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

Chapter 45 | Closer Than Breath🍋

Back in the dojo, the shadows are deep again.

After putting on your nightshirt and pants you roll out the blanket you've been using, dropping onto your back with a slow, grateful sigh. The floor creaks faintly beneath you. Every inch of your body hums with exhaustion, but your mind won't settle.

Not yet.

Then—

A soft shift of weight beside you. You turn your head.

Akaza is lying down, not touching, but close. One arm folded beneath his head. Eyes closed.

You stare for a moment, unsure if you should say anything.

You let your eyes close too. The dojo holds its silence. And beside you, his presence lingers like gravity.

Not warmth. Not comfort. Something deeper. Something that stays.

*

You wake with the warmth of him pressed behind you.

It's dawn—judging by the softened gold of the light bleeding faintly through the slats in the wall—but the dojo remains cloaked in shadow. Quiet. Undisturbed.

Akaza's arm is draped around your waist, firm and sure. His chest is against your back. Legs tangled. No separation between you but the thin cloth both of you ste wearing.

And the rise and fall of his breath is steady—deceptively calm.

Then, without meaning to, your body stiffens slightly—every nerve suddenly alert, as though it has only just realized how close he truly is. The line of his hips. The air between you feels charged, humming.

The heat of him.

And when you shift—subtle, instinctive, your butt aginst his lab—his breath stutters.

A sound leaves him, low and rough, barely a groan. His grip tightens around your middle, pulling you closer.

"Don't," he murmurs, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. 

Your heart hammers in your throat. The shadows of the dojo feel thicker, heavier, wrapping around the both of you. His words hang there, suspended, and you can't tell if it's a warning... or a plea.

Your heart beats in your throat. Suddenly your nervous sytsem can't tell the difference between a disaster and that thing pressing heavily against your ass. 

Akaza shifts, moving his abdomen back. The sudden space between you and his erection feels a lot like losing something special. But then his hand, which had rested firmly around your waist, begins to move. Slowly. Deliberately. It travels upward, hovering with hesitation, before cupping your right boob through the silk. 

The gentleness of his touch makes your breath catch in your throat. You whimper, a small sound, almost not audible. 

But Akaza hears it. His breathing stirs against your ear, suddenly uneven, as though each inhale costs him something. The quiet of the dojo amplifies everything—the hitch in his lungs, the faint shift of his body, the restless tremor beneath his stillness. Akaza begins to fidget his way beneath your nightshirt and gently squeezes your boob while caressing your nipple with his index finger. 

Your breath quickens too, small sounds of enjoyment leaving your mouth. Akaza finally gives in, closing the space he'd created, shoving his abdomen back against your ass. 

You gasp as you feel the length of his erection against your lower back. 

Akaza's voice follows, rough and low, grazing your skin like fire: "Feel what you are doing to me."

The words seem to vibrate straight through your chest. You can't breathe. You can't move. Every nerve feels strung tight, trembling on the edge of something you don't yet have a name for.He presses closer. The sensation runs through you in waves—impossible to hold back, impossible to quiet. Your feel your pussy throb and wiggle your ass in the slightest to be able to feel his erection more.

Akaza's breath falters, a low groan breaking from him before he buries it against your neck. Then, warm and sudden, his mouth is at your throat. Not biting. Not claiming. Just the faintest flicker of tongue, a ghost of heat that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. Your body arches before you can stop it, as though seeking something you don't dare reach for. You're certain he can hear your heartbeat—it's too loud, too wild, rattling the silence of the dojo like a drum.

His erection against your back, nipple in his grasp and tongue on your throat you can't hold back anymore.

"Akazzzza~", you moan, drawn from somewhere deeper than your voice, furrowing your eyebrows and turning slightly to see his face.

"Fuck", he groans as he rises at once, meeting your gaze. For a heartbeat the world narrows to that look—his eyes burning with lust.

He leans down. The space between you both trembles. His lips hover close, so close you can feel the warmth of them without the touch. He doesn't close the distance. He waits. Holds. Almost trembling with it.

And then—it's you who breaks, pulling him down, filling yourself with the same feeling as by the firelight in the mountains. The kiss is a release, a breaking point. The flood after the silence. Your chest heaves as his mouth claims yours, his breath shuddering with something you recognize because it's inside you too.

Your lips part quickly, Akaza's tongue finding its way into your mouth.
You moan into the kiss as does Akaza. Then he breaks the kiss.

When he pulls back, his voice is a ragged whisper. "Fuck, this is—"

"Good," you breathe, finishing for him before pulling him into another wild kiss. The word tastes like fire and surrender on your tongue. Your chest rises and falls against his, breaths tangling, every inhale stolen from the other.

Your abdomen screams impatiently, heat spreading between your legs.

The hand which was still caressing your boob begins to drift downward —hesitant at first, as though seeking permission in the silence between kisses. You don't stop him. You can't.

The fabric shifts as his fingertips trace along the hem of your nightclothes. He pauses there, waiting, suspended. The hesitation makes your pulse louder, your body tighter, as though the stillness itself is a question. And your answer comes in the way you lean into him, in the desperate press of your lips against his. The way your tongues interwine.

He pulls your pants - and underwear - down to your knees where you take care of fully getting rid of it with your legs and feet. His touch is careful, almost reverent, as though he's memorizing you. The air between you feels alive, heavy with heat, your every sense sharpened to the faintest shift of his body.

Akaza's hand draws a circle over your ass, his fingertips almost grazing your throbbing pussy. He sucks in air loudly. 

Then you feel him fidgeting on himself. His movements are unsteady now, urgency seeping into them despite the restraint that still clings to him. There's the ruffle of cloth and the satisfiying sound of it getting thrown across the room.

Your breath hitches. You can feel the tension in him—the pull between control and surrender—as his hand finds you again, steadying, holding. The weight of his palm against your hip is grounding, anchoring you both as the air grows thinner, hotter, unbearable.