“Kill prince Tooru. I don’t care how. Slit his throat, poison him. But don’t leave traces. You get the other half after you succeed.”

A pouch was slid over the table, the hand pushing it scarred and fat. A few gold coins spilled out of it, pouring over the tabletop. The assassin gently pushed all of the money back inside and stood. “He will be dead by morning.”

The hours until night went by swiftly. The assassin had been watching the palace closely, and as the last night inside the prince’s chambers died down, they moved to action. There had been rumours about guards patrolling around the castle – strangely, the assassin couldn’t find any, no matter how hard their eyes searched. Their senses were alert, burning, red with fire to kill. The trees before the prince’s chambers made it easy to swing over to the windowsill, and a sharp knife helped to open the lock. It was a wonder the prince was still alive.

They slipped inside, feet soundless on the soft carpet. The prince was sleeping unguarded, curled underneath soft blankets, his face innocent. He could barely be a man yet. The assassin didn’t hesitate. Their dagger glinted, and –

“You wouldn’t be the first to try that. Good evening, murderer.”

The pain came after the blood. A man had appeared besides the assassin, clothed in black and smiling softly. But his eyes gleamed raw and wild as the night’s sky, and his sword was quick. The dagger fell, and so did the young assassin’s hand. A horrifying scream rose in their throat, eyes widening, because what monster would be able to approach them unnoticed, who could be so powerful –

“Do you know why there are no guards, hm? There’s no need for them. If someone sends you here, they want you dead. It always works.”

A hand clasped over their mouth and made them choke on their own scream. The blood drowned in the carpet, droplets glistening red and soft in the moonlight. “Be quiet, you will wake him,” the gentle voice told them. The terrifying man had a hand over their jaw, crushing, and oh he’d kill them now –

“Mhm… Hajime?” A sleepy voice came from the bed, and the monster holding the assassin stilled. “Yes, my prince?”

“Another one?” – “I’m afraid so. I will take them out of the way.”
The assassin could see the prince blink drowsily, warm brown eyes blinking before something hard and cold flashed through them. “Go ahead. I don’t want to disturbed any further.”

And the monster, the man who had risen like a shadow besides the young assassin, smiled. “Of course, Tooru. I will get rid of any dirt that bothers you.”

“I can’t sleep.” – “Me neither. Wait, I have something.” Tooru reaches underneath their bed, pulling out a flat black cardboard box. Hajime shuffles closer and hugs him from behind, glancing over his shoulder as Tooru opens the lid. And within moments, a story of paper and ink unfolds before them. This is how they met.

“You kept all our post-its?”
“Yeah. Everything we ever wrote. Look, here’s – “

“H-a-j-i-m-e.” The first time Tooru wrote his name. The paper they used is mostly blank, back when they were in elementary school, no lines for long words yet.

Then, a bit later, pink pages out of Tooru’s old favourite notepad.
“Which girl do you think is the cutest?” Hajime’s handwriting was terrible back then, god.
“None. They’re all mean.”
“I told them to stop pulling your hair. I can tell them again.”
“Thank you, Haji.”
“No problem. You’re my best friend.”

The next batch of notes is younger, scrawled over pages from college blocks. Middle school, high school, tons of notes and stories and oh, they were so young.
“Gotta talk to you after training’s over later.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Well, I don’t know. Maybe I’m sick.”
“Shit, go see a doctor.”
“I – I just think I’m different. Strange.”
“That’s okay. How are you different?”
And then, the next day: “It’s called being gay. You’re not sick, Tooru. It’s okay.”

A long letter, crumpled up between the notes. “You will never read this, Hajime. I just had to get it out. Last night I cried like a stupid baby because I realized I could never kiss you. I’m sorry for loving you, god, I’m so, so sorry, I – “

Time flies through their notes, and the youngest pile of notes – yellow and filled with doodles from Tooru’s joyful fingers – has Hajime smile.
“We need some junk food & coke for tonight, can’t wait to watch the movie with you! ♥ Tooru”
“I don’t know when you’ll be home. Left food in the fridge for you. Hope you had a nice night. The girl you met in that bar, huh? She’s cute. Good luck.”

“When will you talk to me again?”
“This is childish.”
“The dorm doesn’t clean itself. I’m busy, can’t do it.”
“Please, talk to me. I don’t wanna keep putting sticky notes onto your door.”
“I didn’t go with the girl. I went to Kageyama’s.”
“Fuck. Fuck you. I hate you for making me do this. I love you, always have, always will. Talk to me.”
“Put an alien movie in.”
“I can make pizza. I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
“You’re an idiot. Pizza is great.”

Hajime leans in and kisses Tooru’s cheek. “Tomorrow, you can put another letter into the box, y’know.” And Tooru smiles, rubs away the tears shimmering in his eyes, before he closes the box and lies back down. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

The wedding vows still rest on their nightstands in the morning, two pure white envelopes catching the sunlight with their silver writing.
“Hajime.”
“Tooru.”

‘Kittenwhisper.’ – fic. kuroken.

Kenma Kozume / Tetsurou Kuroo.

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 3,397

Rating: General Audiences

Characters: Kenma Kozume, Tetsurou Kuroo, Lev Haiba, Morisuke Yaku

Tags: Confessions, Pining, First Kiss

Summary:

“Can you say it? Just once? Te-tsu-rou?” It would be so nice to hear his first name off Kenma’s lips. Maybe he’s an idiot for wishing that. But love makes people do the dumbest, bravest things, even risking a perfectly fine friendship.

‘Kittenwhisper.’ – fic. kuroken.

Morning’s Silver.

“Kuroo, your face is all stubbly. Didn’t you shave this morning?” Bokuto reaches out and rubs a finger along Kuroo’s jaw, nudging his cheek until Kuroo grunts. “Did you forget? You’re usually perfectly shaven.”

“I know. It’s just – “ How is he going to explain? “Kenma’s on a field trip for his biochemistry class, and – “

– his mornings are lonely now, but soon Kenma will return and wake him with warm, soft kisses again, a whisper against Kuroo’s throat, the tiniest lick against his mouth. “Wake up, Tetsu,” his kitten will mumble, and crawl out of the bed to make breakfast. They will eat in bed, because Kenma is a saint and Kuroo’s last unregretted sin, and he will feed his lover fruit and kiss coffee with cream and too much sugar from his sinful mouth.

And then Kuroo will undress and sit before the mirror on his desk, and Kenma gets the black leather case. The razor inside is silver, polished and sharpened to silent perfection. Kuroo leans his head back against Kenma, his hair touching his lover’s stomach, and Kenma stands still as he applies the white shaving foam to Kuroo’s jaw, neck, the calm line of his throat.

His eyes are closed when Kenma pulls the blade over his skin. It feels like nothing, barely a touch. Kuroo’s universe narrows down to the symphony of metal kissing his bare skin, and Kenma’s free hand tilts his head and turns his jaw, morphing Kuroo into the position he wants him in.

When the razor’s song of silence is over, Kenma will set it down and carefully take the balm to soothe Kuroo’s face with. His fingers dance, a choreography Kuroo will never get tired of feeling deep down to his bones as Kenma kisses his forehead and rubs the cooling balm over Kuroo’s soft neck. “All done,” Kenma would whisper then, and Kuroo would stand only then to turn and catch his mouth, to murmur “kitten” into his lips and –

“Kuroo?” Bokuto shakes his shoulder. “You alright there? We gotta go.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo says and touches his jaw. It’s three days until Kenma returns. “Let’s go.”

“If my father ever catches you in this position, we will both be – oh. Ohh.”

Hajime presses his slick mouth against the soft inside of Tooru’s shivering thigh and glances up at him. “I will be dead, you will be disinherited. I know. I do not care.”

Before Tooru can say anything else, Hajime hooks one of his legs over his shoulder and brushes his wet-shining lips against the heat between Tooru’s gorgeous legs. It is a wish come true to watch his lover collapse, hips arching in a bow of pale skin and milky traces from the long hour before where Hajime has made him come. Tooru is taking his breath away, burning his skin off with every touch, and when his long elegant fingers tangle in Hajime’s hair, he can feel Tooru tremble hard and uncontrolled, desperate for more.

Hajime kisses the sharp edge of Tooru’s hips, eyes dark and hungry. “But as long as you let me, I will still return, despite the risk,” he says, low and hot words whispered into the hitching skin of Tooru’s heaving stomach. “I want you,” is what Tooru moans back, before his head falls into a long beautiful column of purple-blue bitten skin when Hajime pushes down to devour him once more.

“Good,” he mumbles before his tongue takes Tooru apart, makes him crumble and scream and sob Hajime’s name into the hand he presses over his mouth. The other curls into the silken bed sheets, and his gown falls open over the crown prince’s naked chest when Hajime kisses him moments later and melts their bodies together with a growl, a careful thrust – and Tooru’s nails leave the best kind of pain on his back that he has ever felt.

Because Tooru is the heir to the crown, and what he takes, he takes to the fullest until it belongs to him with bone and soul.

The storm inside his head begins to rise in the last minutes of class.

Kenma stares down at his notes, at the pen in his fingers that has stopped writing. The professor says something. He doesn’t hear it. There is thunder in his ears, lightning curling into a monster’s white teeth behind his eyes. He’s had eight hours of class. Home, home, he needs to go home.

There are too many people, the world roars around him, too much and loud and everything screams, bright and sharp and no, no, he packs his things and the class is over and he runs. Words fly around him, he runs, the dorm, please –

When the door slams shut behind him, silence comes down like a wave of pure white. His dorm is quiet. Tetsurou’s on the couch, stretched out like a lazy cat with its belly turned to the sun, a book in one hand and the other behind his head. He looks over the rim of his glasses when Kenma drops his bag.

“Bad day?” He asks, soft. Kenma takes a step. It’s hard. He has no energy. Everything is quiet, and that’s good. Tetsurou puts the book away and opens his arms. “Cuddling? Alone-time? Should I – “

Kenma doesn’t know how he’s doing it, but he flings himself onto the couch and into the warm hug of his boyfriend. “There you are,” a gentle whisper into his hair, Tetsurou’s hands sliding carefully to rest on his ribs, the small of his back. “I’m here. It’s okay. What do you need?”

He can’t speak. “Okay then. You’re safe.” His body keeps trembling. Tetsurou doesn’t press, doesn’t ask again. But when Kenma reaches to touch his mouth, a shivering finger tracing his lips, Tetsurou tilts his head down. “Want a kiss?”

Kenma finds that he can still nod. And Tetsurou rests a warm hand in his neck, thumb caressing the pulse of blood at its side, and gives him a kiss.

He doesn’t know when he’s fallen asleep after that. But when he blinks, it’s dark outside, and Tetsurou’s back to reading his book. He smiles at Kenma when he sneaks his mouth to nuzzle it against Tetsurou’s jaw.

“Dinner?” – “Yes,” Kenma says, and smiles a tiny bit. “Yes, I’d like that.”

how about some post-first time fluff (like cuddles in bed and talking totally fluffy and innocent)? Would that be okay? Iwaoi ❤❤❤ I love u senpai

The rain hasn’t stopped when he drifts back into consciousness. Tooru doesn’t open his eyes. A dark symphony of thunder growls outside, raindrops dancing onto the window in a calming rhythm, and the warm arm slung over Tooru’s stomach is heavy and sweaty. Hajime doesn’t move. His breath flows softly over the sleep-drowsy skin of Tooru’s neck, Hajime having pushed his face into there when hugging him after last night and not letting go of him again.

Tooru turns his head towards the ocean of breath curling against his pulse, and blinks. Even in the dim light of the street lantern from outside, even through the raging storm clouds and white lightning, Tooru still recognises the relaxed silhouette of Hajime’s face. His jaw rests against Tooru’s shoulder, a heavy hand spread onto his waist as if he’s holding Tooru safe, protecting him even in sleep.

“Good morning.” Tooru whispers the words so quiet that they’re barely alive.

“Mhmm.” Hajime doesn’t move, but his lips twitch for a second. Then, he presses the softest kiss onto Tooru’s neck. Oh. Memories of last drift back to him. Oh, he remembers, the touches and the pure heat, a blunt press into his body, and the wild shivers wrecking him with little gasps and moans, and through it all there had been Hajime, kissing and cradling and being with him –

“Hey, uhm. I didn’t…” Hajime’s breath stills, then he exhales. “…hurt you or anything, yesterday, right? I – you gotta be sore, shit, I should have – “

“God, shut up,” Tooru mumbles back, and it comes out much more loving than he’d intended. It’s ridiculous and heartbreaking and terrifying how much he loves this man. “You were – “ He swallows. Hajime’s looking at him, gentle fingers tracing Tooru’s lips. An encouragement. “I was what?”

“You were everything I wanted, okay, are you happy now? I bet you’re so smug that you got me to admit that, that you made me say you were – “

But Hajime just kisses him, long and breathless. Tooru forgets what he wanted to say and rolls onto his side, Hajime’s hand sliding from his waist to his hip, thumbing tenderly across his warm skin. Their mouths fit together, warm, soft, perfect. “It was the same for me,” Hajime finally whispers into the holy space between their lips. His nose brushes Tooru’s, and his dark eyes are shining bright and god, how can you love someone so much?

And then, Tooru sighs, and gives in to the urge of curling into Hajime’s arms and bathing in the warmth of his scent. “I’m glad it was with you.”

“I hope it’ll never be with anyone else again. For – for both of us.”

Tooru smiles. He kisses Hajime’s chin from below, and finds a comfortable position against his chest, one where he can feel his heartbeat in his own bones. “I think… I want that, too.”

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.