hi guys! i know i've been m.i.a for a while and just thought i'd give an official goodbye post! for the last year or so, college has really taken a toll on me and i do not have the same motivation for writing as i did when i first started my account. i still love it, but writing on tumblr has become very stressful for me especially with the negativity that i've personally received and that i've seen other receiving as well. that's not the community i joined and it is not one i see myself staying in. hopefully i will begin to write again in the future, but just not under this account. i am keeping my account up in case there's people out there who like my work and would like to go back to it! c:
i'm very grateful for all of my followers and my mutuals and people who have supported me on my time on here. i love you all so much !! 🫶
p.s if you'd like my personal tumblr pls message me!
The world comes back to you in fragments: the scent of old paper, the hum of the library’s ventilation, and a soft, rhythmic tapping against the wooden table.
"You’re going to wake up with a very sore neck if you stay like that."
The voice is a gentle anchor. You lift your head from the crook of your arm, blinking away the blurred lines of your Literature notes. Standing over you is Akaashi, looking remarkably composed for someone who has also been awake for twenty hours. Without a word, he slides a chilled can of coffee toward you.
You recognise the label immediately—it’s the specific, slightly-too-sweet brand you only buy when you’re stressed. Your heart gives a traitorous little flicker. It’s the way he does it, without fanfare, without being asked. He remembers the flavor. He remembers how you scrunch your nose at the bitter notes of black coffee. He remembers that you prefer this specific corner of the third floor because the sunlight doesn't hit the screen of your laptop.
"Drink it," he murmurs, sitting back down across from you. "We still have thirty pages of 'The Tale of Genji to get through before dawn."
As you pull the tab on the can, the sound echoing in the silent library, you find yourself staring at him through the steam of his own tea. It’s always been like this. He walks you home because he knows you hate the dark. He orders for you when you’re too tired to speak. He is a master of the small, quiet details of your life.
One might think it means everything. But you know better.
The memory of meeting him feels like a scene from one of the novels you study—linear, inevitable, and clear.
You had been five minutes late on the first day of freshman year, breathless and lost in the sprawling labyrinth of the Humanities building. The only seat left was in the very front row. You had slumped into the chair, face burning with embarrassment, only to realise the person beside you was watching.
He wore glasses then—thin frames that made his sharp, intelligent eyes look even deeper. He didn't scoff at your tardiness. He simply offered a polite, measured nod and a small smile that felt like a quiet "it’s okay."
What a good-looking man, you had thought, your own nerves settling instantly.
A week later, you had gathered the courage to ask for the notes you’d missed in those first few minutes. He had handed over a notebook filled with the most meticulous, beautiful handwriting you had ever seen. Numbers were exchanged. Study sessions became dinners. Dinners became a life lived in tandem. You became the duo that was never separated, the two halves of a single academic soul.
"People asked about us again today," you say quietly, the coffee warming your palms.
Akaashi doesn't look up from his book, though his pen pauses for a fraction of a second. "Oh? What did they ask?"
"If we were... you know. Together."
You keep your voice light, a practiced mask of indifference. You’ve learned to deny it with a smile, to laugh off the suggestions of romantic feelings. You do it because you’ve seen him with others. You’ve seen him hold the door for a stranger with that same focused politeness. You’ve seen him remember a classmate's birthday or offer his coat to a girl in his seminar who was shivering.
He isn't being special for you. He is just too kind, too gentle for a world that expects everyone to be selfish. His care is a universal language, and you are simply the person who has been listening to it the longest.
Even his "weirdness" is something you’ve come to treasure. You think back to the night of your midterms last year, the only time you ever saw the unflappable Akaashi Keiji crumble. He had been so overwhelmed, so frustrated by a concept he couldn't grasp, that he had let out a sudden, sharp scream of pure exasperation right in the middle of the quiet zone.
The librarian had chased you both out into the cool night air. You had spent the rest of the evening sitting on a hard stone bench under a dim streetlamp, studying by the light of your phones because he couldn't stop pacing or talking long enough to go back inside. Even then, in his chaos, he was attractive. Even then, he was the only person you wanted to be with.
"And what did you tell them?" Akaashi asks now, finally looking up. His gaze is clear, honest, and entirely devoid of the hidden longing that currently burns in your own chest.
"I told them we’re just friends," you say, taking a sip of the sweet coffee.
"Good," he replies, turning back to his page. "That’s the most logical answer. Now, let’s get back to work."
You nod, looking down at your notes so he won't see the way your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes. He is the editor of your life—polishing the edges, fixing the errors—but he is a story you aren't allowed to write yourself into.
———-
The silence of the library is replaced by the muffled crunch of fresh snow beneath your boots. The final exam—the one you’ve spent weeks preparing for with Akaashi by your side—is over. You had promised yourself that once the pens were down, you would say it. You would take the risk. You would stop being the editor of your own feelings and finally let the truth be published.
But now that you’re standing in the courtyard, the cold air biting at your lungs, the words feel like lead. It feels too nice, too safe, to be his "best friend." Why ruin the coffee runs? Why ruin the walks home?
Then, you look at him.
Akaashi is standing just a few feet away, the golden hour of the winter sun catching the edges of his dark hair. A stray flake of snow lands on his eyelashes, and he blinks it away with a quiet, peaceful exhale. He looks so breathtakingly beautiful—a masterpiece of calm in a chaotic world—that the confession bubbles up in your throat, bypassing your logic entirely. You don't want to say it, but you have to. You can’t hold the weight of it for another second.
Your lips part. His name is a ghost of a breath on your tongue. "Akaashi, I—"
"Akaashi!"
The voice cuts through the winter chill like a silver bell. It’s melodic, bright, and filled with a familiarity that makes your blood run cold.
You both turn your heads. A girl is running across the white expanse of the quad, her coat flapping behind her like wings. She’s stunning, the kind of beauty that seems to glow from within. Before you can even process who she is, she leaps, throwing her arms around Akaashi’s neck in a tight, breathless hug.
Your breath hitches, but it’s not the cold. It’s the sight of Akaashi’s face.
You have known him for years. You have seen him win, lose, and scream in frustration. But you have never seen him look this happy. His usual composure shatters into a radiant, ear-to-ear smile that reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners in a way he never does for anyone else. He wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her slightly as he hugs her back with a desperate, joyful intensity.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice thick with a warmth you’ve only ever dreamed of hearing.
The girl pulls back just enough to beam at him, her hands still resting on his shoulders. "Kotarou said you were finished with your finals! He told me you'd be exhausted, so I came to help you let out all that stress."
The mention of Bokuto Kotarou—the man who was the sun to Akaashi’s moon in high school—makes the pieces click into place. This isn't just a friend. This is someone who exists in the inner circle you’ve spent three years trying to reach.
Akaashi finally remembers you’re there. He turns, his hand still possessively tucked around the girl’s waist, that dazzling, painful smile still fixed on his face.
"Oh, let me introduce you," he says, his voice lighter than you’ve ever heard it.
You stand there, frozen in the snow, the confession you almost uttered dying a quiet, bitter death in your throat. You realise then that the "logical" answer he gave in the library wasn't a challenge—it was the truth. You realise in that crystalline moment that you were never the protagonist of his story; you were the editor, meticulously refining his days so he could be ready for a climax that didn't include you. You were the footnotes, the steady rhythm of the background, while she was the poetry.
As they turn to walk away, their laughter weaving a bright, golden thread through the gray afternoon, you stay behind. The snow begins to fall again, filling in the footprints they left behind, slowly erasing the evidence that you ever stood beside him at all. You are left with nothing but the taste of cold coffee and the quiet, heavy realisation that some stories are beautiful precisely because they are never meant to be yours.
————————————
Sorry guys, I was busy with my internship and got tons of stuff to do at work😵💫. Got two more in my draft and will post it later when I have some time.
this account is stealing and reuploading works without permission and without credits. please go through the account to see if they reuploaded your works as well and report the account! ty @thetjtales for tagging me to let me know !! :p
there is an account under the name of jujutsukaisen07 stealing the works of other accounts please check to see if your work has been stolen and REPORT!!!
content/warnings: detailed suicidal thoughts, self-harm, suicide attempts, murder, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, set in early 2000s in japan, super short series with longish chapters.
SUMMARY: amidst his long, on-going battle of depression, tsukishima meets a girl.
when osamu casually turned to you yesterday and invited you to swing by the store for a new year’s eve party, you figured it was out of pity.
because he knows your shitty boyfriend broke up with you two weeks ago. and he knows you only moved here for university, most of your family and friends are all hours away back at home.
he knows because you’ve been working for him at onigiri miya for just over eight months now (longer than said shitty boyfriend’s tenure if your life), and he’s somehow become your closest friend around here along the way.
well, as much of a friend as you can consider your boss—who’s truthfully only a couple of years older than you.
but now it’s 11:57 PM, and the inside of the closed store is lit by the glow of string lights as music plays through someone’s bluetooth speaker. msby players and various other people in osamu’s life that you’ve come to know in the months since you started working here are mingling and laughing and drinking and dancing.
and admittedly, it feels nice. even if it was a pity invite because osamu knew you were going to spend the night home alone at your apartment otherwise.
even if it’s a little too much seeing osamu like this, with hat hair-turned-finger mussed locks, with his full lips tilted upward in an easy grin that leaves your stomach in knots. because you have no reason not to admit it to yourself now—how handsome you find him. how pretty his eyes are. what the warm rasp of his voice does to you.
how much you enjoy his company. how your fingers sometimes itch with the urge to card through his messy hair when he lifts it to adjust his hat. how you—
“i hope ya know i invited you because i wanted ya here,” osamu’s voice suddenly interrupts your thoughts, his shoulder brushing yours as he comes to stand beside you.
you turn to face him, heart ricocheting against the confines of your ribcage at the expression on his face—one that feels almost fond.
“you have too much sympathy for strays, osamu,” you chide, throat going tight.
osamu shakes his head before taking the cup you’re holding and placing it on a table. “you belong here.”
partygoers start excitedly counting down from ten, though it’s mostly drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in your ears at you meet osamu’s gaze.
“would it be okay if i kiss ya now?” he asks softly.
the question is punctuated by cheers and laughter and a symphony of party poppers exploding.
it’s gentle, the way he cups your face. the brush of his nose along your cheek, the tickle of his hair against your skin.
it’s gentle, but in this moment, you don’t feel fragile anymore. not with the warmth that floods through you as osamu’s lips slot against yours.
hiii anon!! omg no its not i've just been struggling lately with writing for myself 💔 trust me chapter 12 will be coming it just might take a while !!! i still love this story and i do plan on finishing it
snow crunched under your boots, the sound syncing with your steps. silence engulfed you and akaashi, save for the comforting crackle of the snow beneath. it’s quiet, peaceful even, as soft, soft flakes drifted in the air, floating as if taken straight from a fairy tale. snow littered the tops of trees, coating them with a sugary glaze as icicles hung over your heads. the wind and cold that pierced your face and tickled your ears threatened to ruin this moment, but you only buried your face deeper into your scarf, held his hand tighter as he held you the same way, warmth engulfing the two of you.
you looked around, the sky dark, clouds grey, as if merging with the snow on the land. yes, it was monotone. the world, devoid of color as it's blanketed with white glittery snow, turned gray from its age. however, it was the least of your concerns, as you had the man that painted your world in vivid hues and shapes right beside you. the black of his hair was dotted with snow like the night sky speckled with stars. the red flush on his cheek, warmth on his skin battling the frigid air. dark blue-green eyes that stared into your own, holding you in his world, pupils dilating as if he couldn’t get enough of just you.
the two of you walked along the icy path, breaths fogging up and drifting away with the snowflakes. a streetlight glowed yellow, providing the illusion of warmth and illumuniating the scenery around you, golden light bathing akaashi and the snow around him.
a wordless moment, but that was because the warmth and the love were all something that couldn’t be put into words. sometimes, mere letters couldn’t describe all those teasing details. the love that poured out of his mouth like the coffee he poured for you every morning. his hand on yours, like a strong anchor for your floating feelings. his kiss, coating you with affection like a soapy bubble bath.
you took a deep, slow breath. in the quiet expanse of the gray sky, you leaned into him, and he leaned into you.
it was a cold, wintery, night. but you felt oh, so warm.
a/n: happy birthday akaashi i love him the little baby the little cutie the little everything. was originally not going to write but then i stepped outside and it was SO SO SO PRETTY OUTSIDE. like. this fic basically described what i saw. i guess it was akaashi's birthday charm that bestowed this on me 🥹
posting this right before i go watch jjk movie i'm so excited i'm trembling
m.list // hq m.list // dividers by @saradika-graphics
the night akaashi plans on proposing to you, he entrusts bokuto to look after your two-year-old son. what could go wrong?
a/n: these are the same characters from my previous fic, pregnancy test!
"Thank you so much for this," you gushed, sliding your two-year-old son from your hip and into Bokuto's arms. "Between grad school and writing deadlines, Keiji and I have had barely any time for a date night. You sure you've got everything you need?"
“I — besides the fifty-page manual you wrote for me?” Bokuto stammered. He blinked at the one-inch binder you’d smacked onto the coffee table beside Kaito’s pajamas, eczema-friendly toiletries, and nutritional snacks. “I think I’ll be okay!”
Meanwhile, Kaito buried his tiny face into his uncle’s shoulder, determined to continue his nap from the car.
"See?" the wing spiker beamed, heart aching in affection. "He's already right at home!"
"Bokuto will be fine," Akaashi reassured you, walking through the foyer of the house with his son's sleeping bag slung over a shoulder. "He looks after his nieces all the time, right?"
"I do! And trust me, they're a lot more menacing than this little guy," Bokuto promised. "The corners of this house are already toddler-proofed and ready to go. I practically run a babysitting business at this point."
"Oh, I have no doubt you'll be just fine. It's me I should be worried about," you confessed. "I just have a hard time turning off my mom brain, you know?"
"I get it," Bokuto said, rocking your son back and forth. "I mean, I don't, obviously — I've never given birth. But you deserve a night off!"
"He's right. You do," Akaashi agreed. He set the sleeping bag down, wrapped an arm around your waist, and pressed a kiss to your temple. "Besides, I'd hate for you to be distracted on our date night. I made an itinerary for it and everything."
"I do love a good itinerary," you admitted, leaning into Akaashi's side.
It'd been a long time since the two of you had dressed up like this — you in a red dress and heels, Akaashi in slacks and a dapper sports coat. The past two years had felt like a marathon of diapers, burp cloths, and Hooked on Phonics, and while the two of you adored parenthood and all of its challenges, you felt strangely giddy at the idea of an uninterrupted night to yourselves.
"Alright, let me grab Kaito's book bag from the car, and then we can go," you promised, swiveling on your heel and walking back out the front door.
Once you were out of earshot, Bokuto released a heavy sigh of relief.
"You gotta get her out of here," Bokuto warned his best friend, tucking Kaito into the sleeping bag they'd rolled out onto the couch. "I feel like my eyes are giving it away."
"I'm surprised she hasn't caught on already," Akaashi grumbled, aggressively wiping his sweaty palms against his pants. "My hands feel like Niagara Falls."
"Can I see the ring again?"
Shooting a wary look towards the front door, Akaashi fished for the velvet ring box in the pocket of his sports coat and popped it open.
“Dude,” Bokuto said with a low whistle, a helpless grin tugging at his face. “She’s gonna love it.”
“You think so?”
“She’d love anything you gave her! But this…” He shook his head at the princess cut diamond, the timeless gold band Akaashi had spent hours picking out. “…this looks straight out of Bridgerton. And no one says no to a proposal on that show."
“I'll take your word for it,” Akaashi chuckled, snapping the box closed and securing it back inside his coat. “The plan is three-fold: we go to dinner. We walk over to the book store where we had our first date. I try not to cry during my speech.”
“Something tells me you’re gonna have a hard time with that last one.”
“I know,” Akaashi admitted, reaching for the tear-stained notebook paper he’d stashed inside his other pocket. “I can’t even read my own handwriting at this point. It’s all just incoherent blobs.”
“Well, you’ve always been great with words, so I’m sure you’ll be fine just saying it from the heart.”
“Saying what from the heart?” you asked.
Akaashi smushed his notes into a fist as you walked back inside the house, Kaito’s turtle-themed book bag in tow. You blinked back at their guilty expressions and frowned in suspicion.
"...m-my presentation for my Critical Reading class," Akaashi fibbed.
Bokuto nodded like his life depended on it. "Kaito peed all over it."
"What? You didn't tell me that, babe." The book bag hit the polished floors with a defeated thud. "We should really start laminating your note cards. Remind me to buy more sheets when we get home.”
Bokuto didn't know what impressed him more: the fact that you owned a laminator machine, or that Akaashi was able to lie to you without bursting into flames. Either way, he refused to let either of you spend another minute in his house as he hugged you both goodbye and ushered you out the front door. Only as your car began backing out the driveway did Bokuto feel a small hand tug at the hem of his sweatshirt.
"Bo-chan," Kaito mumbled — dark hair tousled, blue eyes blinking up at him sleepily. He lifted the box of banana milk you'd left for him on the coffee table. "May I share nana milk with you?"
Your toddler might as well have asked Bokuto to be the best man at his future wedding. He bent down to meet Kaito's eye and gave him an earnest look.
"It would be my honor, little dude.”
Now, Bokuto wasn't used to looking after such a polite, mild-mannered child. When his older sister would drop off her two daughters, he'd normally spend the entire evening on high-alert — calming one down after an ear-splitting cry sesh, asking the other to please stop dangling off his bicep like that. His nieces were so loud and emotionally volatile, it made Kaito seem like an angel by comparison.
He was calm. Easy.
So easy, they ran out of things do.
The professional athlete did everything he could to entertain your child for the next hour. He'd split with him two boxes of nana milk. He'd tossed him a few volleyballs in the backyard — though Kaito looked about as interested in the sport as Bokuto did quantum physics. ("Eh, we've got years to get you excited about it.") He'd even read aloud all the picture books Akaashi had packed, though he didn’t expect to cry so hard at Robert Munsch’s Love You Forever.
“There, there, Bo-chan,” Kaito said, gingerly patting down Bokuto’s hair with a chubby hand. “It’s okay.”
“It’s really not,” Bokuto sniffled, inspecting the back of the book like he did nutrition labels at the supermarket. “They wrote this for children?”
That had been fifteen minutes ago. Since then, the two had resorted to lying down on the living room carpet. Eyes fixed on the ceiling fan. Limbs splayed out like starfish. Meanwhile, Bokuto was convinced you had given birth to an old man. What happened to the terrible twos? Did they completely skip over your child?
"Kaito?" Bokuto asked, turning towards the toddler with a distraught crease between his brows. "I'm afraid I've failed you."
"Oh?"
Bokuto nodded solemnly. "I think we are officially bored."
"Oh." Kaito said, blinking towards the ceiling. As if he were perfectly content watching the fan rotate for hours on end. "Should we see mama and dada?"
"I wish. They're probably too busy reciting poetry to each other," Bokuto scoffed. The lightbulb flickered to life inside his brain almost immediately. "Unless..."
He reached for the phone in the back pocket of his sweats and checked your shared location. To his surprise, the two of you were still at the restaurant down the street from the book store.
The same place Akaashi was planning to propose to you in a matter of minutes.
He rose from the carpet, pressed a quick kiss to the toddler's dark mop of hair, and went to locate their coats and shoes.
"Do you think they're doing okay?" you asked, licking the remnants of strawberry ice cream off your spoon.
The warm lights of the nearby restaurants and shops painted your worried expression as you and Akaashi walked towards the book store for a little post-dinner shopping, the meal you'd just shared still settling into your bellies. Beside you, Akaashi hummed into the scoop you'd picked up along the way and pinched his brow in thought.
"Honestly? I think Kaito is taking care of Bokuto at this point," he said around a spoonful. "The kid is, like, incredibly nonchalant."
"I know," you chuckled, the familiar sign of the book store coming into view. "We got really lucky with him, didn't we?"
"We did," Akaashi admitted. He offered you the last of the ice cream, tossed the cup into a nearby bin, and gestured towards the storefront. "Shall we?"
The small, two-story book store carried a memoir's worth of memories for you and Akaashi. It was where you'd had your first date senior year of college — where you studied, wrote, and edited manuscripts until closing. It was where you'd held your first launch party upon becoming an author and where you'd first taught Kaito how to read.
This place had seen you grow up, you realized as the door jingled open. It had seen you build a relationship, a career. A family.
The floorboards creaked beneath your shoes as you meticulously scanned each aisle, the smell of paper, ink, and weathered wood soothing your previous worries. It didn't escape you, though, that Akaashi had become increasingly quiet the longer you shopped.
"Everything okay?" you asked him once you'd reached the magical realism section of the store. At his uneasy expression, you immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion.
"Oh my god," you said. "I forgot to bring your Lactaid, didn't I? I knew I was forgetting something when I left the house tonight — !"
"Sweetheart, relax. It isn't that," Akaashi reassured you with a chuckle, although his stomach was performing somersaults at the moment. He took a deep breath, wiped his hands on his pants, and slid a paperback off of the shelf. "Do you remember this book?"
Your eyes flicked towards the textured cover with fond amusement. "The Paper Menagerie by Ken Liu. How could I forget?"
Akaashi nodded. "We bought two copies, sat in this very corner, and read in complete silence for two hours."
You snorted. "Easily the best first date of my life."
"...mine too," Akaashi told you in earnest, sliding the book back onto the shelf. Ignoring the way his heart hammered behind his rib cage.
You can do this. Just speak from the heart.
"I'm obviously not a clairvoyant person," he began, pushing past the emotion now splintering his voice. "And I'd be lying if I said I didn't find the whole concept of fate a little ridiculous. But when I sat with you here and watched you read for two whole hours, I had a gut feeling I'd be doing this with you for the rest of my life."
He reached for the velvet ring box that had been burning a hole in his coat pocket for the past two hours. The room stilled. Your jaw slackened. Someone in a nearby aisle gasped.
"Oh my god," you breathed, voice barely above a whisper. "Is this what I think it is? Are you — ?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I am," Akaashi managed, squaring his jaw as an onslaught of tears prickled behind his glasses. "Trying to, at least."
You actively tried not to pass out as Akaashi knelt before you, met your gaze, and forgot every other word he'd written in preparation for this moment.
"I love you," he managed, voice breaking as he spoke. "I can't believe I get to be the first person you go to when you finish a new chapter or have a hard day. I can't believe I get to raise the world's tiniest gentleman with you. I've done it for the past several years as your boyfriend, but...if you're willing, I'd really like to do it as your husband."
He opened the ring box and asked, "Will you marry me?"
You couldn't help the tears streaming down your face as you cried, "Yes. Absolutely, yes!"
The entire book store broke out into hysterics as Akaashi stood, brought you into his arms, and pressed his lips against yours. Several customers applauded. The cashier behind the register started bawling. A loud crash echoed from the children’s corner several feet away, but you didn’t think anything of it as Akaashi slid the ring onto your finger and —
“Bo-chan!”
You both froze. Someone groaned. A nearby couple started wheezing — and then immediately apologized for doing so.
“You okay, Bo-chan?” the familiar voice came again, more hushed this time. "Can mama and dada see us?"
You and Akaashi exchanged weary glances before calmly turning towards the sound of your son's voice. It didn't stop the jagged laughter that escaped your throat at the sight.
Bokuto, a small chair from the children's table crushed beneath his six-foot-one body. Kaito, the daily newspaper clutched between his chubby fists. The toddler tried his best to cover his uncle with pages from the classified ads section, but he abruptly stopped when Akaashi cleared his throat and asked, "What are you doing over there, buddy?"
Your son's blue eyes quietly slid over to his father's.
"Hiding," he responded meekly. The newspaper slid off of his injured babysitter and onto the floor. "Bo-chan broke his butt."
"Excuse me?! My butt is perfectly fine!" Bokuto argued from the ground, although the restrained groan that slipped past his lips suggested otherwise. His face broke out into a guilty smile as he met your gaze from across the store. "Oh hey, guys! Congratulations on the engagement!”
An amused smile settled onto your lips as you turned towards your newly minted fiancé.
"Did you plan for them to be here?"
“No,” Akaashi said, massaging the inner corners of his eyes with a tempered sigh. “No, I think this one was all them.”
"I see," you chuckled, watching as the professional athlete continued to flatten the chair like a pancake. "Well, hopefully the staff won't be too mad. We did just get engaged, after all."
"I think the owner likes us well enough," Akaashi conceded.
You looked at him like you couldn't wait to deal with these types of antics for the rest of your life. "Should we see if Bokuto is okay?"
“I've got it,” Akaashi drawled, squeezing your shoulder before approaching the two unexpected guests. “Remind me to never play hide-and-go-seek with either of you. You two would be terrible at it..."
You couldn't help but bite back your smile at the scene unfolding before you: Akaashi, struggling to lift his best friend off the ground. Bokuto, apologizing profusely to the book store staff for breaking their chair. Kaito, already pulling new books from the shelves like he was planning on bringing them all home.
It was messy. Undeniably hilarious. In years to come, you wouldn't be able to tell the story of your engagement without laughing.
But as Akaashi shot you a loving, if not exasperated smile from across the store, you realized you wouldn't have had it any other way.
lowkey want to do more when it comes to headers for fics and drabbles bc looking for pictures on pinterest just isn't enough I WANT TO BE COMPLETELY CONSUMEDDDD </3 should i start making collages...... those are fav to do nehehe
my favorite thing about having fic writing friends we exchange previews for no reason, like just out of no where “i like this scene i wrote here it is” and your friend is like “!!!!!” and then sometimes they send you one and you’re like “!!!!” that’s the best man
hey all!!! i'm back for the winter and i'll be completing any of the requests i have in my inbox 😛 my requests are open if anyone wants to submit anything
baratheonpilled
stormborns
janainaart
annaxmalina
yousharknotpass
2087
discoholicmusic
dededos
