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Kcandyreblogs - Blog Posts
YES PLEASEEEEEE
we should SOOO bring back obey me like I miss the fandom 🥀
Right and why is he in every episode too like omg you're not the main character
watching My hero acadamia season 5- why are they making me gaf about Endeavor ? 🤨
akaashi headcanons cus he can’t get out of my head 😵💫
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ keiji akaashi has dimples.
i don’t mean the small, barely visible ones. i mean the deep, majestic ones. even if he so much as lifts the corner of his mouth, a dimple shows up right in the middle of his cheek. he’s a little self-conscious about them though… :(
“whaddya mean you don’t like ‘em?” you pout, poking where they used to be.
“i dunno… i guess they always made me stand out,” he mumbles.
“they’re beautiful, keiji,” you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “make you you. they’re like the extra flare your pretty smile needs!”
after that, he’s smiled wider and covered his face less.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ keiji akaashi loooooooves the nicknames you give him.
kei, eiji, jiji, cash money — he loves them all maybe not the last one, even the ones he doesn’t quite understand at first.
“kaji? that’s a new one,” he says, tilting his head to the side as he pokes a straw through his milk box.
“i just thought of it!” you exclaim, taking a sip from yours.
“how’d you think of it?”
“keiji and akaashi; mix and tadaaa! — kaji! ahh i’m so smart!”
he only loves it because he considers it you forever calling him yours with each new name. he’ll never let anyone else call him what you do, though.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ keiji akaashi listens to clairo…
please put down the pitchfork and hear me out!!! he GENUINELY listens to clairo because he loves her vibe, lyrics, and overall style. he absolutely hates those “matcha loving, clairo listening, #socal” boys he sees on social media and would rather die than be associated with them. so, when you notice him listening to clairo for the first time, he gets a little scared.
“whatcha listening to, keiji?” you ask. he doesn’t budge, earphones still stuck in his ears. out of curiosity, you pick up his phone to see this hypnotic artist. keiji nearly has a heart attack from fear, eyes wide and face gone pale. once you see it’s clairo, you have a ton of questions on your mind.
“you listen to—”
“i’m not one of them please please don’t call me one of those things i am not one of them,” he rambles, clinging to your shirt. whatever question he answered definitely wasn’t on your mind, but his reaction only makes you giggle.
“i was gonna ask what your favorite song is, silly,” you say. he responds with a timid “oh,” removing one earpiece and giving it to you. he also shows you pictures of the albums he has at home that he keeps tucked away in his closet.
(his fav is partridge esp the live version 💆♀️)
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ keiji akaashi always drinks a cup of tea every single night.
he loves how it warms his body and helps put his soul at ease. each night, he’ll set out his mug, boil some water, and place the teabag in with a small yawn. he def puts a couple drops of honey just for that extra flavor. he’ll slurp and sigh with much content, cozying himself up in his comfy pajamas. sometimes, he’ll read a couple chapters of a book while he drinks, pushing his glasses up after every sip.
even at little cafe’s, a nice cup of tea is his go-to! doesn’t seem like much of a coffee man tbh. even on nights where he as to cram, he refuses those coffee beans and heads straight for the tea bags.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ keiji akaashi is fluent in animal crossing.
i think once he started playing, he thought how they talk is so cute and he wanted to try it, too! not just that, but it’s his own secret language that he influenced onto you. he’d probably randomly speak it just to mess with people hehe.
“mimwmrmemwr? (you wanna eat after this?)” he asks you. his friends are a little confused, staring at him like he’s some alien.
“well, if you want to,” you reply. they look at you even weirder, absolutely flabbergasted.
“mmimrmwemrrm? (fast food or restaurant?)”
“i’m feelingggg sit down and eat.”
“mwmrmi! mwmrmem? (same! sushi okay?)”
“yes, sounds perfect!”
mouths agape, they look at each other with wide eyes and back to you.
“am i high or are they high??”
“you guys can come with if you want,” you shrugged, completely unfazed.
“where, your home planet???”
i'm so done with seeing and finding purely smut fics, what happened to yearning?? what happened to developing plots??character development??fluff?? angst?? hurt/comfort?? what happened to those monologues of characters that hurt your heart and made you go insane AGH
for @kcandyliciouss <3 | event masterpost
he told you he didn’t need sunscreen. said it like it was obvious. like he wasn’t spending half the day diving across hot sand with his shirt off.
yaku walks out of the bathroom with a towel low on his hips, hair damp, skin flushed and radiating heat. he doesn’t say anything at first. just crosses the room, jaw tight, arms stiff at his sides.
he smells faintly like strawberry mojito. your shower gel. the one he pretends not to like but still uses when he’s sore and sun-tired. it lingers behind the steam, sharp and sweet.
you’re already sitting on the edge of the bed, aftersun jar open beside you. he doesn’t ask. just turns around and waits.
his back is bad — deep red across the shoulders, uneven where the sun hit hardest. the kind of burn that makes even a shirt unbearable.
you rub the lotion between your palms and touch him carefully. he stiffens at first. winces.
“ouch,” he mutters.
“i know.”
he doesn’t complain again.
you work in silence, smoothing the cream across his back, down his sides, careful around the worst spots. he shifts once when your thumbs brush the his deep-red shoulder. otherwise, he doesn’t move.
the air smells like sugar and lime and heat. his skin slowly cools under your hands.
when you finish, you don’t pull away right away. you let your hand rest flat between his shoulder blades. his breathing’s slowed. his shoulders have dropped.
he turns his head slightly. doesn’t look at you, just says, quiet:
“you’re good at taking care of me.”
you don’t answer. just slide your hand down, light, careful, and press a kiss to the space between his shoulders — burned and lotion-slicked and warm.
he lets you. says nothing. just sits there with you, still smelling like strawberries and mint, like he didn’t mean to need this but doesn’t want it to end.
© everything here is written with care — please don’t repost, copy, or alter my work without permission.
fictionally, i love men with attitude (i.e. tsukishima, daiki, kuroo, shinso, katsuki, etc.) realistically, i’d want them all to absolutely eat dogshit if we meet irl
Hello hello! Welcome to my blog!! It's quite new so I don't really know what I'm doing..
You can call me Kcandy, I go by she/her, and this is where I will be posting my fanfiction!
Some fandoms I'm planning on writing for:
•My hero academia
•Haikyuu
•Cupid's chatroom
•Harry Potter (marauders era only)
(Might add more later idk)
Rules Masterlist
Requests: open!!
Tags:
#kcandyreblogs
#kcandyyaps
#kcandywrites
012. grudges, growth, and you — yaku morisuke.
wc: 0.6k cw: gn!reader. enemies to lovers <3 a/n: i've never particularly favored yaku, but this makes me like him a little more haha <3 i hope you enjoy! requested by @rumik09 and @solvisun
you’ve known yaku since you were six, and you’ve wanted to throw a dodgeball at his face since approximately the second week.
he called you a cheater during p.e. and you spent the rest of elementary school making his life mildly inconvenient. swapping his indoor shoes. hiding his pencil case. once, in fifth grade, you signed him up for the school play and gave him the role of “talking tree #3.” he never forgave you.
in return, he told your entire class you had a crush on the music teacher.
by middle school, your war had quieted into occasional eye-rolls and passive-aggressive comments.
by high school, it had become something stranger.
“you’re short,” you tell him in second year.
“you’re loud,” he snaps back.
you share a math class. he borrows your notes once when he’s sick and grumbles out a “thanks” like it burns his throat.
you shrug. “you’d do the same.”
he stares at you like you’ve said something deeply offensive.
“i wouldn’t,” he mutters.
but next week, when you’re out with a fever, he drops off your homework at your front gate without saying anything.
you find out because your mom tells you a “tiny blonde boy with a very serious face” came by.
you text him: that was weirdly nice of you.
he replies: shut up or i’ll take it back.
in third year, he becomes someone you text when you can’t sleep.
not often. just… sometimes.
on nights when the pressure feels too loud or your brain won’t shut up. you don’t say anything serious. just little things.
what if we all just dropped out and became frogs.
he replies three minutes later: you wouldn’t survive the winter. frogs don’t have heaters.
you laugh into your pillow and think maybe this thing between you isn’t war anymore.
you end up at the same college.
not on purpose.
just luck. or bad luck. depending on the day.
you spot him across campus during orientation and your heart does something weird.
you don’t say hi.
he does.
“oh great,” he mutters, falling into step beside you like it’s inevitable. “you again.”
you grin. “missed me?”
“like a cavity.”
but his smile lingers a little too long.
you grow into something real slowly.
too slowly, maybe.
he makes tea for you when you’re up late studying. never coffee. he says it makes your hands shake.
you throw a pillow at him once for memorizing your class schedule. he throws it back and adds a blanket over your shoulders before leaving your dorm.
neither of you says the word for it.
not until third year.
you’re on the floor of his apartment, surrounded by snack wrappers and overdue assignments. you’ve been laughing for twenty minutes about a terrible movie.
your face hurts. your stomach aches.
he’s looking at you with this expression like he can’t believe you’re real.
you stop laughing.
he doesn’t.
“what,” you say, suspicious.
“nothing,” he says, but his ears go pink.
you sit up. “what?”
he sighs. presses a hand to his face.
“i used to hate you,” he mumbles.
“i know.”
“like, really hate you.”
“yeah. you made that clear.”
he glances at you. then away.
“i don’t anymore.”
you go quiet.
“okay,” you say finally.
“okay,” he repeats.
you stare at each other.
then you say it.
not dramatic. not heavy. not a confession.
just honest.
“i don’t hate you either.”
his face breaks into something unsure and bright and so very yaku.
and when he leans in, you don’t flinch.
you kiss like you’re still unsure what to call this thing between you.
but it’s soft. and a little clumsy. and warm.
after, he doesn’t say anything.
taglist (open. ask to be added <3): @tangerinelovr @oligbia @megapteraurelia @iwantfoodpleasebuymefood
© everything here is written with care — please don’t repost, copy, or alter my work without permission.
010. shoelaces, coolers, and umbrellas — akaashi keiji.
wc: 0.5k cw: gn!reader. akaashi keiji is a helpful man <3 a/n: i hate when people forget akaashi is canonically weird, but at the same time i have a specific vision of him in my head that i cant let go of. i hope you enjoy <3 requested by @thewhispersofthewaves
it’s the last evening of a week-long joint training camp between nekoma and fukurodani. the gym smells like floor polish and sweat, volleyballs scattered across the floor, jerseys sticking to backs. the air is thick with noise — lev yelling across the court, bokuto celebrating after a spike, yamamoto getting scolded for the third time for trying to show off.
you’re used to it by now. half manager, half unofficial peacekeeper. you refill water bottles, tape fingers, make sure no one forgets their knee pads or their dignity. it’s been nonstop since morning, but you don’t mind. not really.
you’ve been exchanging glances with fukurodani’s setter all week. not on purpose. it’s just that every time you look up, he’s already looking your way. akaashi is quiet. efficient. a little weird. the only one who hasn’t added to the chaos. he thanks you every time you pass him a towel. always bows a little deeper than necessary.
you catch him watching you when you scold yamamoto for throwing a water bottle at kenma. you don’t say anything.
later, you trip over your own shoelace near the bench.
he’s there before you can blink, already crouching, already steadying you and double-knotting your laces.
"you were due for that," he says.
you flush. "are you calling me clumsy?"
"i’m calling it a statistical inevitability."
you laugh, flustered. he smiles (barely, but it counts).
by the time practice winds down, most of the boys have already vanished into the locker rooms. the gym quiets. you’re packing up the med kit alone when footsteps approach.
"need a hand?" akaashi asks.
you blink up. "i’m okay. just wrapping up."
he crouches beside you anyway, folding ice packs into the cooler without needing instruction. you pack in comfortable silence.
rain begins to hammer against the windows.
you glance up. "great. i didn’t bring an umbrella."
he zips his duffle. then, without a word, pulls out a compact black umbrella and presses it into your hand.
"but you’ll get soaked."
"i’ve got a hoodie."
you hesitate. then take it, fingers brushing his.
"thanks, akaashi."
"anytime."
you both move to the entrance. the gym lights flicker behind you, the last echo of sneakers fading. rain pours in sheets now, wind tugging at loose strands of your hair.
he stands beside you, not quite touching. close enough.
"do you want to wait it out?" he asks.
you shake your head. "better to go now, before it gets worse."
you shift your bag, glance up at him. "thanks for earlier. for the shoelaces. and the cooler."
"you’re always doing something for everyone else," he says. "it’s easy to want to help."
you don’t know what comes over you, but before your nerves can catch up, you lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. soft. quick.
he goes still. then — a beat later — he meets your eyes. his gaze softens.
"...that was nice," he says quietly.
you smile, tugging the umbrella open. "guess you’ll have to keep helping me, then."
he watches you step into the rain.
and even with the wind pulling at your sleeves — you swear you feel his warmth linger, just behind you.
taglist (open. ask to be added <3): @tangerinelovr @oligbia @megapteraurelia
© everything here is written with care — please don’t repost, copy, or alter my work without permission.
