Tag: Anonymous

Hi! I just really wanted to say (because I haven’t before wow) that I am just so in love with your writing. It is just absolutely amazing, I can really see the story through your words and every time I see that you’ve posted something I just kind of jump a little. You’re so talented, and I love seeing your writing progress as you write more and more. That is really all I can say, though I hope it is enough. Thank you for continuing to write!

That is a wonderful compliment and message you have given me there. Thank you for that, and of course it is enough. Your excitement about my writing is so nice to hear! Have a great day. 

Can you write a fluffy iwaoi?? Please?? I cry every time i read your fics. They’re so lovely but so sad…

Drabble may contain traces of flowers, hair clips and braiding.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about cutting it off.” 

“What?” Hajime’s fingers still their gentle movement through Tooru’s hair, and he frowns without wanting to. They’re cuddling on Hajime’s bed, just another evening after exhausting training, and Tooru has his long limbs stretched across the blanket, rolled onto his side so he can read comfortably in his textbook. Hajime doesn’t like to admit it, but recently, he’s been hurrying to finish his homework before Tooru. 

Because now Hajime’s chest is pressed smoothly against Tooru’s back, one arm serving as a pillow for Tooru’s head, resting motionlessly underneath his neck – and Hajime carefully runs his fingers through the soft strands of Tooru’s hair. 

“Why would you cut it off?” The thought is a bit sad. Hajime closes his eyes and shifts, nuzzling Tooru’s neck where his pulse beats, the warmth and dark scent of his skin sparking a low hum in Hajime’s chest. “I like how long it is,” he says. “It feels nice.” He hesitates for a moment. Should he? Yeah. “It suits you.” 

Tooru’s chuckle echoes all the way into Hajime’s chest. The textbook’s pages rustle when Tooru shuts it and turns in Hajime’s embrace. “Is that so?” His eyes are crinkled around a smile, something sheepish glinting in his brown iris. “But it keeps getting in the way. It’s annoying.” 

Hajime answers much too fast. “I could braid it.” Goddamnit. He can’t keep his mouth shut around Tooru. Before his boyfriend can make another comment, Hajime scrambles to get off the bed and stomps towards the door. “Be right back! Sit upright and brush it, okay?” He doesn’t wait for Tooru’s reply. The bathroom is the kingdom of his two sisters, four and eighteen years old, and Hajime quickly finds what he’s been searching for. 

“You want to put that in my hair?” Tooru raises an elegantly curved brow at the items that Hajime spreads out on the bed before him, just moments after returning from the bathroom. Well, he has to admit, it may be a bit unsual for a boy. But Tooru’s doubtful glance shifts into something softer when Hajime kisses him. “Just let me, okay?” He whispers. And, a miracle, Tooru nods and turns.

His hair is so smooth, Hajime thinks as he tucks a few bobby pins between his teeth to have them ready. His fingers gently trace Tooru’s head, nails scratching over his scalp in a quick, calming massage. “Mhm, that’s nice,” Tooru says and his head tilts back a bit, shoulders relaxing. “Stay like that,” Hajime mumbles through his teeth and takes a deep breath. 

He takes his time with Tooru’s hair. The braid is easy, but Hajime tucks a silver and blue hairband into it as well, and puts a violet flower hair clip near Tooru’s ear, just above his temple. The small fake flowers are from his little sister, and Hajime’s picked the tiniest he could find, barely large than his thumb’s nail and perfect for Tooru’s hair. His fingertips gently work them into the valleys where the braid’s strands meet, the white colour almost innocent against Tooru’s brown hair. 

“Okay. I think I’m done. I can take the clips out if you don’t like them – “ Oh god, shit, he totally forgot that he was just supposed to braid and not decorate Tooru like some nature princess, “I can fix it, gimme a moment.” 

But Tooru’s up on his feet already and taking a hand mirror out of the nightstand. Hajime waits nervously as his boyfriend looks at himself in the mirror. Tooru’s fingers trace the braid, the flower above his ear. Then, he turns to Hajime and lifts his chin with one hand. “Thank you,” he whispers and kisses Hajime’s lips until they tingle. “Thank you so much.” 
“You’re welcome,” Hajime mumbles, and no, his cheeks aren’t red at all. 

Could you write some more daisuga with a protective Daichi?

“If you will excuse us, but the prince is needed elsewhere. Let go of him.”

Koushi feels the warm hand slide over his lower back before he even hears the dark voice by his side. The nobleman in front of him jolts when he sees the young guard appear by Koushi’s side, and his filthy hand jerks away from where it dared to touch the hem of Koushi’s sleeve. As always, the timing is perfect.

“My prince. Your father has asked for you.” The hand spreading on Koushi’s back is a low flare, fire trickling down his spine and curling around his heart, as if Daichi can light sparks on his skin and a smile on his lips with a mere touch. He can do much more than that, Koushi thinks and tilts his head at the nobleman who is still standing there, staring at both of them. 

“I should take my leave, then,” Koushi says. His voice is silk, soft and dangerous. “I must go see my father. Though I believe my faithful guard has a piece of advice for you. I would suggest you take it and never forget it.”

He turns around. Daichi’s hand is off his lower back as fast and quiet as a forbidden kiss. Koushi doesn’t hear what Daichi tells the man, but he can imagine the sharp gasp and widening eyes of a terrified nobleman shrinking into himself, stuttering and swearing to “n-never touch him again, yes, I understand, m-my apologies” because if Koushi’s personal guard is one thing, it is protective. There is more to Daichi, though, but if Koushi was to remember just how much this man means to him, what place in Koushi’s heart he has conquered with kindness and unbroken promises and his warm, rough hands, then Koushi would never find a way out of this unpleasant ball his father had invited half the kingdom to. 

The palace garden whispers wind and desert sand into Koushi’s skin when he sneaks out of the throne room. A world of quiet lies before him, and as Koushi passes through the blooming labyrinth of flowers and emerald-leaved trees, he sheds his golden slippers along the way. The grass snuggles against his feet as if it is welcoming him. His journey guides him towards the oldest tree, higher than any other plant his father brought from far-away countries to fill his only son’s heart with joy and laughter. 

Koushi knows the palace in blindness and dream, and his fingers find the indents along the bark with ease. He has just seated himself in the crown when soft footsteps approach. Koushi closes his eyes and leans back, smiling when the tree shivers below him as another weight climbs up its strong trunk. 

“My prince.” The kiss onto his mouth is tender, breath hotter than the desert’s wind stroking over his naked arms. Daichi’s scent is musk and sandelwood and the iron of the sword strapped against his hip, and Koushi reaches to touch his cheeks without opening his eyes. 

“I hope you did not scare the man too much. He barely touched me.” 

“But he tried to,” Daichi mumbles against his lips. His teeth touch Koushi’s mouth, and one sharp breath later, they close over his bottom lip and suck a dark, pulsing bruise into his skin. 

“Dai – oh. Mhm, ohh.” There is no chance for Koushi to speak because Daichi slowly lowers himself down onto him and presses a hard kiss against his neck, hand pulling down the collar of his golden-blue gown, teeth sinking into his skin. 

“Daichi.” The name is a wish, a plea on Koushi’s lips. 

“I will always protect you,” is the growled response into the vulnerable skin of his collarbone. And then, softer, a promise: “And if I have to be your secret forever, I will still be your shadow and shield and bring those down that wish you harm, my prince.”

pls let bokuto be happy!!!!! last fic was not ok, protect the owl child

“Are you going to break up with me?” 

“Huh?” Akaashi looks up from his lunch box. It’s nothing new that Bokuto get dejected on occasion, but this is – unexpected, to say the least. Bokuto squats down in front of him, head hanging low, dark eyelashes shadowing onto his cheeks. Akaashi reaches out and laces their fingers up. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, soft. This isn’t one of his boyfriend’s usual mood swings. Bokuto swallows hard, and Akaashi is shocked to find redness creeping around his eyes. Has he been crying? 

“You’ve been avoiding me for two days,” Bokuto says quietly. He still doesn’t look up. “Did I do something wrong? Don’t – don’t you like me anymore?”

Jesus Christ, he’s such an idiot. A cute one. Akaashi sighs and lets amusement curl his lips into a smile. “I still like you,” he says. “I do. But I was busy because I was working on something. I wanted to give it to you for your birthday in a week, but since you’re so sad, you’ll get it now, I suppose.” 

“Something for – “ Bokuto can’t finish his sentence. Akaashi has reached into his bag and pushes something against his chest. “What is tha – oh. Oh.”

It’s a black ankle sleeve. “Turn it around,” Akaashi says and buries his face into Bokuto’s shoulder. Why would he blush? Bokuto wonders, flipping the sleeve over, that’s really strange – but then he sees it. There is a small owl stitched into the fabric, white feathers spread and yellow eyes glinting mischievously. 

“That’s so – you did this for – I love you, oh god. You are so cute.” The thick lump inside Bokuto’s throat hasn’t vanished yet, but it’s warm and soft now and Akaashi’s smile against his shoulder lets shivers run down his spine. 

“Happy early birthday, I guess,” Akaashi whispers. “And don’t ever think I would break up with you. I like you too much for that.” 

That’s an even better present, Bokuto thinks and puts the owl-sleeve down to kiss Akaashi’s lips until none of them can breathe anymore. 

Could you write some fluffy drunk daisuga?

Sure. Have some warm gentle fluff. I have never written drunk people before.

“Do you ever think about turtles, Suga?” 

Suga did, in fact, not think about turtles very often. Not that he had anything against them. Turtles were cute. Lovely creatures, really. Suga didn’t have a personal problem with any turtle and had never started a fight with a tortoise (who were related to turtles, that much he could recall, and being mean to someone’s distant family members was never a good start for friendly relations). 

But the alcohol washing through his veins with a warm, soft hum didn’t allow any of his higher brain funtions to work properly, and that included any deeper rational senses as well as the possibility to wonder just why he and Daichi were lying in his sister’s hammock, staring at the stars above and talking about – well, turtles, apparently. 

 Daichi looked so cute when he was drunk, Suga thought and nuzzled his face into the neck of his best friend. The hammock was small (thank god) and Daichi was warm, so warm. Suga could listen to him forever, talking in that swaying voice, stumbling over words just a bit because fuck, they were so goddamn drunk. It had been a wild night at Nishinoya’s, and of course Daichi had insisted to walk him home. 

“Your cheeks get red when you drink,” Suga whispered into his neck and giggled. Daichi’s arm fit perfectly around him. He didn’t even feel cold, and Daichi smelt nice and why couldn’t they stay like this forever. “You’re cute. You’re so cute, Daichi. I want to marry you.”

Daichi nodded, very seriously. “Turtles, Suga. They’re just – they’re so important, you know?” 

Suga smiled at him and hiccuped, licking his lips. “’s there a star constellation for turtles? Is there one for you cause – cause you’re so cute, that they put you up ‘ere?” 

“I really, really think,” Daichi said and stared into the sky, “that a turtle carries the world on its back. Isn’t that nice? What a sweet turtle. I think if you were an animal, you’d be one. A very… small. Turtle, that is. A cute turtle.” 

Suga blinked. “You think I’m – I’m cute, too?” Warmth spread through his chest. The stars seemed to look brighter, white and endless and so breathtaking above his head. Daichi’s hand snuck into his neck. Suga looked up at him, felt Daichi’s forehead press against his own, a nose nuzzle against his. 

“Yeah,” Daichi mumbled. His eyes were falling shut, lips trembling. Suga could smell the chocolate liquor they’d drunk in his breath. “I think,” and a pair of soft, shy lips brushed against his own mouth, “you’re like, a turtle that carries me and the team, and you’d have a beautiful turtle forest on your back.”

Suga didn’t even know what that meant, but he still pulled Daichi into another kiss, mouths fitting together with a tiny sigh of their breaths. A kiss, another, and then warm fingers tracing Suga’s face, gently cradling him into sleep. 

Suga could still feel the kiss burn on his mouth when he woke the next morning, curled around his best friend in a hammock, the stars faded away above their heads.Â