𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 // Akaza x reader (+18)

Chapter 35 | Between Breaths 🍋

The fire crackles softly. Its warmth is uneven now. You're no longer burning with fever, but your body feels unfamiliar - raw in its return to clarity. Every breath registers. Every heartbeat. Every space where pain used to be hums with the memory of absence.

Akaza hasn't moved. But his presence wraps around you like a second silence. Not protective. Not forgiving. Just there - constant, in a way nothing else in your world has managed to be.

You shift slightly, just enough to see his face.

He's already watching you.

You wonder if he's been doing it all night.

His eyes search yours, and in them you find it: restraint. A breath held too long. A grief so old it no longer resembles sorrow. Stillness worn into the shape of loss.

When his hand rises toward your face, it's slow. Measured. Asking.

You don't stop him.

His fingers brush your skin, the touch light - reverent, almost unsure. Then he leans in.

When his lips meet yours, it's like a door opening in your chest - something you didn't know you'd locked suddenly giving way. The kiss is soft at first. Careful. As though either of you might vanish if it goes too far.

But then it deepens - slowly, then not-so-slowly. His other hand cups your jaw, and you lean into him, chasing a heat you shouldn't want, shouldn't need.

You both know what this is.

It's wrong. Unnatural.

An ex-Tsugoku and a demon. A killer, and the blade meant to kill him. You should have struck long ago. He should have disappeared into the night.

And yet, here you are - kissing him like none of that matters. Like there's no war. No history. No blood spilled between you.
Just the breath you share. The cold beyond the walls. And the trembling edge of something too human to be forgiven.

You know this moment is borrowed. Stolen, even.

You know what the morning will demand.

But when his hand slides down the curve of your back, slow and hesitant, you arch into him instead of pulling away. His touch is light, like he's unsure you'll let him stay this close. Like he's testing if this is real.
It's slightly irritating that Akaza can be so ... gentle.

Your fingers tighten in the pink fabric wrapped around him, clutching it like it might anchor you - like it might stop the rest of the world from unraveling.

He kisses you again, slower now. Deeper. His hand maps the line of your side, fingers brushing the dip of your waist like he's memorizing it.

Your breath catches - shaky, uneven. His warmth shouldn't feel this real. He shouldn't feel this real. But you stopped believing in rules that don't make room for moments like this a long time ago.

A sound escapes you - quiet, involuntary.

Akaza exhales sharply, like the sound has cracked something in him. He presses his forehead to yours, breath mingling with yours in a rhythm that isn't quite steady.

Still, he says nothing.

But his hand moves again - up your spine, curling lightly at the nape of your neck. He holds you like he's afraid you'll disappear. Or worse, change your mind.

You don't.

Your grip tightens on his clothes, your lips finding his again, this time with more urgency - more than just want. It's hunger. Ache. Grief. All layered beneath something dangerously close to longing.

The fire crackles. The shadows stretch along the walls.

And somewhere deep inside you, where duty used to sit like a blade in your chest, something else begins to burn.

His mouth moves to your throat - reverent, aching - and your fingers slip beneath the folds of his haori. You feel the tension in him, the held breath of someone on the verge of stepping back, of choosing safety.

But you want more.

Not because it's safe. Not because it's smart.
Because, in this moment, your body remembers it's still yours. That even in a world filled with death and demons, there is room for hunger. For touch. For the unspoken.

The shadows deepen. The night leans in.

And you both give in - quietly, fiercely, desperately. Not to lust alone, but to the fragile need to feel alive.

Just as his hands begin to tremble against your back, a twig snaps outside the cabin.

You both freeze.

Your sword is in your hand before you even realize you moved.

Akaza straightens behind you - not afraid, but different now. Sharpened.

The moment has passed.

You don't look at him as you step toward the door, body already tuned to danger. The war hasn't forgotten you. It never does.

Neither of you speaks. The quiet settles again - heavier now, filled with everything left unsaid.

You hold your breath, sword angled low but ready, listening. Outside, the wind stirs - maybe just a fox. Or a branch. But still, you don't lower your blade.

Behind you, Akaza hasn't moved. But you can feel his gaze on your back - not hot, but burning. Not with heat, but with restraint. Hunger. The aching wish to reach for you again, though he knows better.

You shift slightly - not enough to face him, but enough to let him know you're listening.

Firelight catches on his face when you glance back - not the demon's mask, but the boy beneath the blood.

Your sword lowers.

Your voice cuts the silence - low, scraped raw, but steady.

"Tell me about you," you say. "Before you became Akaza."