Can We Get Some Jealousy? Like Akira Being Jealous When SO Is Being Overly Cuddly With Morgana (he's

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 😄

Aurum Covenance IV - Escape

bodyguard!cyno x royal!gn!reader

warnings: mentions of death & weaponry, tension, hurt/comfort, disassociation & derealization mention, reunions, featuring collei & tighnari

the long awaited follow-up for the angst drabble after so many prequel pieces PFFT ur welcome <3 and as always, i can't write fics set in sumeru without including my beloved daughter so ur welcome x2 hehe

When you are so very used to a regular presence, the void they leave behind is a pernicious affair. The steady metamorphosis between two senses of normalcy courses like toxins through the bloodstream.

In the wake of Cyno's absence, everything looks as though it has been washed with grey.

The hazy golden light that paints your bed of a morning has been desaturated and filtered out, all the tender joy of waking each day removed. Dull and lifeless, you float through your routines as though you're perceiving yourself from a third person perspective. As though you've relinquished control of yourself and taken a backseat to the imposter who maintains a sweet smile and gentle tone when you want nothing more than to scream.

Meetings in the royal court with your father are tense and uncomfortable, all curt words and false niceties. He doesn't permit you to roam when you are done, not even to bask in the pleasant afternoon sun that warms the palace gardens. You're escorted by your new guard- an older matra with a sword and a serious scowl etched into their features- and your chambers become both your sanctuary and your prison.

And finally, one day you decide that you have had enough.

Sneaking out of your chambers is no easy feat. Not with your new bodyguard stationed outside the door and the vertigo of a sheer 20-foot drop awaiting you from your windows. Walking to and from the room is out of the question as well, with the watchful eyes kept on you during the entire journey.

Which means your safest- and arguably the least sane- option is to disappear within plain sight. In the middle of the next royal court meeting.

It isn't difficult to send the court into a frenzy of heated debate and conjecture, especially not when you pointedly mention the glaringly obvious flaw in your father's newest law proposal.

No, it is the leaving in the middle of the chaos that proves the most difficult- especially when there are still guards by the door.

"I just need some air," you whisper as you reach them. "I feel ill. I'll stay outside the doors, promise."

And whether the guards have caught on and don't care, or simply remain too focused on ensuring the court do not devolve into violence, they nod and step aside for you to pass.

The echoing tile in the palace halls reverberates through your spine with each and every step that you take, anxiety threading through your veins and firmly rooting itself against your ribcage.

Faster, faster, you pick up your pace until you are in time with the frantic beating of your heart, until you are all but breaking out into a run.

You're unsure where to go when the palace walls are at your back. Having been kept under lock and key for most of your life, and even more tightly in recent weeks, the world outside is unfamiliar and strange.

And yet, you aren't afraid anymore.

You are not so sheltered to have never heard of the sights that face you now, but it is so different to experience them with your own eyes.

All around you, the most vibrant emerald green floods your vision. The rainforest is never-ending, bejewelled with blossoms in shades you fear you may never have had the chance to see before.

And to your left, like a shining beacon of hope in the fading evening light, a small array of treehouses are bundled together.

A young girl first greets you as you approach, jumpy as she recognises you. Something tells you you've seen her once before as well, on a visit to the palace perhaps?

"Your highness!" she exclaims, stumbling over her words. "This is an unexpected surprise. Not that that's a bad thing!" She straightens up as if remembering herself, bowing hurriedly. "My name's Collei, highness, and I'm a forest ranger. Here to help with anything you need. If you don't mind me asking... what brings you here?"

"Can you keep a secret?" you ask, to which Collei nods vigorously. "I've run away. I need somewhere to stay for a while."

"You can stay with us," she says. "I'm sure Master Tighnari won't mind! He's had another guest for a few weeks now as well. Apparently they ran from the palace too."

Those words ignite a fire in your soul, a blazing hope that somehow, some way, he is safe.

As far as you had been aware, Cyno was executed some days after he had been torn from your side. You had spent the days since grieving, inconsolable and empty. To even have a sliver of possibility that you might just see him again... it is nigh on overwhelming.

Collei leads you up into the canopies of the forest, to the strong wooden platforms that link the trees together. "I'll introduce you to Tighnari first and then I'm sure he'll help you sort out a place to rest for the night. We've got a few spare rooms at the moment where some of the rangers are out on longer patrols."

"I wasn't aware the rangers were still allowed to patrol," you say, taking the length of the walk to admire the quaint architecture of this treetop hub. "Father tried to push the matra as the sole purveyors of justice."

"Rangers have never been interested in justice in the same way as the matra," Collei explains. "We're here to help the people, not to oppress them." A sharp cough. "Excuse me if I speak out of line here, your highness, but your father's governance would not stop the forest rangers from protecting the people of Sumeru."

"I'm glad to hear it," you nod. "Truly. I swear to you, when I return to the palace to rule, I will not be following in his footsteps."

"You always seemed really nice," Collei says. "We met when I was much younger. You stayed by my side when Master Tighnari had to speak to some of the doctors."

You smile fondly at her as the memory resurfaces. "You told me about the friend you made in the kingdom of Mondstat. Amber, right?"

Before she can answer you properly, you have reached the top of the stairway.

It is not Tighnari who greets you once you step onto the solid platform. You remember him vaguely now; the dark hair and fennec ears, the polite smile and firm tone in his voice. And he most certainly is not the man who stands before you now.

You're face to face with a ghost in this moment, you're sure of it. Despite the fleeting hope, the reality is a different matter entirely. A million possible reactions parse through your mind in a fraction of a second, countless emotions coursing through your veins.

And all you can do is run to him.

Cyno takes you into his arms on instinct, as if your embrace is his natural state of being and he has been deprived from it for far too long. The pair of you wobble together under the impact of colliding, swaying in some clumsy waltz as you attempt to keep upright whilst never separating.

"Your highness," he breathes against your shoulder. The tension that has wound up in your muscles like a coiled spring eases under his touch.

"Please," you say, "no more titles. We are equals."

You splay your hands out across his back and hold him to you, the feeling of his warmth against yours still not enough to make up for the ice that has permeated your bones in days gone by.

Cyno speaks your name this time. Slowly, as if the syllables are still foreign on his tongue, but with all the tender reverence of someone who has thought about them for a lifetime. "I have missed you."

"Cyno... my love." The world has cleared, the antidote to the poison of your solitude pulsing through your bloodstream. "Your absence has been torturous."

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5 times inumaki toge held your hand, and 1 time he didn't (inumaki toge x gn!reader)

OH M Y GOD i finally finished this piece and i'm so happy with it and i hope you enjoy <333 i'm so excited AHH

masterlist

1.

Inumaki finds it, oh, so amusing to sneak behind Fushiguro and suddenly grab his hand. And while Fushiguro dug his own grave by complaining about that classic rom-com movie trope one too many times, it doesn’t account for the lengths that Inumaki goes to irritate him. For one, Inumaki likes to dip his hands in ice water before running to Fushiguro. Inumaki also likes to smear left-over cough syrup on his fingers, so Fushiguro will look down in confusion to find himself holding a very sticky hand. Point is, you don’t feel bad for Inumaki at all when Fushiguro chases him around Jujutsu High and leaves him stuck in a shikigami frog quite coincidentally deaf. And you definitely don’t blame yourself for feeling suspicious when Inumaki takes hold of your hands and squeezes them.

“You better not have spit in them, or something.”

Inumaki laughs. He shakes his head and drops your hands for a second, only for him to cup your face with his palms.

“Salmon?”

Get it?

You blink for a moment as you try to determine what Inumaki wants. His hands feel warm against your face; you unconsciously nudge your cheek closer to his palm. His thumb twitches, as if he wants to caress the skin it touches. So warm. Oh. That. You look down at your own hands and press them to your forehead. Cold.

“You want to warm my hands?”

Inumaki nods. He looks at you questioningly, and when you nod, he takes your hands in his and presses them together. You fight the smile tugging at your mouth. He gives in and rubs his thumbs over your hands, and you tell yourself you feel like this because of the cold. Not because of the rare moment of intimacy passing between the two of you. And not because Inumaki usually teases you, with rare moments like these becoming extremely difficult to pinpoint.

“Well, I hope you don’t do this to everyone who isn’t a human furnace.”

It starts off as a smile. His eyes crinkle into peach-blossoms and light falls to flush gold across his cheeks. “Okaka.” He says it so shamelessly, and so matter-of-factly, that you don’t need him to translate at all. Only for the ones I like. By now, his smile looks an awful-lot like a smirk.

“You’re a flirt,” you proclaim, reaching to tweak his ear, “and I’m not falling for any of it.”

2.

With only a few students roaming the Jujutsu High halls, bumping into Inumaki happens more often than not. Especially at times like these, where first light feels years away, and neither of you can sleep.

He beats you to the kitchen this time. For a moment you watch him shuffle around the kitchen: slinging the refrigerator door open with his elbow, pausing to think for a moment, standing on his tiptoes to carefully reach for a cup from the cabinet.

“Need help?”

In the early morning glow of refrigerator light, Inumaki’s snake and fang seal looks luminescent. You fight the urge to run your fingers across each concentric circle: tap thrice around his cheek, glide to the corner of his mouth, brush your thumb across his lip. But whatever faint illusion you saw disrupts immediately, because Inumaki jumps. The cup slips in his grasp. He saves imminent disaster with quick reflexes and a string of unintelligible safewords (even if they do sound anything but sweet); he clutches the clattering cup against his chest and blinks at you slowly. Recognition lights like little flame in his eyes, and he slumps his face into a deadpan exasperation.

Oops. At least he saved the cup?

“Ah, sorry.” You step forward to where he stands, raising your hand in greeting. “But nice catch! Couldn’t sleep?”

Inumaki lets himself smile for one, brief second. It doesn’t last long because he quickly morphs his features into a dirty look to point out your sorry excuse at apology. And then his mind starts working again--three a.m. insecurities unraveling out of his grasp--and he turns, quite rigidly, to set the cup behind him and press his hands against his face.

“You don’t need to”--

His hands scrabble across the counter. Finding nothing, his shoulders sag, and he makes do with pulling the neckline of his shirt up to hide the marks against his cavity. He turns. His gaze pleads: don’t say anything; don’t look at me; sorry, you have to see me, like this.

“You don’t have to hide it, Toge.”

Inumaki blinks at you owlishly. And then he shakes his head to roll his eyes. “Konbu.” He busies himself with the cup behind him.

“Is that for tea? I was thinking I’d make some, too.”

Inumaki nods, still shyly holding his shirt against his mouth. He wordlessly passes you the jar of hojicha tea blend. When you don’t take it from him, he cocks his head.

“I like black tea,” you murmur in embarrassment.

Inumaki raises an eyebrow. He rummages through a different cabinet and pulls out different jars to read the labels. When he finds the jar of black tea leaves, he holds it to you in satisfaction. When you still don’t take it, Inumaki frowns. “Tuna?”

“With milk.” You pull at your fingers. “It’s too strong for me. I mean, to drink plain.”

Inumaki grins.

“And sugar, please.”

He presses his hands against his mouth to stifle any sound. When he glances at you, amusement twinkles in his eyes. He forgets all about his exposed snake and fang seal. The neckline of his shirt drops back to regular position, and he reaches to grab your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours.

“Cod roe.” When he says it, strained breaths escape his lips as he tries to further stifle his laughter. He pulls you toward the fridge, and you watch as the filmy light bathes him in sublime gossamer. With his other hand, he grabs the carton of milk and nudges the refrigerator door shut with his foot. You manage to reach the sugar jar before you’re tugged away.

Inumaki makes no effort to release your hand even as he cheerfully fills the teapot with a spoonful of leaves and seeps the tea with hot water.

“Do you like holding hands?”

Inumaki shrugs. He does, to his credit, seem to think about it for a while. But he must think better of it, because just as he decides to open his mouth and whisper something, he shakes himself out of it. He settles with a shit-eating grin, while inching closer to you for dramatic effect.

You shut him up before he can say anything. “So not only are you a flirt, you’re a masochist. Very nice, Toge.”

The grin slips from his face for a split second. He sighs, reaching to gently rap his knuckles against the side of your head. And then the warmth of his hand replaces itself with a cup of aromatic tea.

When you look up to thank him, the softness in his gaze startles you. You don’t know what to say. Uncertainty makes you look away, only to dump two spoonfuls of sugar in your tea.

3.

People who spit their gum out on the sidewalk fill you with rage. Especially when you look around to spot the trash bin a few footsteps away. Gum clumps to the bottom of your shoe in a chewed, washed-out pink nearly unrecognizable with rings of cement-dust. If only you kept that spare napkin or hashi from today’s take-out.

The crossing-light beeps green. Your friends start stepping forward into the street--wait for me--you want to call, half-debating whether to follow them or not. Too late. The moment of hesitation passes, and you sigh, hobbling over to the trash bin to scrape your shoe against the rim. Stupid bubblegum. Stupid pedestrian who doesn’t care about other people.

You blink back angry curse-words that feel too loud for public space. You swing your leg down from the bin and take a tentative practice-step against the ground. Good enough to walk with, even if it does feel slightly sticky. Nothing terribly uncomfortable. As you pull out your phone to text everyone to wait up, you swipe left on a notification from Inumaki.

Oh, good. Did he notice you got stuck on the other side of the street? You expect to see a message of where to meet up again.

But the snap is a video of you angrily attacking the trash bin with your foot. And then there’s Inumaki wheezing in the background as you watch your past-self crumple your face into your hands in a moment of existential crisis. The caption reads: got gum stuck on their shoe ╮( ˘ ､ ˘ )╭ wait up for us at that tree near home.

You let the snap replay for a moment as you stare at it in amusement. “You waited.”

When you look up, the corner of Inumaki’s mouth twitches, and he raises his phone in front of his face in futile efforts to take multiple pictures of your reaction. Or a video.

You wrestle the phone out of his grasp and flip the camera over to take a selfie of the two of you. “Was this all part of your plan to spend more time with me?” You glance at him with a look that shows a swagger only meant for people who jest.

Inumaki won’t meet your gaze. He saves the photo to his phone and tucks it back into his pocket before he reaches for your hand and nudges his head toward the street. “Tuna, tuna?”

Ready to go?

When you nod, Inumaki straightens up, and his smile brightens. The green light flickers yellow as the crossing-timer ticks down, and now the two of you dash across the street, half-running, half hopping from one white stripe to the next, until you step back onto concrete as the timer ticks down, two, one, zero.

Sincerity. “I didn’t think you would wait.” You smile at him, not caring at all about the influx of adoration present in your gaze. “Thanks.” And then, “We better get to the park, fast. You look cold.”

Inumaki furrows his brow.

You point to his face. “Your cheeks are flushed. It’s windy, I’m a little cold, too.”

Inumaki sighs, his eyes narrowing. He brings your hands up to press against his cheek. His face feels warm to the touch.

“Do you have a fever?”

“Salmon.” Inumaki scowls and zips his collar all the way up to his nose. He quickens his pace and refuses to talk to you for the rest of the walk back.

4.

Later at the end of the week when you gather at movie night that Itadori declared a new tradition, the room awashes in black and white light with voices emerging from the television in garbled, old-hollywood sound. The movie looks old. You came for the snacks and laughter, but you didn’t realize that Itadori meant business when he planned movie night. He actually looks invested in the plot … and so does everyone else.

Even Fushiguro shuts up, and you lean forward to whisper in his ear: are you scared Toge will use your complaining against you? Fushiguro rolls his eyes and without sparing you a glance, shifts closer to Itadori and flips you off.

You laugh. Itadori swivels his head around to glare at you. “Shush!”

From somewhere at the other end of the couch, Kugisaki leans forward and drapes her arms over her knees. “Seriously?” She gazes at the television with an unimpressed look. “Why didn’t he lock his door?”

“Dumb. Dumb as hell,” you quip.

Itadori nods. “Right? I think he’s going to”--

“Tuna, tuna.” Inumaki points forward, and the door on screen starts to open.

“Victim number four,” Maki snickers.

Among the various plot twists and string dissonance, you manage to doze off. Your eyes shudder open at jump-scares when Inumaki’s knee knocks against yours, or when Fushiguro leans back a little too much and accidentally bonks his head into your shins. Or when Kugisaki leans over to playfully toss a pillow at you, laughing when you blink awake only to drift back to sleep.

Inumaki nudges your side during one of these waking-from-loud-externalities. He motions toward his shoulder. “Takana.” Television glare kisses light across his eyes, and for a moment, Inumaki holds everything you have ever wanted to see all at once: I am not leaving, I am not leaving, I will wait for you, always.

You stare as your head wavers from weight it doesn’t know how to properly distribute at this state of exhaustion.

Inumaki chuckles quietly. Fondness proves hard to pull away from, especially when it comes from a boy who laughs when you trip over your shoes, or teases you every morning, or would let you shiver in the cold while he walks smugly in a warm jacket. Because now, when you don’t have the energy to convince the two of you that you like each other as just friends, it feels too easy to drift into the free-fall of something more. For some reason, you let things pass at the hours from dusk to dawn. In the uncertainties of early morning, and when the two of you look at each other among the rest of your friends, you never feel the urge to play dumb.

When you rest your head against his shoulder and lean up to press a soft kiss to the skin underneath his jaw, Inumaki reaches for your hand and shakes his head. He rubs little circles into your palm. Go to sleep, (Y/N). You’re just tired.

5.

He holds your hand when you least expect it. And when you most expect it, all at once. The familiar gesture of intimacy becomes something entirely Inumaki, one that ironically shys away from any confrontation of intimacy. It starts with the warmth of his hands, and quickly turns into the way he likes to play with your fingers, or trace little stars into the impression of your knuckles when he lets his thumb press against your skin. Never has he drawn hearts.

You know why he won’t. Inumaki does it out of consideration. He can too easily picture your freak-out if you felt a heart lazily drawn onto your skin. How strange, to crave something right in arms-reach. All the comfort laid in front of you, from the way he looks at you, and the way he holds you, and the way he smiles at you when you wave at him in the morning: you could take it.

Every week you tell your therapist: I learned how to set boundaries, I learned how to assert myself, I learned that what happened in the past won’t happen in the future. Not everyone will leave. But still, a lingering thought flips uncomfortably in your mind. Why can’t you let him in?

When you think about it, it comes down to the unknown. What happens after this honeymoon stage? Will you still feel the same? Will he still feel the same? What happens when he holds your hand, and it no longer feels like home?

And every night, you think, no, it doesn’t matter. No matter what your mind comes up with, it needs to happen, one way or the other. If anyone, you should know; in all your years of life, your comfort zone never led you well.

Now, when Inumaki takes your hand, you forget about playing naive. The words that leave your mouth feel more bold. Sometimes you laugh at the flush that casts across Inumaki’s face when he blinks at you in incredulation.

“I’m going to take the risk,” you tell your therapist the next time you see them. “I’m ready, now.”

+1

Inumaki meets you near the bookstore when you emerge, his hands stuck into his pockets as he approaches you curiously. Maybe you should have rethought this, because an Inumaki in street-style never fails to take your breath away. Sometimes it becomes so easy to envision him in just his classic Jujutsu uniform, and you forget that the boy before you can actually dress. And dress well.

“Hey.” When you look up to smile at him, it surprises you how easy the gesture comes. The number of times you envisioned this moment made millions of possibilities branch from this very interaction, but based on how he’s reacting, and based on how you feel, all your worries float away. Inumaki looks really nice today. Heat rises to your cheeks, and you clear your throat, hoping Inumaki won’t notice your fumble. “I wanted to tell you something.”

Inumaki nods. He says nothing, but his lip trembles slightly. He regards you with apprehension and shifts in his stance, weight alternating from one foot to the other. You want to reach forward and thumb the worry lines away from his forehead. You almost lose your will to confess in the way you imagined, because the urge to promise him that he won’t need to worry comes so suddenly.

Things come full-circle, don’t they?

You reach forward to take his hand.

Inumaki sucks in a breath. With such a cool, outwardly exterior, it surprises you to see his eyes fly open so wide. But, you’ve never held his hand first. His mouth opens and closes slightly as he tries to make sense of this.

Maybe he already figured out why you wanted to talk to him, by now.

Yet instead of grinning, he settles with gazing at you in anticipation. The hope in his eyes conceals itself poorly. Your chest aches to see how he tries to force casual indifference, while he clearly hangs onto every word that is about to leave your mouth.

His hand feels warm in yours. Safe. You trace a heart against his skin. Slow and deliberate. And then you do it again. And again. Little notes of affection blooming across his skin. “I like you,” you murmur. “I want to try. I want there to be an us.”

Inumaki’s face brightens. A smile spreads across his face as he gazes at you with a mixture of emotions that watercolor their way across his skin.

You squeeze his hand a little too hard. “And before you say anything,” you interrupt, “I’m serious. I’m not going to be scared anymore. I’m ready.”

Inumaki tugs on the hand that connects the two of you, and he pulls you into his arms. When he rests his head on your shoulder, you can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips in relief. Being here feels so easy. So warm.

He traces little hearts against your shoulder blades, and as you press your lips to his temple, (for real, this time), you think it’s been a long time since you’ve felt so sure.

At Peace | Akaashi Keiji

SYNOPSIS: You like taking naps on his lap.

READER: gender neutral

WORDS: 744

WRITTEN: 03/17/2021

You peered around the open door to Keiji's office. You stared at his back and thought about bothering him or not.

His back was facing you since his desk was in front of the window. He liked being able to pause and look out the window while he was writing articles from home.

He always left the door open for you because he knew you were a bit clingy. He didn't mind. He liked that you were clingy sometimes.

If he wasn't the type of person to accept and give affection, he wouldn't have spent all of high school with Bokuto.

You shuffled into his office. Keiji turned around in his chair, allowing you to climb onto his lap.

You wiggled around until you were comfortable. Your chest was pressed against his as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. You buried your face into the crook of his neck and closed your eyes.

He knew you well. A single glance at the clock would tell him if it was nap time or not. You always took naps around the same time each day.

He rolled his chair closer to his desk and continued to work on his laptop. It wasn't difficult for him to be your pillow and to work. All he needed was his hands anyway.

You eventually drifted off the sleep and he glanced at you before smiling softly. He leaned in and kissed your forehead, then turned back to his laptop to continue working.

It was always peaceful with you.

He enjoyed being able to write in the silence of his office. The only sounds were your soft breathing and the clacks of the keyboard. There was the occasional bird tweeting or children laughing down the street.

He preferred to work bit by bit each day instead of trying to finish a whole paper in one day. When he reached his goal for the day, he saved his progress and turned his laptop off.

He glanced at the clock before placing his hands on your back and kissing the top of your head.

"Y/N, it's time to wake up," he whispered.

He preferred to wake you up gently, then increase the volume of his voice if you didn't wake up.

Your soft snoring didn't cease, so he gently shook you while telling you to wake up. You softly groaned as you opened your eyes a smidge.

"Hi, sweetheart," he greeted.

"Hmm."

You rubbed your eyes and leaned back, blinking sleepily at him. He smiled, grabbed your face, and squished your cheeks together.

"Time to wake up," he said.

You mumbled incoherent words as he moved your head from side to side in an attempt to wake you up.

"I'll get started on dinner," he said as he placed his hands onto the back of your thighs and stood up.

You clung to him as he walked to the kitchen. When he tried to place you onto the chair, you refused to let him go.

"Time to let go, Y/N."

You whined, but let go of him. He kissed your forehead and opened the refrigerator to take out ingredients for dinner.

You watched him move around the kitchen and get started on dinner. He rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands while waiting for the pan to heat up and the pot of water to boil.

When you were sober enough, you shuffled toward the sink to wash your hands. Then, you stood next to him to help cut the vegetables.

He carefully handed you the knife, then got started on making a sauce for the vegetables.

The two of you had a routine. He'd get started on dinner, but you'd help him finish making it once you were awake enough.

"Keiji," you called out.

He looked down at you and chuckled when he saw your face. You were expecting a kiss, and he could tell.

He leaned in and kissed you on the lips, then grabbed the vegetables to sauté them. You smiled and moved to put the noodles in the boiling pot of water.

You set the dining table while waiting for the noodles to cook. Once they were ready, you drained the water and put them on two plates.

Keiji finished the sautéed vegetables and poured them over the noodles. The two of you sat across from each other and dug into the meal.

It was the small moments of domesticity with you that he enjoyed.

ᥫ᭡ ๑՞. note by note

pairing: akira kusuru (joker) x reader

listen to: rooftop piano v. - n.flying

akira knows only a couple of songs on the piano.

“wow, so when were you going to tell me about this?” you gasp in excitement, patting akira’s shoulders in curiosity as you watch his fingers glide across the white and black keys.

he giggles at your reaction, “oh, it’s just a little hobby.” and puts his fingers over a couple of graceful sounding keys that are the beginning to a song.

a “little hobby” was an understatement with what he could do with the instrument. even if it was only a couple of songs, he sounded like he mastered them to the fullest extent and it was quite captivating when he played.

his fingers eventually stumble on the keys out of nervousness and he stops playing, looking up with a shying smile, “and i’m not the best at it anyways.”

you give him a pout that makes your honesty apparent, “but you are the best, here play that song again.” you sit next to the empty spot on the velvet stool and place your hands over his in attempt to relax him.

“nervous?” you ask with a small giggle to lighten the anxious mood of the room and he chuckles in return. his cheeks become red from embarrassment and his terrible effort of trying to woo you.

your hands slip away from his and he starts playing the previous song again, but it sounded almost different; it sounded slow and full of love.

and the keys of the piano create this soft melody as you lay your head on his shoulder, letting the music floats through your ears. he couldn’t help but feel warm at your actions, and grin with blush covering his cheeks.

it’s as if the song came naturally to akira, even if he only knows a couple of songs.

note. akira + piano = love <3

😭♥️😭♥️

hey hey dino!! can i get headcanons of akaashi meeting his s/o for the first time at a bookshop and then how they confessed or got together afterwards? -🍙

wahhhh sorry for responding to this so late but i was thinking a lot about how to do this and i finally got what i want in my head. i hope you like this onigiri-anon !! i also really missed the second-hand bookstores near my campus so i mentally projected myself there. alsoo,, this ended up being a drabble ajgkla i just love bookstores so much (and akaashi)

Akaashi + meeting his s/o in a bookstore

akaashi loved his part-time job and he was proud to say it, especially with his own friends struggling with having to deal with customers in cafes or weird people in clothing stores. instead of those, he was in his ideal place which was essentially being surrounded by books. it was a small, bookstore that sold second-hand books for really great deals. the store would attract the occasional wanderer who’d thumb through the dusty shelves, sometimes buying one or two books, or just wandering back outside. his regulars though, the faces who akaashi would recognize, were often literature students who’d specifically inquire about titles they’d need for a class. that, and one other person who akaashi found himself inexplicably drawn to.

he couldn’t really tell what course you were taking, nor did he particularly think it was his business, but you came to the shop at a specific time every week: four o’ clock, every friday. you’d browse the shelves, paying special attention to the ‘recent arrivals’ collection and always walked out of the store with a handful of paperbacks. akaashi could tell from your purchases that you were a genre-jumping kind of reader, something that he admired. after a bit of time, he’d make small conversation with you at the counter while he wrapped up the books you ordered. sometimes he’d talk about a book you were buying that he read before or he’d ask about whether or not the one you got last week was any good.

“hmmm, this seems to be a mystery novel weekend for you,” akaashi hummed, smiling down at the stack of agatha cristie novels that you placed on the counter.

“i used to read these a lot when i was younger,” you shrugged a shoulder. “so it also doubles as a nostalgia trip.”

“i see,” akaashi let out a small chuckle as rang up your order. “that will be five dollars.” you rummaged around your pocket for change, dropping a few crumpled dollar bills and coins on the counter, only to come up fifty cents short.

“dang, i should have known not to buy that overpriced coffee earlier,” you laughed, going through the stack of books. “i guess i’ll take out this one...” 

akaashi only needed a split-second to think up what to do. “you know what? think of it as a discount,” he smiled, plucking the book out of your hand and re-adding it to the stack of books that he was about to wrap in brown paper.

“really?” you blinked at him in surprise.

“yeah. i mean, you’re a pretty regular customer,” akaashi said. “although, don’t tell that to the lit majors. i might go out of business if they knew,” he whispered, handing your books to you.

“i’ll keep that in mind,” you laughed.

“and by the way,” akaashi added quickly. “i know you mostly choose books here based on what interests you but, you can make some special requests if you want.”

“and... will they just magically appear in that secret storeroom behind you?” you raised your eyebrows at him.

“as much as i would like that, sadly they don’t ‘magically appear’. i have some connections.”

“so, a black market then,” you nodded your head. akaashi couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“yes, exactly that.”

“well, if it’s not too much trouble for your underground, second-hand book mafia, do you think you could find a copy of ‘station eleven?’” you asked.

“station eleven,” akaashi picked up a pen and wrote down the title.

“by emily st. john mandel,” you added. “i read the blurb at a bookstore but it was way out of budget.”

“i’ll see what i can do,” akaashi said confidently. 

his ‘black market second-hand books’ connections happened to be just an online website full of second-hand bookstore owners. most of the time, they’d talk about the best places to get books but everyone helped each other out. akaashi put up a post inquiring about a copy of ‘station eleven’ and got a response in less than an hour, and the actual book in less than two days. the hard part about that was akaashi ended up impatiently waiting for you to come by the bookstore again. and because of that, he ended up reading the book that you requested for. 

by the time you came again on friday, akaashi had long finished the book and had it waiting for you on the counter.

“no way! book mafia is real!” you grinned, holding the copy in your hands. 

“real, and always at your service,” akaashi bowed, feeling warmth bloom in his chest at the sight of your smile. “i hope you don’t mind that i read through it.”

“as long as you don’t give any spoilers,” you wagged a finger at him. “and besides, i’d do that if i were you.”

“i’ll just say that it’s a wonderful read and leave it at that. we also have some more stuff at the new releases collection.”

“ooh, yes please!” you smiled, rifling through the box beside the counter that akaashi had strategically repositioned. he watched as you tucked your hair behind both ears and rifled through the stacks, eyes scanning through titles and blurbs. he was staring before he even realized it.

“oh my gosh,” you gasped, breaking akaashi out of his reverie. “are these goosebumps books.” 

“you noticed,” akaashi smiled, joining you at the new releases box as you pulled goosebump book after goosebump book from it. “they sell these pretty cheaply since they’re essentially pulp fiction books for kids.”

“these were my childhood,” you laughed, reading out the titles. “’deep trouble,’ ‘deep trouble 2′, ‘vampire breath’.” you gasped again as you held up another book. “the curse of camp cold lake!”

akaashi laughed at your excitement. you shot him a pout. “what? i know they’re not esteemed literature but--”

“no, it’s not that,” he shook his head. “you see, i’m more of a ‘revenge of the living dummy’ kind of guy.”

“i haven’t read that one! it’s a trilogy, right?”

“you can start now,” akaashi handed you the three, slim paperback novels. 

“alright,” you nodded. back at the counter, you watched as akaashi carefully wrapped all your books with brown paper, tie it all to secure them together, before pressing a stamp on the edge. it was one of those things you loved about the bookstore, aside from the cheap books and the very cute storeowner. you always unwrapped your books as carefully and tenderly as how akaashi wrapped them.

“let me know what you think of them in a week,” he said, handing the package to you. you hugged your books to your chest.

“i’ll probably take less than a week to read all of these,” you said, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “i mean, they’re pretty slim novels.”

“oh,” akaashi blinked, getting the hint. “i’ll... hear your thoughts soon then?”

“soon,” you nodded brightly.

as the weeks continued, you and akaashi exchanged book recommendations, most often reminiscing about old, pulp fiction books you read as children. what started out as you coming in once a week turned into a few days a week, and then at least once a day in between your classes. akaashi loved the way you’d sometimes enter, seemingly in a rush, and immediately start talking about the book you just read or even just about your day. 

that was until one day, he realized that he was pretty much looking at the door and wishing for you to pop in instead of reading his book to pass the time. ‘if i could just close up shop today and talk to them, that would be great,’ he wondered, checking his watch again and finding that your class was a good hour away from ending. akaashi felt a rush of joy when he saw you come in. this time, he didn’t confine himself behind the counter while you browsed the shelves. the two of you took turns pulling books from shelves, reading out blurbs, and sharing recommendations. you liked how your conversation wasn’t just limited to what you were reading, but other things that happened in your day and during your classes.

akaashi wished that he could do this all the time. and then, he realized a way how.

on friday, you bought a little more books than usual for your weekend reading and came back again on monday to an expectant akaashi. “well, how was it?” he asked, quirking up a smile at you.

“amazing. i can’t believe it’s taken me this long to read it,” you grinned, your copy of ‘the giver’ by lois lowry still in hand. akaashi smiled at it, knowing that you probably ran over to the bookstore right after reading it.

“the fact that it’s been banned in several schools makes it all the more compelling to read,” akaashi added. even though he was talking, he felt as if he was still holding in a breath. he listened and nodded along, adding in his insights as you talked about the book, until finally, you brought up what he was waiting for.

“by the way, you know how most of the books here have all these doodles and writing on the pages?” you asked.

“yeah?” akaashi cocked his head.

“well, i saw this one on a page. it said ‘will you date me?’ i thought it was cute,” you smiled softly. “hopefully the person said yes.”

“that remains to be seen,” akaashi cleared his throat.

“hmm?” you looked at him, puzzled. akaashi took the book from you and opened it to the first page. there, on a corner of the page, was his name. your eyes widened at the sight as you quickly put two and two together.

“oh.”

“yeah...” akaashi pursed his lips as he watched you. you crinkled your nose and quirked a smile up at him.

“did the book mafia just ask me out?”

akaashi laughed and closed the book. “they just did. and they eagerly wait for your reply.”

“well, if the book mafia also likes watching movies,” you said nonchalantly.

“the book mafia loves stories in all mediums,” akaashi smiled down at you. “is this saturday alright?”

“this saturday sounds wonderful,” you agreed. 

taglist (still open to anyone who wants in): @montys-chaos​ @miyumtwins​ @strawberriimilkshake​ @pocubo​ @sugawara-sweetheart@akaashisbabydoll @laure-chan@therainroguefanfiction@atetiffdoesart@stephdaninja@oikaw-ugh @charliefredb @dramaqueenweeb1469@tremblinghearts @applepienation

MANJIRO SANO | LOVE IS ‘KIND’.

your link-a: manjiro sano (x reader)

cw etc: nsfw, minors dni. fingering but… he’s mentally ill and in love(?!) i’m so in love w mikey i be writing shit like stanzas man, pretty short

all about: mikey navigates what love is, and what you are.

Manjiro has heard that love is kind. It’s strong, and warm, and whole, and all his life he’s been sure love is the thing that would make him complete. So, he loved. He’d had a lot to spend, a lot to give, a lot to take, and he did. Mikey thinks, after a lot of careful calculation, that love makes everything worse. Or maybe it just makes him worse— maybe it’s this broken part of him that can’t stomach the way that love engulfs him whole and swallows him into nothingness.

Love is overwhelming, too. It takes over him and it always has. Manjiro never likes to lose, and with that he finds himself sickly whenever someone inches themselves near something he has. He’s possessive, overbearing and ill and he never knows how to fix it when it drips from his skin like sweat.

Love is too much and it topples out of him as your hands grip onto his shirt the way they are now. Love is horrible and it infects him through the timid saliva that you pass from your mouth to his. His chest tightens frantically under the steady of his skin, muscle and heart and all beating against his ribs that are covered in your name; his eyes shut and he sees you and it holds more clarity than anything his normal vision could, he finds you melted in the cracks in his skin, and Manjiro wonders if he hates love.

You’re needy and it’s taunting; he wonders, when you whimper around his tongue, if you’re making fun of him. Manjiro has always loved hard— harder than he ever figured out how to let on and harder than he knows how to feel at all, and even though he can never turn off the hope for a consistent reciprocal, he’s realistic.

“Wanted you for so long,” but his mind blurs whenever you speak, and he’s setting himself up for something rotten. “everything about you, Mikey.” and his realism shatters and, even if it’s momentary, it’s irreparable.

He feels sick. His hands are tingling, they’re asleep under your calming gaze, and they burn under the heat in your touch, and he lets them reach for your shirt, your skin, your being. Mikey is good at telling himself he’s done with love, but every time an inkling of it drops on his skin and it ferments until his body is painted with the idea that it wouldn’t be like last time and the need for whoever finds themselves in front of him.

Under everything, he’s a scared little boy. And he’s sure it’s so transparent, he’s sure he’s so obvious, but when he finds out it’s not it irritates him further. He feels abandoned, some how, when people don’t see what he’s not showing them. Yet, as your breath shakes when his fingers dip along the skin of your hips, he’s petrified you’ve seen through it— through him.

And now Mikey thinks he might need you. Maybe he does— maybe it’s more than he’s ever needed anyone— or maybe the feeling will fizzle the second he gets scared and he’ll realize it was nothing more than a weird week, or maybe it’s both. He shuts it out, though, as you mutter the words he’s thinking under him, and he doesn’t even know when he got over you.

He doesn’t know how long he’ll need you, but he listens to your synonymous request quietly, breath lifting his body higher than it should go as the pad of his thumb ventures against the slick of your cunt.

“‘Jiro, fuck,” the nickname falls from you like prayer, like you were meant to say it, like it’s the only word you’ve ever known, and he forces himself to take in the situation. Mikey lives a lot of his life hazy, especially the good parts, so he makes sure he takes this all in. He memorizes the squelch you make against him and how your oiled lips part because of him.

Manjiro has always hated his hands. He knows he shouldn’t show sympathy to something that’s caused so much distress, but he second guesses his dismay for them at the way your pussy flutters around his fingers, clamping down on his knuckles without any hesitation. Maybe, in some way, his skin isn’t broken and ruined and the bringer of bad because you like it. He could like them, too, he thinks, when you sob while they disappear into you over and over and over.

Manjiro doesn’t like love, and he doesn’t love it either.

“Oh my god, Mikey.” But he loves how you say his name right now— bubbles of white decorating his skin, proof that you like him in some way, that he’s good some how coating him. His repugnance for this feeling grows and shrinks simultaneously as you lose yourself on him and he loses himself with you.

His guard feels too low— there’s a repetitive tap in the back of his mind urging him he could do more against this, and he almost gives into it. He almost pulls away, he tempts the idea of leaving himself untouched and you incomplete, and he thinks he could ignore the ache in his cock and his sternum until he’s alone. It seems like a good plan, a smarter idea for the both of you, a safer decision for the worn mesh of himself, a genuine consideration for the delicacy of your care.

He can’t bring himself to it, though, and he’s sure somehow you’re keeping him there. It’s easier to say you’re making him stay locked in your body, connected with you.

Manjiro doesn’t think love is kind. He thinks it’s vicious, and loud, and he thinks it hurts.

“‘M gonna cum!” He thinks it’s cruel, and overbearing, and obsessive.

“Shit, Manjiro! I love you.” And he doesn’t think he’ll ever really be able to stop chasing it.

can u write for kazuha where he uhhh kisses u IDK LOL

— kiss me, kiss you ;

kaedehara kazuha (with gn!reader)

kazuha thinks of kissing you often. more than any normal person would, anyway.

꒰꒰ warnings ... kissing? ꒱꒱

The first time Kazuha thinks of kissing you is when the crew of the Crux is up drinking late at night, talking about the type of person they'd kiss. Most of them are drunk and barely coherent, and he hides a smile with his sake cup.

A crewmate turns to him and asks him in a drunken slur who he'd like to kiss and, though he’s about to say that he sees no one in that way, his eyes drift over to you, where you are talking with Captain Beidou at the bow of the ship.

Your smile sends his heart in a gallop and he quickly downs his sake before telling them that he's going to bed, to the loud complaints of the crewmates. Kazuha passes by you on the way and you send him a good night, to which he only nods and rushes off without looking at you.

When he's alone in his small cabin, he buries his face in his hands, wondering why he had wanted to pull you to him and kiss you stupid when he had passed by you a little while ago.

The second time is when you're out in Liyue with him. You'd convinced Beidou to let you take him out for a while and told her that since it was night, no one would even take a second glance. The captain had agreed but had told you that if Kazuha got caught by anyone, she would hang you upside down from the gangplank.

Your eyes sparkle as you take in the lively Liyue as people bustle about and voices call out to sell their wares. He smiles at your apparent excitement and startles when you pull on his arm as your run through the crowd.

Your laughter sounds sweet to his ears and he has the urge to create a haiku dedicated to just your laugh. He wants to kiss you to see your laugh melt away as you focus on him and only him and —

Oh, he was doing it again. He was thinking about kissing you again, and Kazuha isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do with these feelings that bubble to the surface whenever he’s with you.

The third time is when he watches you sing when you’ve had a little too much to drink. You’re normally so steady and now you’re swaying from side to side, hiccuping as you warble the song.

When Kazuha thinks that you look like you’re about to throw yourself off the anchored ship, he takes a hold of you by the waist and drags you to your cabin. You smile drunkenly and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up to nearly eye level with him.

Your breath smells like alcohol, he notes, and your normal full-mouthed smile is replaced with a sleepy smile. He has never seen you like this before but he admits that it is, in a way, cute.

He lays you down on your bed but you don’t have any intention of letting go of him. If anything, your arms grow tighter around his neck, which forces his face closer to yours.

He makes eye contact with you and he swears his heart is ready to jump right out of his chest. For all his poetic words, he has no idea what he should say.

He wants to kiss you bad enough that he’s ready to throw his inhibitions away and just do it, damn the consequences but —

He sighs, and gently pries your arms away from him and tucks you into your bed. You’re already half asleep when he stands up and walks to your door. But Kazuha doesn’t miss the quietly mumbled ‘thank you’ as he leaves your room.

Not long after that day, a skirmish with another pirate ship breaks out unexpectedly. He’s busy fighting off a few guys on his own that he doesn’t notice you fighting on the higher part of the Crux.

Your opponent backs you to the edge of the platform and your foot slips, leading to you falling right on your hand. Kazuha catches your string of curses as he finishes off his opponents and his eyes widen when he sees you fallen.

He runs over to you and helps you sit up, asking you if you’re alright. You nod but wince when you try to move your hand. More opponents flood in and attempt to attack you but one glare from him sends them scurrying off with their tails between their legs.

The battle ends in the Crux’s victory but Kazuha is too busy treating your hand to even let out a smile. He ties the bandage gently and you smile at him brightly when he’s done.

But he doesn’t let go of your hand, and you’re surprised. You call his name and without a warning, he pulls you closer to him by your waist and presses his lips to yours.

A gasp leaves your mouth but he’s insistent and holds you in the kiss for a few more moments before pulling away, covering the lower half of his face with his arm.

You touch your lips and you feel yourself getting warmer and warmer. You bury your face into your hands, feeling embarrassed and yet happy.

Little do you know that the entire crew of the Crux had been a spectator to Kazuha’s little show and had sighed in relief that the blond had finally gathered the courage to kiss you.

notes this is very very very um questionable? but i wanted to write this for u <3 this is kinda like 3 times he thinks of kissing u + the 1 time he actually does ? that's what came to mind when i saw this ask so yeah SDJSD i hope u like it bae !!

Hmmm with Albedo at 1 pm

[1 pm]: "and i'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways, maybe just the touch of a hand"

100 Followers Event Prompts + Masterlist

now playing: thinking out loud - ed sheeran

pairing: Albedo x gn!reader

genre: Fluff, soulmate!au, very light angst almost unnoticeable

a/n: I have such a huge urge to write a part 2, but I just don't know.

Word: Soulmate

Definition: A person who is perfectly suited to another in every single way. Someone you are predestined to be with.

Word: Homunculus

Definition: A life form that is artificially created by an alchemist.

Theory: Homunculi do not have soulmates.

A homunculus is not created by the hands of the gods, therefore it is a transgression to the natural order that Celestia has ordained. When faced with such an anomaly, the evidence of human hubris in thinking they can usurp the life-giving powers of the higher beings, who is to say that the gods will look favorably on that which should not exist?

Who is to say that this entity is deserving of a soulmate?

Albedo has no problem reconciliating himself with this theory, even while some of the people around him scramble eagerly around to find their destined one.

How equally fascinating and mind-boggling that a single touch of the hand is enough for one to recognize their soulmate.

While he can somewhat understand a human's need to seek out love and companionship, he himself does not despair over the fact that he may never have his one and only. He is very much content with the status of the relationships he has at the moment, and find no need to occupy his mind with other matters when there are questions about the world that needs explaining.

Until you came stumbling into his life, that is.

He was in the middle of sketching something that caught his attention when the serene silence is broken by a loud scream. He whip his head around to see you sprinting for your life towards him, the only thing coming out your mouth is a simple "Lawachurl!"

That is all it took for him to run after you and telling you he knows a place where you can hide. He leads you to the mouth of a cave where the two of you had your backs to the wall, hidden from sight. Only when the growling died down and the footsteps sounded far away did you breathe a sigh of relief.

"Hi," you offer a timid smile.

"Hi," he responds, noticing that he has never seen your face around Mondstadt before.

"Sorry for dragging you into this."

"No, it's all right. Dragonspine is a very unexpected place, after all." He also sees the way you shiver despite the layers of clothing you have on. "My camp is nearby, if you don't mind we can go there to get you warmed up."

It only took a warm bowl of soup and a roaring fire to get the both of you acquainted with one another. He found out that you're an adventurer drawn to the city of wind partly due to the tales of the mountains of everlasting winter that had enchanted you when you were little.

You, in turn, learn that he is an alchemist with a mind too curious and far too brilliant, whose body seem to not register the cold as much as a normal human should.

"And, what is your impression of Dragonspine thus far?" He asks as he takes the bowl away from you.

"It does look to be a place right out of a fairytale book, like the ones that tell of a princess made of snow and her castle made of crystal on the side of the mountain. But there's something oddly melancholic about this place, as if tragedies upon tragedies are buried here. Never to see the sun again."

Albedo sees you staring out at where the stark-white bones of a great beast lay, and he cannot help but agree with you.

So begins an eccentric routine of him occasionally spotting you in Dragonspine, him inviting you back to camp, him continuing to do his experiments while at times listening to you.

You have a way of telling stories, making them feel so alive and vibrant that he almost believed he was there experiencing what you experienced, seeing what you saw, sensing what you sensed.

"Why do you continue to come back to Dragonspine?" he questions one day as he observes the reaction of mixing Electro Crystals with Mist Flower Corollas.

"If no one has the mind to wonder and a will to discover despite the dangers and uncertainty of it all, nothing in the world will be known," you say simply.

He leaves it at that.

Albedo does not want to admit it, but he looks forward to your visits, revels in your presence in a way that is different from his other relationships.

A good different, he decides.

A kind of different that makes something inside him stir, makes him feel comfortable and at ease with you even when not a single word is exchanged between the two of you. Makes him feel like he can simply be himself around you.

For all of his brilliance, he cannot put a name to whatever it is you invoke in him. It feels foreign, alien, unknown. It feels almost human.

Albedo sets down whatever he is working on and turn over to look at you. You're taking a nap right after lunch, a picture of tranquility as your chest rises slowly up and down, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks.

A couple of hair strands fall onto your sleeping face, and suddenly he has the urge to brush them behind your ears.

If his theory is correct, then nothing would happen right? And he has his gloves on, so it should be fine, right? It's not like his heart is shaking and his throat feels like it's constricting as he slowly moves his hand closer to your face, something tugging at his heartstrings as his fingers lightly graze your strands.

He retracts his hand, unable to submit himself.

(Another part of his mind tells him that he is afraid).

Word: Coward

Definition: Who he is right now.

☾ the witching hour

☾ decision: kitchen

☾ warnings: f!reader, alcohol mention

☾ word count: 1.5k 

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