over your shoulders so heavily you swear your spine is becoming permanently bent into the shape of boy who thinks he’s your favorite hoodie.
and the audacity—the sheer, unrelenting audacity—is that he does it all with a smug grin and the confidence of someone who knows he could get away with murder if he smiled at the jury just right.
“you’re soft,” he mumbles one time, head dropping onto your chest like it’s the comfiest mattress known to mankind. “like… softer than pancakes. and pancakes are already dangerously soft. if you were a pillow i’d buy, like, twelve of you.”
“that’s weird, akinori.”
“what’s weird is that you’re not cuddling me back,” he fires, clutching you tighter. “tragic. heartbreaking. call the cops.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
eventually, you manage to wriggle your phone out of his grip (don’t ask how—it involved distraction tactics, possibly bribery, and konoha trying to eat your phone.) and dial your mom, prepared to explain that your clingy best friend is once again preventing you from leaving his house.
“hey, mom,” you say as konoha tries to climb under your arm like some overgrown ferret. “yeah, i’m still at akinori’s place, but i was just about to—”
before you can finish, konoha lunges, grabs the phone, and—with the confidence of a man who has never once lost an argument he didn’t deserve to win—announces, “hi, mrs. l/n! it’s me, konoha, your future son-in-law. i mean, uh—her beloved husband. i mean—”
you slap a hand over his mouth, scandalized, but your mom’s laughter is already echoing from the speaker.
“oh, konoha,” she chuckles, as if he didn’t just ruin your entire social credibility. “is y/n giving you trouble?”
“mhm!” konoha nods aggressively, speaking through your hand like a muffled hostage. “she says she has to leave but that’s clearly a lie because she lives here now. right, mrs. l/n?”
“honey, you can stay if his mom says it’s okay,” your mom says sweetly, the tone that mothers use when they’re definitely scheming.
and just like that, your doom is sealed. because konoha, traitor extraordinaire, is already speed-dialing his mom on speaker.
“hi, mom! emergency question: can y/n sleep over tonight? her mom already said yes. okaythanksloveyoubye!”
you don’t even get to protest before the moms—the two traitors—are happily conspiring in the background, probably planning your wedding while they’re at it.
when konoha hangs up, he turns to you with the smuggest grin known to humankind.
“guess who’s staying over?”
you groan. “i hate you.”
he presses a kiss to your cheek, shameless. “love you too.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
sleeping over at konoha’s house is exactly what you expected: the emotional equivalent of being trapped in a tornado made of clinginess, sugar, and misplaced confidence.
he insists you wear one of his hoodies—oversized, warm, and so saturated with his scent you’re convinced it could be bottled and sold as “boy who’s way too into his best friend.”
his mom “casually” drops off snacks in twos: two mugs of hot chocolate with marshmallows, two plates of cookies, two suspiciously heart-shaped grilled cheeses.
konoha keeps narrating everything like it’s a documentary. “here we see the y/n in her natural habitat, eating cookies, pretending she doesn’t want to kiss me. truly, a majestic sight.”
when you roll your eyes and throw a pillow at him, it escalates into an all-out war. feathers everywhere. the dog barking. konoha dramatically collapsing onto the carpet like you just murdered him in cold blood.
“tell my story,” he wheezes, sprawled out like a fallen hero. “tell the world i died tragically… at the hands of the girl i loved.”
you hurl another pillow at his head. “stop being so dramatic!”
he pops up immediately, grin sharp and bright. “but you’re smiling, so it worked.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
around midnight, he drags you to the kitchen for a “very important mission”: raiding the fridge. you catch him eating shredded cheese straight from the bag like a feral raccoon.
“you’re disgusting,” you say flatly.
“disgustingly handsome,” he retorts, mouth full of cheese, before offering you some.
later, you’re sprawled on his floor, and he’s sitting behind you, determined to braid your hair despite having the dexterity of a raccoon with oven mitts.
“stop moving,” he scolds when you laugh. “this is delicate work. future historians will study this braid.”
“it looks like spaghetti,” you say.
“then you’re the prettiest plate of spaghetti i’ve ever seen,” he replies without missing a beat, and your face heats so fast you nearly combust.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
it happens when you’re finally lying down, the room dark except for the faint glow of his nightlight (shaped like a volleyball, because of course it is). konoha is pressed against your side, his arm thrown over your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.
he’s quiet for a while—so quiet you think he’s asleep. and then, in that half-dreamy voice people get when their brain forgets to filter their mouth, he mumbles:
“you don’t even know how long i’ve liked you. it’s embarrassing. like… pathetically long. like, i think about you when i brush my teeth long. like, i’d fight god for you long.”
your heart goes feral in your chest. “…akinori?”
“hm?” he hums, nose buried in your hair.
“you’re insane.”
he chuckles, sleepy and soft. “only for you.”
and then he actually falls asleep, leaving you wide awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to survive this boy who clings like gravity and confesses like breathing.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the morning starts with the smell of something burning. which is never a good sign.
you stumble into the kitchen, still half-asleep, only to find konoha standing at the stove with the kind of intense focus usually reserved for surgeons performing heart transplants. except instead of saving a life, he’s massacring a frying pan of eggs.
“what… is that?” you ask, rubbing your eyes.
“breakfast,” he says proudly, which is generous, because the eggs are half raw, half charcoal.
“no, that’s a crime scene.”
he turns, spatula in hand, looking genuinely wounded. “wow. hurtful. i woke up early to make you food and you compare me to a criminal. i’ll remember this when i’m rich and famous and you’re begging me for autographs.”
you cross your arms. “you’d still give me one.”
he grins, sheepish. “yeah. and i’d draw a heart next to it.”
despite the catastrophic eggs, you end up eating cereal together, konoha perched beside you at the counter, chin propped in his hand as he stares at you like you’re the cure for every disease he’s ever had.
“stop looking at me like that,” you mumble.
“like what?”
“like… that.”
“sorry,” he says, not sorry at all. “it’s just… you’re kind of the best part of my whole morning.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
somehow, his mom ropes the two of you into running errands with her. which wouldn’t be so bad if konoha didn’t decide this was the perfect opportunity to test the boundaries of your patience (and his shamelessness).
in the grocery store, he grabs your hand and loudly says, “we’re a package deal!” to the cashier, who winks at you knowingly.
he insists you pick out snacks “for our future pantry,” then adds, “i mean, you’re obviously gonna live with me someday, so might as well start now.”
in the parking lot, he carries the lightest bag possible and still demands praise like he just lifted a car.
“look at these guns,” he says, flexing dramatically.
“those are water pistols at best.”
he gasps, clutching his chest like you shot him. “unbelievable. you wound me.”
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
back at his house, the moms are whispering together on the porch, which is terrifying in its own right. they stop only long enough to say:
“y/n, honey, your mom and i think you should stay another night. it’s saturday, after all.”
before you can protest, konoha is already pumping his fist in the air like his team just won nationals.
“YES! two nights in a row! do you know what this means, y/n?”
you sigh. “…that i’ll never know peace again?”
“that you love it here,” he says smugly, tugging you inside before you can argue.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the day passes in a blur of ridiculous activities that only konoha could come up with.
he challenges you to mario kart, loses miserably, and then accuses you of “cheating with your pretty face.”
he tries to teach you how to juggle with oranges, fails spectacularly, and one orange ends up hitting him square in the forehead. you laugh so hard you cry.
he sneaks up behind you when you’re scrolling your phone, rests his chin on your shoulder, and murmurs, “you smell like my hoodie. that’s dangerous for my heart.”
and the thing is—you’re not even annoyed. you’re… warm. ridiculously warm. the kind of warm that makes you wonder if maybe you don’t want to go home tomorrow, either.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
later that night. you’re both sprawled on his bed, whispering nonsense in the dark like kids at a sleepover, except there’s a heavy charge in the air that wasn’t there before.
konoha’s close. too close. his hand is resting on your waist, thumb brushing absent circles into your shirt, and his forehead is pressed against yours like he’s testing the distance between you.
“you know,” he whispers, voice low, “if i don’t kiss you right now, i might actually explode.”
your breath catches. “akinori—”
he cuts you off, not with words, but with the softest, hungriest kind of kiss—the kind that feels like he’s been waiting his whole life for this exact moment. his hand slides to your cheek, holding you like you might slip away, his body pressing flush against yours as if proximity alone could say everything he’s never said out loud.
it’s messy. it’s desperate. it’s so very him.
when he finally pulls back, breathless and grinning, he murmurs, “see? i told you. you live here now.”
and you didn’t mind, at all.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a: me and the other 5 konoha lovers cheered ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners. (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)
iloveu
