☾ The Witching Hour

Notes: I have no explanation for this other than my boy deserves some positive shit after the sad ass fic i wrote the other day. So have some fun with Akaashi. That means there’s smut…some smut? Characters and everything are all adults. so….yah.

Akaashi Keiji x F!Reader

XXX

Akaashi loved it when you wore skirts or shorts. Normally when going out you’d cover up and wear pants or long dresses, always saying how you hated people staring at your legs.

But at home, he’d sometimes catch you wearing shorts.

“Hey,” he greeted, coming up behind you, a hand smoothing over your side and briefly grasping the hem of your shorts. “You’re not cold?”

Keep reading

be not afraid of my body—

inumaki x reader

wc: 1.8k+

warnings: MAJOR MANGA SPOILERS: JJK 137+, angst, aged up, inumaki is the light of my life and it's obvious

No one will really speak of what has happened.

Despite all the questions leaving your lips, Panda only shuffles ahead, letting the hollow panic of your voice spread in the space between you. The cadence of his footsteps picks up so subtly, an untrained eye would have missed it, but you are searching for something, anything, to hold onto; the quickness of his pace is an answer in and of itself, one that hurries your feet, too.

You love him, don't you?

The question had stunned you so violently, body recoiling in shock at the implication of his tone—that, whatever has happened, is enough to ruin the deep rooted relationship between you and Toge. As if this horror could do anything but bring the two of you closer; lovers, trying desperately to hold onto one another in a world designed to tear them apart.

It dawns on you that you hadn't answered. Of course you loved him, more than anything, your stomach wouldn't be souring, hands wouldn't be trembling, eyes wouldn't be watering if that weren't the case. The most high nightmare has been vanquished: Toge is alive, despite the destruction that has fallen over Tokyo, over Shibuya, and that had been welcomed with enough relief that the first tears were of respite.

If not death, then what?

The last time Toge had left the country, a bouquet of lilies had been waiting on the desk in your room, corded together by a lavender ribbon, smelling like the fading spring afternoons that called you both outside during dinner. The days seemed so long then, the sun still peeping over the skyline late into the evening; "more time with you," he signed, skin crinkling near his eyes with the intensity of his smile.

And then summer came and the flowers wilted into droopy reminders of Inumaki's absence, though the space in your bed and the emptiness of your hand fought hard so you wouldn't forget, couldn't forget. Maki suggested pressing them into a book, but by then it had been too late and the only place they belonged was the garbage—it had seemed impossible to do. On the loneliest nights, even the shriveled sight of them reminded you of him, the night before he left, lulled you to sleep with the feeling of his chest against your back, nose under your ear, hand on your stomach.

When he was feeling particularly indulgent, he would whisper broken little things, words that would be impossible to hurt: beautiful, home, sweetheart,

love of my life.

Morning Glories, wrapped in cellophane and held together with a yellow bow: he waved them at you from across the hall, zipper pulled down so that you could see the smile stretching out the marks on his cheeks when he’d returned. Inumaki and his flowers, Okkotsu always said, as if a boy and his love were two separate things, as if his affections were some tangible thing that could be held in the palm of your hand.

At the sight of Yuuta’s face, it is then that you start to cry. Something strong, like panic and desperation all in one, rises within you to ask again what has happened to him. Something—someone—catches your eye; Itadori’s shoulders are shaking as he disappears into the school, his hands clenched into fists at his side. Fushiguro spares you one look (something soft, like empathy and repentance all in one) before following after him.

“He’s okay,” Yuuta’s words are comforting—it’s another confirmation that Toge is alive—but it’s not what you’re asking. “Do you want to see him?”

No one will really speak of what has happened, and it’s starting to drive you mad. Of course you love Toge, of course you want to see him, how could they even ask? For all the comfort they’ve given you, it has only driven up the anxiety surrounding your lover in droves. There is an inferno ready to set Yuuta alight at the question, but he leads you to Ieiri’s clinic after you offer him a stiff nod.

The woman in question is nowhere to be seen; whatever work she’s had to do on Toge is finished, that much is clear, and you can only assume she is back out into the streets, setting up infirmaries around the city to aid those who have been wounded. Outside the door, Okkotsu hesitates and the uncertainty in his eyes frazzles your remaining nerves.

“I love him,” It’s something you could shout from every rooftop, though it only comes out as a hiccuped whisper. “Whatever’s happened, I’ll always—”

“I know,” The bags under Yuuta’s eyes are dark, heavy, and he suddenly looks smaller than usual; Panda had seemed distraught, almost nervous. Toge is so loved by so many, and it (whatever it is) has already affected the students. “He’s just a little restless.”

All you are left with is an empty smile.

Perhaps you should take the time to gather your wits, to wipe the tears from your face. Perhaps you should take the time to script out a declaration of love, how earnestly you will prove to him that the two of you will get through this (whatever this is). Perhaps you should imagine him as he always has been, Inumaki and his flowers.

But you don’t; the door to the clinic is thrown back so fast, it slams, causing even you to flinch from the force.

And he’s smiling, this boy that you love. There is a smile stretching the marks on his cheeks, even though the sheet is down around his waist, even though his chest is exposed. Even though part of him is missing. Toge is smiling and he looks like he’s been waiting—minutes, hours, maybe even his whole life—for you.

Immediately his eyes roam your face, body, checking for any wounds that are damaging enough to be seen from across the room; only then does his smile falter. But when little more than bumps and bruises regard him, Toge raises a hand (his remaining hand, his only hand) out to you in a silent request for your own.

On any other occasion, you would fling yourself across the room and into his waiting arms, giggling, inhaling the botanic scent lingering in the strands of his hair. Instead of cellophane, it is paper talismans that will be rumpled beneath you when you finally lean into him. Instead of two arms to crush you to him, it will be only one.

It's with slow and tentative steps that you approach, stopping just out of reach as you sit beside him on the stiff cot. Toge's eyes are shining, a little red, and even though he's trying his hardest to appear pleased at your presence, something is undeniably shaking him.

Of course you love him.

Of course you want to see him.

"Were you worried about what I would think?"

Toge blinks once and the rigid roundness of his eyes melts away, exposing the tired, half-lidded gaze that burdens him. For all the pranks he pulls, all the laughs he's constantly causing, he never lies; everything about him slumps, withers away, as if it had taken a considerable amount of effort just to appear indifferent.

His weariness is an answer in and of itself, and so you decide to give him one to match, one that will explicitly express how you feel, in his own way: without words.

Finally you move within his reach and Toge perks up just the slightest bit, raising his hand once more for you. Instead of tangling your fingers with his, you touch the point of his palm, feeling the heat from his hand (which must have been a fist before you'd intruded). You slide around his wrist and up his arm, feeling his pulse in the tender skin near his elbow, before scooting closer, before placing your entire hand just under his collarbone.

Toge's eyes have relaxed again, though they shine with something different now, and he keeps them fixed on your face as you bring your own near his. The quiet sigh he lets out reaches your ears in more ways than one—audibly and as a puff of breath across your cheek—and he lifts his head, straightening his neck the way he always does when you're going to kiss him.

But you don't.

When you pull back, his eyebrows turn down and then up, ever curious, and then he shuffles back in the cot, sitting and squaring his shoulders when the shirt covering your torso is ripped up and over your head. It's not the first time he's ever laid eyes on the exposed skin of your chest, but somehow this feels more intimate, closer, than late night sex between sheets.

He's confused, though you can tell he's doing his best to be respectful and to not gawk at your body—that realization makes your shoulders shake with the effort to keep back a sudden sob; he's kind, so, so kind, this boy that you love.

One afternoon, not long after Toge had bought you flowers for the first time, Maki sat beside you in the field as Panda threw Kugisaki and Imumaki tried to catch her. It was unexpected, when she said, "you picked a good one" while watching them, but you knew exactly what she meant.

When he turned to smile at you, pulling the top of his jacket down just so he could stick his marked tongue out, you told her, "yeah, I'm really lucky".

"Okay?" Toge signs, and you nod, grabbing his raised hand to bring it to your inner elbow, to your pulse, to the space under your collarbone.

And then he finally looks: at your face, at the bruise under your eye from the collapsing building, at the purple wounds spanning your sternum, at the stitled way your chest heaves when you breathe.

It's not lust that drives him forward, but something deeper, and he wastes no time wrapping his arm carefully around your back to pull you closer. His palm is warm against you, fingers digging lightly into your skin as your own come up to cup his face.

You are picking Toge; now and always.

"It's gonna be okay." It's meant for both of you, the fragile whisper. "We're gonna figure it out."

If Yuuta can do anything about it, you've no idea; a sick, worried part of you believes he would have done it by now, if it were possible, but you've never quite grasped the intricacies of Okkotsu's reverse cursed technique. Either way, you mean the words you say to him; if Inumaki needs a second hand, then you will be it.

This boy that you love nods and has the nerve to smile again, just before leaning forward to kiss you. It's warm and his lips feel charged, as they always do, as if something other than sorcery and power is lurking within them—something kinder, something sweeter, some tangible thing that can be translated without words. After a minute, you realize he is drawing petals with his nails into your skin, little cartoon-y, oval shapes.

Inumaki and his flowers.

touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as i pass || walt whitman

speaking of coffee (thanks jade LOL):

akaashi knows you have an iced coffee addiction. he’s a coffee drinker himself, mostly hot, but you’re far more committed to the same drink than he is. and he’s okay with that, of course, because it only makes it easier for him to order for you when he wants to surprise you or when he picks you up for a date.

the only time it’s inconvenient? winter.

because while akaashi’s love for you doesn’t change with the seasons, the temperature surely does, and that only makes it more difficult for him to carry the icy drink to pick you up. the walk to your house isn’t a long one, and it’s one he usually enjoys, but the tremble in his freezing fingertips causes him to focus a little less on the scenery and a little more on getting to his destination with all ten fingers still attached.

yet, when he knows boldly on your door, breath puffing out in a wispy cloud in the air, he doesn’t feel quite as cold when the door swings open. his cheeks are tinted pink from the air and the affectionate hug you offer him as a greeting, and he feels like he’s warmed up a bit already.

“keiji!” you gasp, holding both of his hands in yours as you usher him inside, “you didn’t bring gloves? ah, and this drink is iced, you must have been freezing!”

you quickly take the drink from him, setting it on the table before blowing warm air onto his hands. it feels refreshing to have the heat flow over his palms and to his knuckles, and it only gets better when you look up at him through your lashes.

“is that better?” you ask tentatively. akaashi smiles, letting out a small chuckle and pressing a short kiss to your forehead. it’s cold, yet somehow not unpleasant.

“don’t worry about me,” he replies. “i’m all better now.”

there’s only one kind of heat he needs, akaashi decides. 

the comforting warmth called you.

Hi this is bout to be so weird cuz it’s my first time doing this can I do this in anonymous phoned not thats alright as well you can ignore it then :) no hard feelings butt can I have a reading of fate with kazuha pls

Thank you (and it’s very much ok if you choose not to answer this) anddd have a good day / night

Wheel of Fortune (new beginnings), Lovers (true love), Emperor (rev) (misunderstandings) :: kazuha x gn reader | Destined Fate

warnings: enemies to lovers, chasing, pinned to ground (reader), kissing (consensual)

“Stop right there!” You shouted through the turbulent wind. It had picked up so suddenly but you knew why without question. There was only one vision user who could manipulate the wind as easy as the leaf falls from the tree. 

Your legs had grown heavier in the chase but you couldn’t stop. Not until you captured what continuously eluded you. So, as you were trained to do, you squinted against the intensity of the sun and pushed further, faster, harder until your bounty came into sight. 

“KAEDEHARA KAZUHA!” The sound of your voice echoed across the cliff side, it spilled into the sea as your feet kicked up the sand beneath you. The samurai glanced your way, a devilish grin on his face. The sight of it made your heart pound, made your throat tighten, your chest constrict. He leapt over a pile of driftwood and you watched him float back down with ease. He was by far the most graceful person you’d ever met but instead of using his skills for a valuable purpose, he was on the opposite side. A side that ignored your sworn loyalty, a side against you. 

Suddenly, a gust of wind came hurtling toward you, slowing you down. You dropped to your knee and shielded your face with your arms. Pellets of stand stung your skin but you paid them no mind because as soon as the onslaught dissipated you were dashing forward with more determination than before. 

A flash or red caught your attention. It slipped behind an abandoned fishing shack just by the waters edge. Obviously the little stunt Kazuha pulled was to give him enough time to disappear from your sight but you were far to skilled to be bested by something as trivial as sand. You came to a steady jog, then a quick step until you pulled out your weapon and began to investigate. It was quiet, save for the push and pull of the waves and the irregular call of the birds flying above you. Today you would win, today you’d capture the elusive wind. 

Where are you ... You wondered as you peered around the edge of the shack, as you looked in the windows only to find sea creatures capable of making their way on land crawl around inside. Squinting, you turned to look out across the empty beach. There must be tracks somewhere, but knowing Kazuha he erased those with a wave of his hand. 

With a heavy huff, you jumped off the side of the deck, your feet sinking into the ground below. In the shade you found reprieve but you couldn’t rest until you finished your ---

Wind, sand, weight hit you all at once until you found yourself laying on the mixing warm and cold sand and your eyes came into contact with the man you were trying to find. 

“Hello there.” Kazuha’s voice spilled around you like a sweet perfume. It wrapped you up, trapped you, and kept you hostage. It didn’t help that his hands had found your wrists and were holding them steady, or that his weight kept you beneath him exactly as he planned. You fell for his trap, as you had many many times before. 

“Kazuha --” You glared at him, shifted under him but he simply laughed at your pitiful attempts.

“As it seems, I have bested you yet again, yoriki.” The title slipped from his lips and made you grimace. It was common for citizens to refer to you that way, but when he used it, it was like a poison. A reminder of the sides the two of you stood on. 

“You played dirty.” 

“How is that?” 

“I had you earlier but you weren’t honorable in my win. So this doesn’t count.” 

“Enlighten me, how was I so dishonorable?” Kazuha leaned down and you felt the heat from the sun spill over your chest. His face inching closer and closer to your own while your heart began to beat so wildly you thought it would pound straight through your ribcage. 

“You ...”

“I ...” You could practically feel his breath on your lips with how close he’d become. This was exactly like before and it wasn’t fair how easily he could manipulate you with just this much. 

“... cheating ...” 

“Is that what you call it?” Kazuha whispered before he pressed his lips to yours. The feeling sent a shockwave through you and although you struggled against him it was only so you could wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. To feel even more attached to the man who had captured your heart. 

When he finally pulled away you were floating like driftwood on the sea and with every additional, tender, affection he pressed to your face, you moved further away from solid ground. 

“What if someone sees?” You hummed as he kissed your jaw. His hand sliding down your arm while yours finally reached his chest. 

“Why do you think I had you chase me all the way out here?”

“I thought you were finally showing me your true colors.” 

“For you, I’d paint my shade any that would compliment your own.” 

Your fingers pulled as his robes, your heels dug further into the sand and you felt the tethers of your vow to the shogun loosen. “Are you always so poetic?”

“To express how one feels through prose, is there no other way to share what the heart already knows?” 

“I hate you.” 

“Tell me the ways.” He mused as his arms slipped into the sand and his lips came into contact with yours for the hundredth time. 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear everything you’d worked for, all that you knew, the path you thought was chosen for you, was undoubtedly being changed at the behest of Kaedehara Kazuha and a twist of destined fate. 

Fate Made Event (May8-31) | Anthology

eleven: “it’s nothing really” – akaashi keiji

☆ genre: fluff

☆ warnings: none

☆ word count: 0.5k

☆ nonsense: happy belated birthday to akaashi!! i’m nearly a week late but we’ll just gloss over that.

for the most part, akaashi’s winter birthday seems to have followed the same routine as any other celebration. a couple of fellow classmates may have wished him a happy birthday here and there – some even baring small gifts – but nothing had really deviated from the ordinary.

though this was the typical birthday treatment the male had grown accustomed to over the years, something just didn’t sit right with akaashi. like the eerie calmness before a big storm. 

now that he took some time to mull it over, akaashi realizes how he hasn’t seen anything of you, or bokuto, or any of the team for that matter – it was unusual; peculiar. even when he went to unlock the door to the volleyball club room, the lock seemed to have already been tampered with. 

nonetheless, akaashi proceeds – being sure to keep his guard up if there were intruders lurking around; however, there are in fact no intruders.

the birthday boy is only met with silent space and the chill flowing inside.  

at first glance, the room just seems to be pretty dark and mysterious – just the standard, old club room he would think. though when the lights flicker on, akaashi meets something much more than an empty space. 

“surprise!”

hidden figures emerge from their secret spots, and every one’s bright smiles and sparkling eyes illuminate the room. though yukie’s hungry focus seems to be on the beautiful cake you had picked up from the family-owned bakery down the street – where you and akaashi had gone on your first date. 

while akaashi may have pulled together the clues hinting at his “surprise birthday bash” – in bokuto’s words – what he was least expecting was all of this. all the refined, little details seem to utterly astonish the male, leaving him speechless under the door frame. 

akaashi notes all of his favorite foods placed on the little table wedged in the corner beside yukie. and while they’re tough to see behind taller members of the team – like washio and onaga – your boyfriend doesn’t fail to notice the pictures of past memories hung up on the back wall with pretty lights. 

with a little help from kaori, you manage to pop right up and fling yourself in the birthday boy’s direction. “happy birthday keiji,” you wish, wrapping your arms around your the male’s neck. his once shocked expression melts with warm, content tones. 

“did you really do this for me?” he ponders, earning himself a simple, small nod from you in addition to the rest of his teammates. 

blueish-green eyes shift their focus back onto you, clinging onto akaashi’s body like a koala bear. “you guys really didn’t have to do all of this,” he expresses, a satisfied smile shifting onto his face. 

“don’t give us too much credit buddy,” bokuto comes forward, reaching a hand out to ruffle the birthday boy’s dark hair, “(y/n) was the one pulling all the strings.” 

you step back – out of akaashi’s hold – barely able to hold any eye contact with your boyfriend. “it’s nothing really,” you humble yourself, concealing some of that true sense of pride, “we all chipped in a little.“

your boyfriend collects you back in his embrace, whispering his “thank you” into the crook of your neck. meanwhile the rest of the team, lead by their captain, invite themselves in for a group hug – making akaashi’s winter birthday so much warmer.

check out the twenty-five days masterlist

My dear friend @luxielle asked me (months ago) to write about the scene between fleeing Magenta and arriving at the cabin, and—at last—here it is!

even the oceans come back to the sand

GE Saeran X Reader | Words: 2002

In the beginning, you run.

It feels strange to move fast after sitting still for so many days; your leg muscles scream as the freshly-tilled dirt of the garden turns into hard, sun-warmed pavement. There is nothing here but ground and sky, and your breath comes hard and fast as you follow the empty road around a bend and over the crest of a hill.

As you climb, you think dizzily of your arrival (ten days ago; forever ago). It is strange to finally see the road that brought you here, when you were blindfolded and silent as the grave. You want to say something about it, but you don’t have the breath.

Even if you did, you aren’t sure what you would say.

You squint into the setting sun so you can see his face: he stares straight ahead, his brilliant eyes fixed on the horizon. You wonder how long it’s been since the last time he left this place. You wonder if he’s ever left at all.

The road curves sharply ahead, and you follow just a pace behind him. His cheeks are flushed, and you worry (for a moment) that he doesn’t have the stamina to keep this up—but he doesn’t waver.

His determination, you think, shines brighter than the sun in your eyes.

You clench your sweaty hands and try for one last burst of energy. He glances over his shoulder and then reaches for your hand.

“Saeran?” Your voice comes out like a breathless squeak; gently, he steers you off the road and into a clump of tall trees.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, slowing his pace to a brisk walk. “Trust me.”

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I like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it

A/N: I’m tired and Im stressed and when someone is tired and stressed, they make stupid decisions… like wanting to write for fandoms and characters I don’t usually write for

Pairing: Xiao x reader (reader = traveler ≠ aether/lumine)

Description: The mundane but precious comfort of a warm bed had never tempted him, until his bed was not so empty while he was away anymore.

Word count: 1835

Yakshas did not need sleep, or rather, they were not really given the luxury to make it a necessity.

It was not that evil spirits only come out after the sun was down. People tend to have the misconception that ghouls and all things vile could only haunt you when it was dark but that was simply not true. Anger and wrath did not know the difference between day and night, what was left of ancient demons now wandered through the meadows and creeping closer to where their preys were. The world was not the same as it was before. The lights burnt brighter and even at night, there would not be an inch where darkness could swallow you whole unless you leave the city. Still, the general consensus among the masses seemed to be that demons were the most furious when it was dark out.

The only reason why he chose to pick his battles at night was to make sure not one innocent soul had to walk in on the karma-ridden Conqueror of Demons.

The adeptus, who appeared to be young but was not exactly, had never had any words of complaint about what simply must be done. The wind always howled the loudest at night, the currents stirring in the air as another spirit vanished with a slash of his polearm. And as pained screeches of dying remnants of dead gods faded into the air, poisoned words of his past rang in his ear. Demons were smart, they knew how to pick at the strings that could make you crumble, that was how they stir up chaos even though there was nothing more than a fragment left of their physical state in the world. 

Screams and devoured dreams weighted on his shoulder together with the karma that ripped his skin apart but he stayed put, until the sun came up again and his job was over, at least until night comes once more.

He had been living like this for over a millennium. Day after day, year after year. Even when the people he was protecting put off their work to rejoice over each festivity in their calendars, he was still away from the lights and carrying on with what he had been doing every night. 

The mundane but precious comfort of a warm bed had never tempted him, until his bed was not so empty while he was away anymore.

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cursed speech has always been exactly that, a curse. for as long as toge can remember, he’s been accidentally hurting those around him. his friends, his enemies, his family. he’s hurt them all somehow. it’s easy for the tongue to slip. it’s easy to say something you don’t mean and regret it later. being able to use his curse technique from birth has always been more of a burden then a blessing. 

with age he’s gotten used to it. with age, the anger and frustration has lessened. his personality, however strange and sarcastic, has mellowed out enough in his own way that the inability to articulate what he wants no longer bothers him. he’s grown accustomed to being misunderstood and unheard because he’s found other ways to communicate. the rice ball ingredients, paper and pens, drawings, movements, sign language. yes, toge has found a way around all of it. 

he finds that there is always a method to get across what he wants to say. after all, it’s easier than accidentally hurting the people he loves most. a small price to pay for their safety. 

toge also thinks that since meeting you, all of that has somehow gone out of the window. 

the thought first comes to him while you’re tucked under his arm on the couch. a still-short stint of dating, of fooling around and getting to know each other. of course, you’d known each other in high school, but he’s older than you so your time together in the halls was short and somewhat fleeting. now, it’s different. there’s time to get to know you. there’s time to fall in love with you. 

so it occurs to him, some chilly late-autumn night, that he loves you. it’s a gentle feeling at first, tugging softly on his chest while he watches you gaze at the movie in front of you. his eyes follow your parted lips, the way they hang open and shine lightly with the screen’s reflection. toge thinks to himself that there could be nothing more beautiful. that he loves you. 

at first, the realization is enough. it’s enough to know that he knows until it is not. until you laugh one day while walking down the street. until you stop to tie your shoe, crouching down and glancing up at him with a gentle smile. until you knot your fingers in his hair and pull him into your neck so that he can drag the flat of his tongue across your skin and taste you. then, toge is greedy. he wants more than he has. 

so he tells you. he scrawls it in big messy letters on a piece of paper and slides it across the kitchen counter. you smlie back at him, telling him that you love him too before stepping close and kissing him. then, that is once again enough. he knows and now you do too and toge doesn’t ever think he’ll tire of hearing the words leave your lips. 

but toge is greedy. he’s jealous and full of desire. he wants to say it. he wants to be able to tell you, out loud and in words, just how much you mean to him. toge wants to feel the weight of the word love on his tongue. he wants to kiss it with his front teeth, feel the roll of his tongue on the back of his incisors as it leaves his mouth. he wants to taste it. to put the weight of love into words and express it to you clearly. it’s not enough to write it, it’s not enough to circumvent it. 

and toge begins to think that none of it has ever been enough. there is no replacement for spoken word. there is no feeling like saying it, no way to circumvent the aching, bubbling frustration in his chest. 

one evening, he takes you by the shoulders in his kitchen and waits until he has your full attention. toge furrows his brows and looks at your face until your expression matches, until your focus falls into step with his. then, he removes his hands from your shoulder and places his closed his in front of him. he moves his other hand flat on top of it and moves it in a slow circle. 

his movements are sure and adamant. they’re forceful, like he’s trying to will the sound to come from the motion alone. then, he points to himself in one firm movement before taking his thumb and pointer finger and making the motion to pinch his chin in a downward stroke. then, he points back at you. 

they come swiftly, the motions of his hands, but he’s making an effort to be more confident. it’s as if he is trying to make the sign louder to that you can hear it, or rather, feel it. toge repeats it again and he laments that he cannot taste them on his tongue.

 for now, his actions will have to do the talking and when he rests his hands at his sides, brows pulled together in the center out of frustration, he can feel his affection swell. he feels the way it hums to life in his chest the same way anger does. that steady rise that lifts his lungs as you reach for him and pull yourself against him. 

such a simple phrase—three words—and he’s not allowed to say them. i love you. he wants to tell you out loud. toge wants to feel them roll from his lips, to hear the way his voice takes shape to let you know just how much you mean.

but there are things that inumaki cannot change. there are things that must be done for the greater good, for your safety. so toge thinks that cursed speech has always and will always be exactly that, a curse. 

baseball

pairing: inumaki toge x gn!reader

the crack of impact rings in your ears as you watch him drop the bat and swiftly make it on base. you weren’t sure how to feel about the results of the goodwill event being settled with a baseball game, but seeing the way everyone is letting loose and enjoying themselves instantly changes your mind. not to mention, getting to see your boyfriend in action is a real treat.

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synopsis. shy akaashi and a lot of making out

pairing. akaashi x gender neutral! reader

genre. established relationship, fluff

warning. this is making out and grinding so it’s kind of suggestive! nsfw(?), it doesn’t go any further but it’s implied :]

akaashi is so kissable.

with the red tint on his cheeks, and the way his hair is looking so disheveled. with his shy smile, and the way his fingers are buried into the dip of your hips. you’d give anything to continue pressing your lips into his for the entirety of your life.

and if not for the rest of your life, then at least for a couple more hours while the sun is still up - and while akaashi’s roommate is very much not in their dorm yet.

your mouths are still parted, from the slow and shy kissing that had taken place mere seconds ago. you think it also might be because you can no longer control your breath, evident in your heavy exhales as akaashi moves to caress your bare skin under your shirt.

you wonder how he does it, keeping his breath for that long in comparison to you who’s so very clearly trying to recompose yourself. you think it might be because he’s an athlete — it’s most definitely because he is, and you don’t complain.

he’s patient, lips moving to whisper sweet words of ‘i love you’ and ‘i want to spend my whole life with you’, and the way he’s looking at you with his doe eyes is enough to send you back into his lips.

he doesn’t mind, almost immediately returning it with the same amount of passion, and yet the same shyness.

akaashi keiji, your damn kissable boyfriend, still gets shy around you.

“my pretty baby.” he’s unrestrained with his words. he’s like that when you manage to catch him deep into his feelings, which happens more often than not.

“you make me so happy.” and it’s so hard not to strip him off his clothes when quiet groans and whines are leaving his lips from the simple gesture of you shifting on his lap.

he thinks he’s a goner when you pull at the tips of his hair, and especially when you’re shyly rolling your hips against his. and he doesn’t remember how your shirt’s discarded by the end of his bed, but he’s got a slight clue it might’ve happened when you moaned into his lips the moment he bucked his hips up to match with your pace.

on most days, he’d be embarrassed by how quick he got hard when he pulled you on his lap, but he’s too distracted by the way you’re trailing kisses down his neck to even think about it. he didn’t know you were so talented with your mouth, the same way you’ve praised his fingers before.

“darling, you’re so good to me.” his eyes are shut close, and he’s squeezing your hips to slow down your movements because he’s afraid he might come already, because he doesn’t want to quite yet. he wants the moment to go on longer, nevermind the fact that his face is beet red and he’s desperately tugging you even closer than you already were.

“love it when you do that.” he enjoys the way you tug at his hair, or the way you’re biting down on his neck, or the way you’re guiding his hands to rest on your ass. but he doesn’t allow himself to have all the fun so he hooks your chin with his fingers to bring your face in front of his.

and you could’ve sworn you saw the slight hint of mischief in his gaze before he’s nipping at your neck, tongue running over the visible marks that are forming.

“wanna return the favor, my love.”

akaashi keiji is kissable. he’s always so meticulous with his mouth, and he knows just how to use them.

note. this is all i’ll ever think about 😄