#the crown: a collab call

[shibaraki]

AN OBSERVER OF LONGING ┊ IWAIZUMI HAJIME

synopsis: with a few days remaining, the five of you run from Tooru and Hajime's impending departure for a little longer—and tackle some unearthed feelings along the way.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, childhood best friends to lovers, romantic + sexual tension, mutual pining, a lot of casual physical affection, sharing a bed, angst + fluff, masturbation, festivals, alcohol consumption (everyone) + smoking (makki), yay love confessions, emotional hurt/comfort, eventual smut, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (reader rec.)

wc: 18K

↳ written in three days while in my feels and on new medication: for the komorebi collab hosted by yours truly lmao ↰

Like most impulsive plans it stemmed from a tipsy throwaway comment. Ruddy cheeks, the warm, honey tinge of whiskey on his breath, Hajime’s lips came loose. 

“We should go somewhere together,” he’d said, ensconced by the booth cushions. Your gaze met meaningfully across the table, half lidded and dopey. Even as Issei’s arm wrestled its way around his neck and jostled him, wrangled him closer with the promise of teasing, Hajime had not looked away from you. 

“Oh! Let’s rent a little bus, like in the movies. That’s a cute idea,” Tooru enthused, inflection slurred by the warmth of his liquor. “Hajime, who knew you could be so cute?”

“Hajime has always been cute,” Issei drawled, eyes gleaming as his knuckles successfully rub back and forth over Hajime’s skull, even as the man squirms against it. “But you’re both leaving again soon. We can’t go far, or for long”.

It had been pure luck that Tooru and Hajime managed to synchronise their brief visit home in the first place. You think that they might’ve even conspired to match their flight times as close as humanly possible, just so they could find one another in the airport upon arrival. 

“Now look. Poor ‘kawa,” Takahiro strummed his finger over Tooru’s puckered bottom lip, pink and plush as it bounces back. “Quick. Tell him he’s cuter before he starts crying”. 

And just like that, the drink-addled idea passed. You, however, let it marinate in the morning that followed. Knowing that it was Hajime who suggested it felt significant. He’s the quiet sentimental type. With both his and Tooru’s upcoming departures you had fully expected to be inundated with their company—savouring the remaining time you had left, never quite touching on the topic, still too tender for the three of you. It surprised you. A trip felt final. Another last hurrah. The tying of loose ends, to separate on a good note. 

Ultimately you decided to forward a link to an article detailing different overnight itineraries and festivals to the group chat with hopes of bringing it to fruition. Now you found yourself standing beside Hajime’s car under an early eventide in a pair of old sweatpants too long at the ankle and listening to them bicker, wondering why you ever got the ball rolling. 

Phone, check. Keys, check. ID, check. Wallet, check. Overnight bag—

You glare down at the offending object propped on the ground beside your feet. A good twenty minutes of your frantic afternoon had been spent trying to zip the thing shut. Check.

“But Hajime, the otter cafe!”

Tooru yelps, and you glance up in time to watch as Iwaizumi jostles and loosens his grip, “No. We don’t have time. We’re sticking to the plan".

“Are those even ethical?” Issei wonders under his breath, bending at your side to lift the case and ignoring your weak protests. It’s handed off to Hajime with ease, and you allow yourself a brief appreciative glimpse of the muscle flexing under his fitted shirt. 

You shake your head, full of mirth as you call to him, “Tooru”.

The sinking sun is crowning his head in a dewy flare. Tooru looks up from Hajime’s back and the halo slips, highlighting the hidden wispy strands of ginger by his temples. Balmed lips pouted, his brow arched in question.

“Stop fussing and sit with me”. 

The curiosity smooths out and he looks increasingly pleased at the request. It lasts a few sweet moments, broken by the smug uptick of his mouth. Tooru grins, “Of course you want to sit next to me. I’m your favourite after all”. 

Years of repetitive back and forth taught you that arguing that point was futile. With a fond eye roll, you reach across in his approach to pinch at his bicep. “Just get in the car before I change my mind,” you say. 

You duck in to sit beside Tooru as he scrambles for the window seat. Hajime is angled toward you while he fiddles with the centre console, a muscled arm wrapped around the headrest, deliberately waiting for you to meet his gaze. When you do, he mouths the words, “Thank you”. 

From the minute you met there’d always been something there. Maybe it was pheromonic, the way you know something is right the instant you find it; or maybe it was the chubby, six year old hands that plucked the cicada shell from your hair one summer morning. Presque vu, years spent waiting on the tip of your tongue. It doesn’t escape you that this might be the last chance to do anything about it. 

You’re shaken from your reverie when the car rocks on its axles. Issei throws himself into the far right passenger seat beside you with a heavy sigh. Broad shoulders push you closer into Tooru, thighs pressed together and feet parted awkwardly on either side of the rear suspension. 

Takahiro excitedly clambers in the front with an energy drink in hand, uncapped, earning an indignant shout from Hajime when he slams the door with too much force. 

“Oi—!” 

You grin as he struggles to dodge Hajime’s successive smacks. “Alright, alright! I’m sorry, be nice!” 

“I told you already, it's my dad’s car. That means no tracking dirt, no spilling anything, and no smoking inside. Capiche?”

“Aye-aye,” Issei drones, knuckles grazing your hip where he fastens his seatbelt. There is little space, yet it is oddly comforting. Tooru snorts, slumping until a head of unkempt brown hair rests heavily against your shoulder, tilting briefly to nuzzle your jaw. 

The radio switches on automatically as the engine starts, an initial splutter tapering off into a gentle hum. You reciprocate Tooru’s affection and rub your cheek over his crown, inhaling the familiar scent of coconut milk shampoo. He takes your weight without complaint, and when Issei leans forward to receive a sip of Takahiro’s energy drink, your knees knock together. 

Hakone was the chosen destination, thanks to a local festival taking place tomorrow. Of the five of you, Hajime is the best driver in terms of navigation and road knowledge. Issei is a close second. Both Tooru and Takahiro got their licences for the sake of convenience, but you doubt they could make their way around a clockwise roundabout without crying. 

Takahiro whoops, his hand thudding in line with the beat on the car roof, “Road trip!” 

The scenery becomes less and less familiar, turning onto streets you do not recognise. Heading west out of Tokyo toward the Chuo Expressway, it isn’t until a passenger window is opened and a gust billows into the car that you shake the final dregs of sleep. Tooru’s hair is whipping in the wind as Hajime reaches for the radio and switches channels, bass vibrating through the speakers. 

Reality sets in like a slow simmer and excitement buzzes under your skin as the giddiness swells. You lean forward, cheek squashed unflatteringly to the back of the driver's seat, and paw at Hajime’s arm. 

“Turn it up, Haji”. 

Above the road ahead is a large blue sign detailing directions to Lake Kawaguchi—a purposeful detour, for the sake of acting like tourists. There’s a spot with a perfect view of Mount Fuji. Despite having lived only a forty minute ride from Tokyo, you can’t say you’d ever thought to look at it outside of a postcard. 

It’s nice to step into the shoes of another. View the country through a less acclimated lense. You’re taken through winding roads that thread between verdant mountains; entrenched by nature, only to be thrown out into the open as the foliage breaks. 

Lake Kawaguchi greets you brightly, the sunset surface glittering across a vast horizon. You are yelling harmoniously with Takahiro as it comes into view. Issei’s phone is already pressed against the window, scenery rolling across the camera screen as he repeatedly taps his thumb to recalibrate the focus. 

“I can hear you laughing at me,” he casts a suspicious look over his shoulder. 

You grin, “You’re such an old man”. 

“We’ll park just up here. There’s a good spot for pictures down by the bank,” Hajime says, the heel of his hand flat to the wheel as it turns left. “Not too far to walk. Pretty sure there’s a cafe just nearby, too”. 

You watch his reflection in the rear view mirror, admiring the soft crinkles by his eyes. His mouth isn’t visible but you know he’s smiling. Issei bumps his knee into yours—again. Simultaneously, Tooru bends make quiet kissing noises against your ear. Swatting them isn’t justice enough, and threatening to throw them out of the moving vehicle only makes them snicker. 

The car park is entirely deserted and unmonitored, surrounded by brush. No line markings or need for payment, just a part of the ground carved out and filled with gravel that crunches beneath the tires as it displaces. Cruising toward the far end of the lot, Hajime chooses the spot right by an old staircase that appears to lead down the bank. 

He pulls the handbrake with a resounding click and shuts off the engine. Comfortable silence befalls you as the radio cuts out. Soft, muted chirps rippled throughout the treeline, and as Issei popped open his car door, those first few notes bloomed into many more.

You climb out and step onto the uneven ground, the crisp air pinching the tips of your ears. You reach up and rub at them, running your palms over your cheeks in hopes of warmth. It isn’t cold—just refreshing. Cool enough to feel it in your sinuses when you breathe. 

“Come on,” Tooru whines. He’s already stood by the railing, weight shifting restlessly between his feet. You smile at the bounce of his hair, frame outlined in darkening sunlight, breaking through the curls like a canopy. 

An arm snakes loosely around your back and Hajime pulls you into his embrace. You fall in line with him, his pace purposefully slowed to remain at your side. He guides you forward, and once you’re close enough, the others begin to descend the staircase. 

You hear Issei whistle. Glancing up from the final step, you’re met with a watercolour come to life. Open skies, there lay smudges of orange, red and pink. No telling up from down. The surface of the lake is completely still, reflecting a perfect mirror view of Mount Fuji. 

“Wow,” you murmur, breathless. Hajime hums in agreement, awe bleeding into the sound. Tooru is crouched near the water, struck with wonder, idly swirling his fingertips over the surface as Takahiro and Issei station either side of him, the pair deep in thought. 

Dragging your eyes from the picturesque view, you take in the emotion on Hajime’s face. People always claimed him to be intimidating—he could be, without question. But to you, Hajime was made up entirely of soft lines, deliberate kindness and telegraphed movements, as though he were a gentle giant, despite being the shortest of the four players. 

He still carries some chub in his cheeks. You know, because you’re often inundated with the urge to pinch at it. This is your Hajime, the one you’ve always known; only now there’s stubble lining his jaw. 

“It’s grown back again already,” you comment sotto voce, careful not to disturb the pensive atmosphere that has settled by the lakes edge. “You really are a big boy now”.  

“It’s annoying”. 

“Looks good though,” you muse. “Kinda rugged. I like it”. 

His throat flexes as he swallows, hand coming up to itch his jawline, and you try not to stare. It’s always so easy to turn him pink. “You do?” 

Too much, you think, poking the swell of his cheek in lieu of a response. It yields under the pressure, and as he smiles it takes on the appearance of a dimple. 

Casual affection was second nature, now. You found yourself thankful for the excuse to touch, and knowing that he’ll be leaving soon has emboldened you somewhat. All those years ago you’d preemptively decided that crossing the threshold would lead to rejection, but the initial borders defining your relationship have long since blurred, and it’s hard not to wonder where you truly stand. If you got it right.

“Guys,” Takahiro demands your attention, hand cupped by his mouth with a lit cigarette held precariously between his fingers. The other is in the air waving his phone back and forth. “We’re here to marvel at the miracles of mother nature, not each other!”

You step out of Hajime’s embrace, disguising your reluctance. 

Joining their lanky huddle rewards you with a chorus of cheers as Tooru latches on to your back and props his chin atop your shoulder. He flashes an effortless peace sign. The others attempt to fit themselves into the frame mirrored on Hanamaki’s phone screen, an iridescent crack running from one corner to the other, Mount Fuji’s blushing snowy peaks crowning your heads. 

“You really gotta get that fixed,” you hear someone say. Their voice is muffled, as if they’d been talking with their lips closed, and one glimpse finds Issei trying resolutely to keep his posed smirk in place. Your own mouth flattens into a thin line to keep yourself from laughing. 

The camera shutters.

You groan, “I wasn’t ready for that one”. 

A few more are taken and sent to the group chat, eyes on you while you set a particularly sweet one as your wallpaper. Crowing with delight, you find yourself surrounded by bodies and squeezed in a firm group hug. 

“Alright, alright,” you huff. The discomfort stems more from the insistent, cramping sensation in your stomach. Your smaller hands meet a hard, muscled abdomen, pushing fruitlessly. Neither man budges. If anything, your resistance only encourages them to coil tighter. “You’re all too heavy. Get off!” 

They relent, but only at the sound of your gut rumbling. “Hungry?” Hajime asks. The sheathing sun reflects in his irises, burning bright, verdant green, as though he were part of spring itself; soft in apology.

“Food is that way,” Issei points toward a stout, cosy structure further along, tucked atop the edge of a hill and half hidden by a cradle of Japanese maple. If you squint you could make out the moving silhouettes inside. “Looks like it’s open. Maybe”. 

Tooru cranes his neck, lips comically pursed as he looks toward the cafe. “It’s pretty romantic out here. If we have Hajime get on one knee for a picture, think they’ll give us a free meal?” 

Hajime shoves him half heartedly and clicks his tongue, “Why me? Do it yourself”. 

You watch as they share a long, unspoken moment, conversing without words. Tooru offers him a scathing look, one of total incredulity and that alone is enough to break the suspension. Hajime juts his chin in the opposite direction and turns his back, beginning a stiff march toward the cafe. 

“What was that all about?” 

“He’s so bullheaded,” Tooru muses, knuckles rapping gently to your skull as he passes. When you are offered nothing but a fond laugh in the face of your confusion, you stalk off after them. 

Petulance has you speeding ahead of the group, further picking up the pace at the sound of hurried feet. The natural instinct to run nips at your heels. As the earth begins to incline upward and your strides broaden, there’s a burn in the back of your thighs that Takahiro seems to have no issue with, if his sudden sprint ahead has anything to say about it. 

“Last one there has to pay!” 

“Bastard,” Issei hollers from the back, refusing to run and carried by his heavy gait. “Just because you’re unemployed!” 

Your lungs are burning with the exertion, laughter coming in short bursts. Issei remains in last, Tooru second, Hajime fourth. From the terrace, Takahiro pieces his thumb and forefinger together into the shape of a heart, nowhere close to apologetic. “Buy me something and I’ll give you a big wet kiss,” he returned in a singsong voice.

Issei lumbers through the gate, movements broad and slow. His brow arches, Takahiro immediately losing bravado. “You’d do that for free”. 

“Get me out of here,” Hajime mutters. “Kill me”.

You take pity on him and herd them all through the doors, “Less flirting and more pastries, please”. 

Inside is painted in rich deep browns. The fresh air weaves well with the aroma of freshly baked goods. You breathe it in, your hands dancing over shelves sparsely stocked with baskets of flatbread, loaves and cakes. While quaint, the ceilings are high, held up by large beams on which decorative lights and plants are carefully draped. 

You feel slightly awkward and out of place in your shabby old sweatpants. A calming melody is playing overhead. Soft spoken voices belonging to the few employees and fewer patrons encourage you to lower your own into a whisper. 

Hajime subtly leans down to listen as you say, “I think we should get our food to go”. 

He hides his amusement against your shoulder and you accept the brief weight with a grin. Then you feel him nod in agreement. 

Issei holds his hand out when you reach the counter. There are already multiple paper bags tucked under his arm. “Give me the goods before I change my mind,” he says, exasperation set plain on his face. 

“Thank you Issei,” you recite like a child, pressing two sweet rolls shaped like a cornet into his palm. Hajime chooses comfort—curry bread. Shared on countless late night walks home; the memories stir something melancholic deep within your chest that you’d rather not examine right now. 

Your initial concern about being out of place were not entirely unfounded. The employee behind the register greets your group kindly enough, and her smile is genuine, but you cannot ignore how her eyes seem to flicker back and forth to the disgruntled customers seated by the terrace. 

If you had to guess, they were regulars. Retired elders that lived nearby and had the privilege to spend their evenings here. Though irritating, you are honest enough to admit that your gaggle of idiots would certainly fracture this place’s peaceful ambiance. So Issei pays, feigning nonchalance at the long, wet kiss Takahiro leaves on his cheek, and you trudge back to the car with food in hand.

Tooru ambles around to the front passenger seat, hip checking Takahiro toward the back where he previously sat. You knew he might do this at some point during the trip. Eating before a car ride made him prone to nausea, and since he was young he’d claimed sitting in the front helped. Anpan held between his teeth, Tooru peers at you through the headrests and smiles with his eyes, entirely too pleased. 

Takahiro nudges your side as he clambers in. Lifting your hips, he buckles the seatbelt, and soon after you are half-draped over his lap to allow Issei to do the same. You glare at him as he wiggles his eyebrows, stopping short when he flashes you his phone. There’s a picture, this time of you and Hajime at the lake curled into each other; you’re cradled by his arms, and he by the mountainside, entirely in your own world. 

You relent, “Send me it”. 

“As I thought,” he mutters smugly. 

The lake is rarely out of view. Heading south to Hakone, the road hugs the water for most of the journey. Tooru connects his carefully curated road trip playlist to the speakers and the car swells with an old city jpop song. You pick at your sweet rolls, barely humming along; choking on feelings left to fester in your throat, unacknowledged and unspoken. 

You remember the day they told you their goals for the future. Plans to leave. Together, across from you, hands wrung in their laps. Grief filled your body like lead, and you recall thinking to yourself, half-hysterically, ‘How can I do this alone?’

That was a time in your life you couldn’t imagine a world without Tooru or Hajime in it. Day in, day out, seasons passed side by side. Three small stars converging on the same path. It never needed to be clarified—all plans were made with the tacit promise of being together. The unwillingness to part pulled even your families along and you were hard pressed to recall a first New Year shrine visit without their relatives present. Until they decided to leave. 

It’s loneliness tinged with a smidgen of guilt. You’re not truly alone. Issei and Takahiro are some of your best friends, and they weren’t going anywhere far anytime soon. Still, you can’t help but brace for the ways your orbit will further unfurl in Hajime and Tooru’s absence when they return to their lives.

Hakone is tucked in the shadow of Fuji-Hakone-Izu national park. Long, mountainous roads lead you toward an expanding vista. Faces sun drenched in varying hues of red maple, pink blossom and youthful green. The next hour and a half passes in the blink of an eye and the destination closes in. You angle your head, stretching across Takahiro’s lap and squinting up to make out the shape of ropeways cutting across the burgeoning sky. Tiny, far off carriers glide along the cables. 

Something about it compels everyone to stop and take a breath. You lapse into pleasant silence. The car slows to cruise through the busy streets, music lowered into a faint buzz. It is larger than life. 

While advertised as a quaint getaway from the chaotic, fast paced lifestyle of Tokyo, in actuality Hakone is made up of seven separate villages, each with its own distinct history. Lush hills are crowned with cumulus clouds of smoke from the hot springs; young families stand beneath tall, crimson painted torii gates; vendors shelter from the sun in conical straw hats tied beneath their chins with silk. 

To get to Gora, you must first cut through Yumoto—a lively, compact area lined with shops and restaurants that have attracted an uncomfortable amount of foot traffic. Hajime drives with his body strung tight, knuckles losing colour as yet another tourist almost walks out in front of his car. 

“Almost there, man,” Issei offers sympathetically.

Hajime grunts, “Don’t talk to me”. 

Tooru is too preoccupied with taking pictures to notice his best friend's struggles. The small noises of awe only seem to push Hajime’s shoulders higher. You have to duck away from the rear view mirror and bite your inner cheek so as not to laugh.   

Eventually, the place you’ll be staying at comes into view. You all release a collective sigh of relief. The modernised ryokan is much larger than most family run facilities. It sits conspicuously on the end of a private road, concealed by forest and threadbare canopy that casts shadows across the windshield as the car pulls in, sliding effortlessly into one of the empty spaces. 

Four staff members adorning pastel yukata’s greet you by the wide genkan with a deep bow. The woman standing behind the reception desk mirrors them when she meets your eye. You’re offered a pair of new grey slippers and gently ushered out into the lobby with your outdoor shoes in hand while Hajime heads to check in. 

When he rejoins the group his expression is distinctly uncomfortable and pinched in a way you recognise as embarrassment.

“There’s been a mix up with the room—suite, I guess,” Hajime admits. Hesitant, his gaze drags up from the floor to where you’re standing beside him. “I showed her the booking but no dice. We’re stuck with a standard tatami room and bathroom, but she promised there’d be enough futons to roll out”. 

While it was last minute they’d all designated tasks to each other, and his task had been booking accommodations. Having expressed that he would make the effort to get you your own room for the sake of privacy and comfortability, despite your protests, you understood his immediate reaction. Letting people down—at least, his own arbitrary idea of it—never sat right with Hajime. 

“Let me go talk to her, Iwa-chan. I might even charm her into giving us some extra amenities,” Tooru grins wolfishly, already fiddling with the cuffs of his sweater. Faint freckles scattered along his forearms, some newer from the summer months. Tendons flexing with determination, he takes the proffered print out and saunters toward the counter. 

“I can be charming,” Hajime mutters childishly, shucking the cross bag higher up his shoulder. He frowns you. “Am I charming?” 

You pat his cheek. His pride always rears over the most obscure things. “In your own way”.

Takahiro voices his amusement with a heavy clap to Hajime’s back. “Yeah, man. You appeal to people’s baser instincts. Makes me wanna get knocked up in a cave and nap while you’re out hunting for boar, or something”. 

“Shut up, idiot”. 

Tooru leaned his body against the counter, closed the distance and tilted his head, a coy sequence you’ve paid witness to a thousand times. You can imagine how he’s holding the receptionist's attention, speaking in low, dulcet tones that slide through her like warm butter. 

“What a bastard,” Issei sighs. Hajime grunts his agreement, and you realise that the four of you are lined up, watching them unashamedly as if it were a piece of theatre. 

“Alright, weirdos. Move it,” you prod insistently at Takahiro’s waist, snickering when he flinches away from your fingers. “Stop staring and get your bags together so we’re ready”. 

“You sure are confident in him,” Issei smirks, picking up his luggage nonetheless. There’s a loud click as you extend your suitcase handle, pulling with force when it jams halfway. 

“You’re not? It’s Tooru—” your voice abruptly halts at the heat of another, their hand encompassing your own. Hajime relinquishes your grip and readjusts the handle without fanfare. Flustered, you clear your throat, “He always pulls through for us. Though I still think this is all a bit unnecessary”. 

“I, for one, am glad he’s with us and not against us,” Takahiro snorts, eyes flitting between the two as Tooru tips his head and laughs. The sound is trim, practised and forced to your own ears, yet manages to make the employee blush. “Kinda scary, isn’t he?” 

Unfettered affection pulls at the corner of your mouth. You smile, turning away from them before they can see and tease you for it. Without a doubt, you had missed being with them more than you realised, and the giddiness was hard to temper. 

When Tooru returns, it is with a self satisfied grin, a new set of keys and a slip of paper. “That her number?”

“Yep,” his lips pop as he flips it over between his fingers, flashing the numerical digits scrawled on the back before flippantly sticking it in his jacket pocket. “We now have a modern double, a tatami room and a private onsen. Don’t all thank me too quickly, now”. 

Hajime accepts the keys with a begrudged sigh. “You should worry about texting and thanking her before we leave”.

“Stop trying to make me a better person,” Tooru sniffed, allowing himself to be herded toward the cramped lift. You trail closely behind, shaking your head. 

The room is bigger than expected. Family sized, you’d say. Traditional with a modernised touch. The main tatami room flowers in the early moonlight as it floods in through the sliding lattice doors. Behind them comes the promising sound of running water and after setting all your shoes in the modest genkan—pointed outwards—Takahiro rushes to discover the private onsen.  

Hung in a recessed alcove is a silk scroll inscribed with calligraphy. Staggered shelves frame a small flatscreen TV, neatly decorated with painted clay art and incense. Tucked away in the corner is a closet full of freshly aired futons. The rice straw flooring yields softly under your feet as you explore. 

Two other rooms are cordoned off, a smaller tatami room for the futons to be lain and one largely taken up by a double bed featuring a western style ensuite bathroom. Tourists must love this place, you think. It offers a palatable amount of Japanese culture, while simultaneously providing them with the simplistic comforts of their own. 

Issei makes work of the futons, nudging the low table and cushions into a corner and dragging the blankets over to the other room. Lip worried between your teeth, you find yourself hovering uselessly with no task to attend to aside from unpacking, which you thought to be just as useless. 

A hand snakes around your arm. Tooru’s, you soon recognise; impressively soft given his choice of career, lithe, and slightly balmy from a fruity smelling moisturiser his sister gifted him from her travels in South Korea. “Come on,” he insists without explanation, a dramatic weariness about him.

You are guided into the modern room and handed a travel sized torch identical to his own. You flinch away from the bright light as it abruptly begins to blink, but catch on quickly. ”Look everywhere you can think of”. 

“What’re you guys doin’ in here?”

Ignoring Takahiro’s question, you bend to flash the torchlight into the plug sockets. As Tooru peeks into the vents—giving the theatrical whisper of “all clear” with every check—you circumvent around the bed, looking under the frame and the nearby closet. 

“Makki, stop hovering like a ghost and check the bathroom for cameras. Actually, I’ll do it,” Tooru waves him off dismissively, sleuthing precariously into the small bathroom. “Gotta check the shower head. Can’t have my darling friends showing up on some dark web auction…”

Once Tooru is mollified that there are no hidden cameras the group allow themselves to settle. You are set up in the double room. It is the only door with a lock and a private bathroom, and you suspect that is why it was foisted onto you. 

Still you are conscious about the proximity, or lack thereof. Listening to them bicker and scuffle through the walls, their footfalls and voices passing beneath the crack in the bathroom doorway. Your fingers lingered on the turning lock for too long and in the end, you’d left it horizontal. The intense anticipation in your belly culminated into what you recognised as yearning—longing. 

The shower can only be described as a transparent box. Aside from a few shallow shelves left to house the complementary body wash, you’re surrounded only by clear, frameless glass panels that do nothing to obscure the view of your naked body. Anyone could walk in at any time. Standing under the warm spray, pressure just right against your shoulders, even as the dense steam fogs up the glass your gaze still falls back to the door handle. 

You run a washcloth over your skin and ignore the muted arousal that flares between your thighs. Sounds can be heard over the white noise, muffled by hollow mortar yet still clear enough that the sounds are coalesced into words. 

“Get your shoes off my futon,” Hajime demands. Hand braced against wet tile as though to touch the baritone of his voice, the other passes innocently over your sex, and you shudder. Thoughts wander. 

Tentative, you slide your fingers through your folds. Massage wet, loose circles around your clit. Eyes fall closed and you dip into your imagination. There’s a firm body behind you, cock grinding tantalisingly slow against your ass. Shaped around your back as though you were an extension of him. Your rhythm stutters when Hajime nuzzles below your ear. Tender kisses forge a path to your shoulder while his hands smooth across a resting stomach toward your chest.

Curtained by hot water as it patters away at the tension in your muscles, droplets slip into the seam of your lips and they part for breath. You lean on the tiled wall, seeking cool relief where the steam starts to overwhelm you, and slip abruptly on the condensation. With an undignified yelp, you quickly find your footing—though not without first knocking over the travel sized bottles of body wash. 

Deafening silence follows. You inhale deeply, exhaling to steady your breathing. A hesitant knock to the door gives you pause. The handle remains mournfully upright. 

“…You alive in there?” 

Your face twists into a grimace as you attempt to recompose yourself. You clear your throat. “I’m fine, Hajime. Sorry. The only thing I’m dying of is embarrassment”. 

His short laughter is warm and uninhibited. It rings true in your ears long after he’s gone. Turning away from the spray, your head tips forwards until it thumps against the glass. Shame prickling behind your eyes, you groan, “What the fuck is wrong with me”. 

Surprisingly there are no teasing comments awaiting you when you leave the privacy of your room, dried and redressed. All the screen doors have been pulled open, connecting the main room to the spare tatami room where they’ve rolled out all the futons to create one large bed. Five, together. You smile but don’t mention it. Issei greets you with a lazy wave from his place amongst the blankets. 

“Makki’s just havin’ a smoke,” his thumb points to the door leading out toward the private onsen. Through the lattice you can make out a blurred silhouette standing on the small veranda. 

“The other two?”

“Headed downstairs to ask about the festival tomorrow, and dinner”. 

“Are you looking forward to it?” you perk up, kneeling to sit cross legged on one of the beds. 

Issei smirks at your enthusiasm and hums an affirmative. Your eyes are drawn to the subtle movements of his hands where they fiddle with the inseam of his jeans. “Yeah. Heard they’re lighting some bonfires”. 

Your mouth parts with a sound of recognition. “On the mountainside, right?” 

“That's the one,” he nods and bows forward to rest an elbow on his thigh. You straighten up as he pins you under an intense stare. “I can slip away with the guys, if you want. Tomorrow. It would be a good time for you to talk to him”. 

Heat prickles over your face. Your pinch your cheek between your teeth, eyes instinctively darting to the hallway. You’re not sure whether it’s his consideration of you or your own piteous transparency that makes you want to cry. It has been this way for years; you’re caught in a tentative dance that never seemed to end. They all know and you wished you could still be ignorant of that. 

“Do you…” you clear your throat as your voice cracks. Issei’s gaze softens and you feel naked. “Do you honestly think that’s a good idea?”

After a short, pensive silence, Issei exhales a long breath and lays his hands flat on the futon. He leans and pushes onto his knees to drop his body heavily beside yours. 

You struggle against his dead-weight as he slumps, flinging both arms around your waist. “Issei—!” an aborted yelp falls from your mouth when he hooks his chin over your shoulder and locks his jaw, pressing it hard into your back. 

“Stop! That hurts, bastard!” you squawked, pushing down against the forearm cinched across your middle like a belt. They flex under your hands, not moving an inch. You can feel his cheeks lifting as he grins. 

“Sure. When you stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he offers slyly, tightening his grip. “C’mon,” you grow slack as the fight bleeds from your body. There’s a familiar burn behind your eyes, closely followed by a swell in your throat that the words can’t quite seem to get around. “And for the record, I do think it’s a good idea”. 

“It’s a terrible idea,” you intone, smile fraying at the edges. “He’s leaving again after this, Issei”.

Issei must hear the clear defeat in your voice because he gathers you against his chest to hug you properly. “I know that,” he murmurs. You breathe in the light notes of amber lingering on his skin, his big hand splayed between your shoulders.

Then you feel the unmistakable press of a kiss to your crown. “You’re a coward,” your brows knit together as you glare up at him. It's just like Issei to make it sound like you’re fussing over nothing after you’ve spent years building it up in your head. His grin widens, crooked. “But you’re our coward, and we want to see you happy”. 

You feel your irritation melt away at his sincerity. A smile curls at the corner of your mouth. The sweet atmosphere is swiftly soured as he adds, “So hurry up and fuck already”. 

Takahiro’s return is poorly timed. Shutting the lattice door behind him, he strolls in with scent of tobacco following close behind, “Who’s fucking?”

A wave of embarrassment washes over you. It makes you go hot and cold in quick succession. Issei surrenders and rolls onto his back, cushioned by the futon as you push him away, loud cackles bouncing off the walls. 

“Nobody is. Be quiet, the pair of you”.

“Is it about Hajime?” he continues, crouched before you with eyebrows wiggling suggestively. Takahiro jumps backwards with a snicker when you angle your hips to kick at him. The bitter smoky smell is much stronger around his fingers. He grabs your ankle to keep you still but Takahiro’s smug air dissipates in an instant, mouth falling open as you drag him down. “Hey—!”

Issei stays quiet with his arms tucked behind his head, happy to no longer be the target of your ire. 

That is the scene Tooru and Hajime returned to only a minute later. Having rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, Makki had accidentally pushed you down into Issei, the three of you tumbling backwards in fits of laughter. 

Spurred by the need to be included, Tooru took it upon himself to flop unceremoniously into the pile. Your pained yelp had caused quite a stir, the image of Hajime’s face twisted in worry playing on a loop in your mind. 

Later, you inhale deeply and grimace in discomfort. The air is humid. You can feel it sticky in your lungs, right beneath the fresh bruise blooming across your rib. Tooru’s eyes flicker, caught in the movement as you rub at your sternum. The corners of his lips downturn. 

“Sorry again,” he mumbles over the sound of gentle, trickling water from the nearby spring, knocking your elbows together. You’ve strayed toward the back of the group to walk alongside him, his stride slowed to keep pace as you wandered around the low lit gardens to kill time before dinner. Flowers are few, evergreens abundant, stone lanterns guide you forward. 

With a forgiving sigh you link your arms to keep him close. Tooru’s rigid posture relaxes as you nuzzle against his bicep. “Nobody died. It’s fine,” you laugh quietly. 

“If it were up to Iwa-chan I might’ve”.

You roll your eyes. “I can handle a bit of roughhousing. Grew up with you, didn’t I?” 

Tooru’s face is thrown into stark relief as moonlight filters through the canopy, and you watch his small smile scrunch up into a moue. “With my sister you mean,” he says, with a fondness betraying his expression. “What a beast”.

You have vague memories. Downy brunette hair fisted in a small hand. Eyes swollen with tears. A young boy sent to the corner to think about his actions. Tooru always started those fights, not that he would ever admit it. But you knew he was fighting for his older sister’s attention more than anything else at the time. 

“Liar. She spoiled you all the time,” you tell him. “And you were as bad as each other”.

Tooru hums, the way he often does when he doesn’t believe you. Your paths converge, misstepping as he sways and you throw his too-innocent act a look of suspicion. “So,” he starts a beat later. 

It’s apparent in his eyes. That gleam of curiosity, and hesitance. Bingo. Tooru barely moves as you push into his side and attempt to veer him onto the grass in protest. “No,” you reply. 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“No? Well if it’s not about me confessing to Hajime then please, do carry on”. 

Tooru makes a petulant, frustrated noise. There’s an indent in his cheek where the inner flesh is pinched between his teeth. You roll your eyes, scuffing your shoe to the stone path. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to confess now,” you tell him quietly. 

“You’re just scared,” Tooru returns under his breath. His expression is solemn now, as is his tone.

“And what if I am?” your voice raises a bit, rousing the attention of the men up ahead. When they look back you muster a smile and give a reassuring wave. Your attention momentarily drawn to the huddle behind them by the bamboo gate. A small family shuffled by, heads bobbing with gratitude as the boys made room, when their toddler took notice of Takahiro and became appropriately delighted by him. 

While the mother spilled panicked apologies and took her daughter's hand, the girl stood on the very tips of her purple jelly sandals and Takahiro bent to let her pat him on the head before departing. Tooru drops the topic with an offended hum as you abandon him to rejoin the group, examining the trim of his nails to feign disinterest, “She only liked you because your hair is pink”. 

“Actually it’s strawberry blond,” Takahiro snarks, equally affronted and amused. “Just heavier on the strawberry”.

Their movements coalesce, blindly shuffling after one another back into the hotel lobby. “Should probably head back soon,” Hajime mutters as an afterthought, his gaze trailing wall to wall before landing on the clock hung above the main desk. “Should we buy some drinks and stuff for tonight?” 

“I can get it,” you volunteer at the same time that Tooru interjects with, “We’ll go get it”. 

You glare at him.

Hajime is reluctant. At the very least he’s worried. It’s apparent in the flex of his fingers, the set of his jaw, the earthen eyes narrowed at the pair of you. “Will you be okay together?” 

“Yes, Iwa-chan. This isn’t an episode of ‘My First Errand’,” he reaffirms his grip on your arm, giving it a decisive squeeze. “We’re adults. It’s no problem, right?”

“Right,” you say, the decision clearly made for you. You turn your attention from Tooru’s pointed smile back to Hajime and the others. “We’re good. Text us what you want and we’ll bring it up to the room”.

Murmured acquiescence ripples through the group, and Tooru ambles you out through the main entrance as you part ways. Your entwined shadows elongate, the wall mounted sconces leading a path to the small sundry nestled in the east side of the hotel. 

“You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“No”.

“Not even if I say please?”

“No,” Tooru chimes again, tugging you through the automatic doors. The cashier acknowledges your arrival with a quick smile and continues to restock the empty shelf in front of them. 

The temperature drops as you turn onto the drinks aisle and Tooru opens the closest fridge while refusing to let go of you. “I just don’t understand why you’re not taking the chance,” he continues, frowning at the bottle labels. When he plucks the umeshu from the rack you know it’s for him. “I don’t want you to regret it”.

“They’re asking for beer and shochu,” you read tiredly from the phone in your free hand. The text chat bumps as another message comes through. “Uh… Issei wants dried calamari. We should get seaweed tempura, too”.

“Stop changing the subject”.

Annoyance sparks in your chest. “This is what we’re here to do,” you grumble, shoving your phone into your pocket and opening the adjacent fridge door with more force than necessary. You shiver at the gust of cool air. 

An indolent sigh seeps from him. “C’mon. You have to know,” Tooru murmurs, moving closer to hook his chin over your shoulder. He softly knocks your heads together. “The chances of you being rejected are less than zero”. 

“No, I don’t know that. And—even if that’s true, what then?” you shake your head, chewing your lip. “Like I told the others, it’s not a good idea”. 

“Okay,” Tooru replies, standing upright and turning to saunter away. He draws out the word as he does whenever he concedes an argument he still thinks he has won. You stare at his retreating back with a bereft sense of defeat until your eyes sting, now cold where your arms had been linked. 

“Tooru,” you say. He makes an inquisitive noise, his nose wrinkled as he rummages through the deep fried snacks. “Being rejected and watching you two leave again—I can’t do both”. 

Your voice cracks. That strikes a chord square in his chest, his sudden crestfallen expression is evidence enough. Tooru abandons the tempura shelf and tucks the bottles of liquor under his armpit while tucking you under the other. You're a mess, a cacophony of emotion threatening to spill out through your tightly closed eyelids.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to push you”.

“Yes you did,” you laugh thickly, and Tooru has the decency to appear sheepish. He rubs his hand down your side. “But it’s okay. I know you mean well, you all do”.

It’s enough to see that it comes from a place of love. The extent of your yearning has affected him just as much as anyone. Tooru watched consistently over the years while you stood in place and dug, and dug, and dug, for somewhere to put your feelings. Some point along the line it became a crater you couldn’t climb out from. And while you were desperate to make it hospitable, desirable, to be a person Hajime could want, he had managed to blindly pivot around it his whole life. 

The electrical buzz emanating from the fridges is abnormally loud as Tooru, for a precious second, actually stalls to gather his next words. “Look. I’ve been thinking,” he says with a rather rehearsed air. 

“That’s not good”.

“Don’t be mean. Hear me out,” he grins. “It was weird for Hajime to suggest a trip so last minute, don’t you think?” 

You purse your lips thin with a contemplative hum, grabbing the snacks and shuffling along the aisle while he talks. You had thought it significant, that being the main reason you encouraged Hajime’s idea in the first place. “See, he’s a straightforward, honest guy. And he’s earnest. That’s why you think if he returned your feelings he would’ve said something, isn’t it?”

The cashier furtively looks you over as you wander closer to the counter and set them down. You offer a strained smile. “Hi, that’s everything. Tooru—what’s your point?”

Tooru pulls out his wallet and emphatically states, “My point is you’re wrong!” He hands over the money, “Oh, here. Keep the change. Thank you”. You take the carrier bag, wincing when the glass bottles clink together. “Anyway,” Tooru exhales a heavy breath, visible as he steps into the night air, “You’re underestimating his cowardice”. 

Coward was not a descriptor you’d ever ascribe to Hajime. Yourself, sure. You shoot Tooru a sidelong glance, and he smiles at your clear scepticism. “Iwa-chan is bad at being selfish. He feels a certain responsibility toward the people he cares about. Did on our old team, and with the guys, and especially with you,” Tooru continues, a warmth to his tone. “He’s probably not thinking about his own feelings. He’s mostly worried about you, and yours”.

Your pace lags until you’ve come to a stop. Tooru does so a few steps ahead. “So he brought us here for what? To let me down gently?”

“Did you listen to a word I just said?” Tooru cocks his head, the moon crowning his head, light threading through his hair as his expression is shadowed. “I think he was always aware of what could change if he outright confessed. He needed to be sure, and he needed a reason, because his gorilla brain thinks it’ll ruin your whole relationship. That’s why we’re here,” you blink at his lithe fingers, waving in your face and wriggling. “It's an excuse. A final push. Because he wants to try!”

Eyes wide, caught in the place between awed disbelief and crippling anxiety, your fingers almost slip from under the bag handle. The trip being symbolic of Hajime’s resolve—could that make sense? You swallow against the lump in your throat. Memories of every recent there-and-gone-again touch and gentle look hold new meaning as they resurface. “He said that?” 

“Well, no”.

And the lump in your throat, presumably your heart, drops straight into your stomach. You march past Tooru into the hotel lobby with a bitter laugh. 

“Wait, would you—! You’re both so frustrating”.

“Me?” you whirl around to glare at him. People linger at the edge of your vision. Those prim, soft looking women that greeted you mere hours ago gather at the reception desk and pretend not to stare. Lowered into a broken rasp, you tell him, “What happened to not pushing? You aren’t being fair, Tooru”. 

“This isn’t about fairness. You said you're scared,” Tooru says. Your eyes dipped low to avoid the surety in his gaze. “And that’s fine. I just want you to consider that maybe you’re not the only one who’s scared”.

His words register gradually, and they ache, like a deep bruise. The implications become clearer, and your reply comes quietly—not whispered, with a voice that carries no strength. “Fine,” you lift your head, ball your fist tighter and the plastic handles dig into your palm. The tension smooths in Tooru’s brow. His eyes soften, squinting at the corners, and you realise you’ve begun to smile too. “I’ll keep it in mind. You’ve said your piece. What now?”

“Oh. Now we go back to the room before Hajime sends a search party, eat as much as we want and drink until we fall asleep,” Tooru says, casting a quick glance to your surroundings. He drapes arm around your shoulders haughtily, “Then at the festival tomorrow I’ll conveniently slip away with Makki and Mattsun to leave you and Hajime alone. Do with that what you will”. 

You snort, feeling an unrestrained fondness for your friends, and will yourself not to cry. “You all already had this planned, didn’t you? Issei told me the same thing”. 

“He wants to talk to you. Confess, don’t confess. Either way, I think it’ll be good for you both,” he says resolutely. Tooru’s one armed hug has the steadiness of home. You return it, hooking around his lower back, and walk together. His strides that much longer, and you a little braver.

Returning to the room you’re greeted by the sight of three men crowded in the genkan pushing to get their shoes back on. As Tooru anticipated they were preparing to go out looking for you both. The smile on your face only grows at Hajime’s admonishments now you're considering the love behind them, Tooru’s words on a loop in your mind. 

If Takahiro and Issei exchange a look at the bounce in your step, well. You happily ignore it. 

Clothes had been laid out neatly for each of you to wear for dinner. Once you’ve changed you putter into the main room and settle on your knees, resting back on your calves. The floor is comfortable underneath your shins. Set on the table is a lavish spread of food brought up to you by the ryokan staff. 

The heat of another body radiates to your left. Hajime smiles when you look at him. Your heart thunders. He’s unbearably handsome in his complimentary robe, a darker blue than your own, and he has it loose at the neck. You feel a headache coming on with the effort it takes not to ogle his chest. 

To your right Takahiro’s navy coloured garb is worn equally loose, somehow managing to look dishevelled rather than natural. As though he had pulled it on haphazardly in his excitement to get to the food. 

Tooru saunters into the room alongside Issei. His robe matches your own. It is drawn tight at the waist and closed at the collar, closely outlining his upper half. You are always startled by how broad Tooru truly is, given how lithe his movements are. He huffs when he notices the spots rather side of you are taken. 

“Ready to eat?” Issei rumbles, sitting opposite at the low table looking nonplussed as ever. You can’t help noticing his belt is barely holding tension and could fall open at any time, both sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. It smells incredible,” you say. The dinner is beautiful, a healthy array of colour, covered in mouth watering glaze. Seasonal flowers and leaves and decoratively cut vegetables have been used as finishing touches on each dish, artistically expressing the end of the summer. Your stomach twists in hunger as both palms come together in synchrony, “Thank you for the food”. 

You take your chopsticks and reach for the dish closest. Limbs cross over the table top. A familiar, homely scent of saffron, garlic and onion fills your senses. The gloaming moon watches you eat in the relaxed atmosphere. Soft sounds of satisfaction, the clang of cutlery. “S’good,” Hajime says. He catches your gaze and lifts his chopsticks toward you, free hand cupped beneath it. “Want to try?” 

It’s unnecessary in the best way. “Mmn,” you replied, leaning forward with an indulgent smile. You don’t trust yourself to speak, the spark of giddiness was doing embarrassing things to your body. 

Could Hajime really return your feelings? Tooru certainly thinks so. Issei and Takahiro. Seemingly everyone that has been within twenty feet of you.

Tooru watches the interaction over his glass of umeshu, radiating a smugness that can only be interpreted as I told you. You don’t particularly enjoy being seen to the bottom of; it makes you want to shrink away. It’s the strange flicker of determination on Hajime’s face that keeps you from doing so. 

You’re not the only one afraid to say something, a voice insists in the back of your head. 

The food falls apart gently on your tongue. You give a pleasantly surprised hum, engrossed in the rich flavours, and you almost miss how Hajime preens. His mouth pulled into a small, boyish grin, unable to look you in the eye. 

“Hey man, give me some of that,” Takahiro bemoans, his tone on the precipice of teasing. You recline to allow Hajime to pass the dish across and instinctively know what will come next. “Oh, I see how it is. Not gonna feed me too? Favouritism at its finest—” With a flat glare Hajime scoops a large chunk of rice and shovels it into Takahiro’s mouth mid sentence, and you hide a laugh behind your hand. 

As the plates empty your imagination wanders. The whole evening had been a whole unravelling of doubt. Until this point you’d navigated every one of your relationships with a certain level of trepidation, Hajime most of all. Taking a forward step only when certain it wouldn’t creak. Years of doing nothing, saying nothing, because it was the safe option. You had been prepared to spend your life in that unspoken purgatory if it meant keeping Hajime, and there had been comfort in that decision. 

But now you have permission to hope and you don’t know what to do with it. You’re quieter than usual, though nobody points it out. If anything they seem relieved. Three of the four, atleast. Hajime won’t stop sending you worried glances. You wonder if he’s overthinking his actions, and your reactions, the way you’ve always done. 

The main room is fragrant with the remains of dinner. You’ve gathered some pillows, shared out the snacks and poured their drinks, five sups in and counting. The boys are bickering over which movie to watch. Sake heats you from the inside out, plucks you right from your entangled thoughts and back into the present with loose limbs and a looser tongue. 

You speak loudly over them, “How about a comedy?” It’s the first one you can think of. “Tampopo?”

Issei, Takahiro and Hajime pause to consider. Tooru groans, already knowing he has lost the majority vote. “I wanted to watch ‘Before we vanish’,” he whines. “Sci-fi is better than comedy!”

“We always watch sci-fi,” Hajime remarks as he works the remote, switching the movie category to comedy and searching for ‘Tampopo’. 

“There’s a drinking game for this one,” Takahiro adds. “I think you sip every time somebody says ‘ramen’”. 

“If you want to be put on a waitlist for a new liver go ahead,” Issei says. 

The room briefly fades to darkness, lighting up not a second layer as the studio logo whirls onto the screen, emphasising the shadows of Hajime’s laughter lines. “We should drink every time there’s a weird food-porn montage instead,” he suggests, sinking back onto his elbows. Your traitorous mind immediately notes the few inches between your hands. 

“Well I’ll be drinking in protest,” Tooru turns his nose up though his eyes betray him, fixed on the screen with obvious interest. “And I’m not sure I want to hear the word ‘porn’ from your mouth ever again”. 

“Porn,” Hajime says. “Porn, porn, porn”. 

“Quiet,” you hiss, focus absorbed by the opening scene. An odd pair of lovers, one delicate woman and her white-suited gangster, enter a movie theatre. Their uniformed entourage scurries behind them with champagne and a wicker basket of food, setting up a small table as though in a restaurant. 

“Oh,” the dapper man’s voice bleeds through the speakers as he approaches the camera to break the fourth wall and harangue the viewer. “So you’re at a movies too. What are you eating?”

“Dried calamari,” Issei answers loftily. Takahiro snorts into his drink. 

Scene to scene, you drink when prompted and settle into uninhibited contentment. Feet tucked up under your thighs, propped on a plush pillow. The heat from Hajime’s hand grazes your skin. Closer and closer until the simple stretch of your fingers would see them entwined. 

The movie is funny. It is also unabashedly sensual and hedonistic, and heavy handed about its themes surrounding food. From oysters to noodles, including a scene involving the two lovers using their tongues to move an egg yolk between their mouths before it bursts, you're barraged with wet slurping sounds as the characters on screen eat, and eat, and eat. 

“Hot,” Takahiro slurred, while Tooru cried, “What the hell are we watching?”

You drank twice for that one. Too tipsy to parse whether the hot flashes through your body were embarrassment or arousal or an intermingling of both. You’re overly conscious of Hajime’s movements and his closeness, so much so that the plot passes through one ear and out the other. 

The dim lamplight from the ensuite room pools across the tatami, the door left ajar to luminate the spot where you’ve lined up the liquor bottles. You squint at the labels. Fuzzy. Laughter ripples through the group at the ongoing scene, an elderly woman being chased around a grocery store and hit with a fly swatter for seemingly—fingering the food? 

You smile at the sound as you lift Tooru’s umeshu bottle to the light to discern how much remains before pouring it into your glass. A hand circles your ankle, shifting back and forth to fit the peak into the gaps between his knuckles. The soft evocation of your name. Hajime is holding out his own empty cup with a half lidded gaze, the left side of his face thrown into stark relief by the TV screen. 

Something hot flares through your chest, your perspective on his tactile habits shifted; the initial desire suffuses to the very tips of your fingers. Now you’re restless with it. He’s so handsome, you think. And he’s still looking at you. 

You hear his wordless request and fill his drink too, with hope the alcohol will not steal these warm moments come morning. 

Once the movie was over your sprawled out bodies eventually migrated toward the futons Issei prepared. You forgo the double bed to crawl into the covers, to the surprise of no one, and let your eyes trail after Tooru. The flush across his nose has steadily deepened throughout the night. He flicks on the electric fan and kneels to roots through his luggage, pulling a compact from the front pocket with a triumphant noise. 

“Comfortable over there?” Tooru circles the pad of his pinky into the balm and brings it to his mouth. The faint strawberry scent is enticing, preferable over the heady, bitter smell of beer. His brow quirks when you don’t reply. 

“Want some?” he asks. Slowly, you nod, and he flashes a wry smile, setting down the pot before stretching to reach you. The motion draws you in, tipping your chin up. His fingers are soft on your cheek, splayed out and cradling your jaw. You’re happy to indulge him.

Tooru kisses you. Your heart maintains a steady rhythm. It’s a friendly, chaste press of lips; you rub your own together as he pulls away not a second later, finding them smoother. Sweeter. The hints of strawberry linger right beneath your nose. Caught in your own world you fail to notice the other two men staring.

“Oh no,” Issei drawls, turning off the lights as he saunters in. He drapes himself across an already prone, drunk Takahiro, tilting his head in Tooru’s direction. “My lips are so dry”.  

The atmosphere sparks a little. Issei’s teasing, syrupy tone is like flint striking steel. A fond, honeyed sensation settles around your bones—or perhaps that was the alcohol easing the tension. Flirting came easily amongst the others because it was without expectation. The silly pet names and heavy handed affection; it’s all a playful toeing of the line. People found your group dynamic odd no matter how much you tried to articulate it to them. You think in the end, it boiled down to trust. To safety. They all loved you in their own, individual ways, as you loved them. Maybe that's how you'd managed to be so content with Hajime's friendship. It had been enough.

Tooru hums and sits cross legged on his futon. He settles back onto his hands, smiling hazily as Hajime kicks his foot in passing, “I’ve noticed”. 

You can’t help appreciating how genuinely coy it is. Patently different to the way he behaves with strangers—not so forced. With his friends flirting is more about working for Tooru’s permission. It’s more fun that way. 

Issei purses his lips expectantly. Tooru leans forward. 

“You okay?” 

You blink. Hajime lowers onto the futon beside yours. His yukata has fallen further open to display his firm chest. Not that you’re looking. You’ve been cordoned on the far end of the room together. Takahiro was too drunk to make any purposeful decision but it was obvious—at least to you—that Tooru and Issei chose from the remaining futons to keep you and Hajime together. 

“Sleepy,” you say, the lull to your voice earning a gentle smirk in response. 

“Want any, Iwa-chan?” Hajime’s frowns at the interruption and looks over his shoulder, taking in the suggestive intermittent puckering of Tooru’s mouth. You think at this rate there’ll be no balm left. 

“No thanks,” he says. 

“Have it your way,” Tooru grumbles from his place beside Takahiro, right in the centre. Pale legs kick at his covers until they’re rumpled a certain way, apparently satisfying to him, and he wriggles down into the mattress. “Still think we should’ve watched ‘Before we vanish’. I’m going to have nightmares about oysters”.

Issei snorts. He turns on his side, laid at the furthest end from you. “But does your nerdy sci-fi movie use an egg yolk to symbolise orgasm?” his hand makes a sweeping gesture in the shadows, “I don’t think so”.

“Tha’s cinema baby,” Takahiro abruptly slurs, mouth muffled against his pillow. A beat passes. You meet Hajime’s gaze. His lips are pressed thin, trembling. You hear a smothered wheezing sound coming from Tooru’s futon, and a beat later the stillness is broken by a unanimous fit of laughter. 

“Shit,” your cheeks ache, your stomach is in knots as you pull the covers up over your persistent grin. The collective glee tapers. “I’ve,” Hajime starts after a deep breath, rubbing at his eyelids, “missed you idiots”.

Tooru sniffles at that. “Don’t make me cry,” he says, clearing the emotion cloying in his throat. You feel a pang of sympathy, overcome with it yourself. “I’ll wake up with swollen eyes and I forgot to bring gel masks”.

“Use a cold damp cloth or something”. 

“Mattsun, you're so primitive”.

Eventually the murmuring between the boys settles into silence. The kind of silence that makes the shadows in your room a little darker, dense branches spreading across the ceilings and walls into a daunting canopy. The electric fan and the cicadas hum a cohesive song into the night. 

Through the thick of it, you hear a new whisper. Hajime calls your name and there’s barely any voice behind it—uncharacteristically timid. Blinking away the haze, your eyes adjust to the lack of light. You can see an inviting, wide open embrace. The corner of a blanket pulled back to expose his torso. 

Intention clear, you first glance at the sleeping figures over his shoulder. Tooru curled into a cocoon with his bedsheets tucked under his feet. Takahiro laid out on his belly, open mouthed and drooling. Issei on his side, arm bent beneath the pillow, breathing so shallow you’re tempted to pinch him awake. 

Hajime waits while you think. Your vision has sharpened enough to make out the trepid smile on his face. Emboldened, you crawl out of the futon and into his. 

“Looked cold over there,” he reasons. 

You hum in agreement. Compared to his body heat, you’d say it had been freezing. Despite all the hard earned muscle over the years, Hajime is pliable when he’s relaxed, doughy, and he yields when you begin to adjust your shared position. You guide his arm down to cinch around your waist and nestle against his chest, legs overlapped. Made up of yourselves but also each other. 

“Better?” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. A final shiver dances the length of your spine as your nerves settle and anticipation thaws. You can feel his heart beating like a wing beneath your palm. 

It reminds you of when you were kids. The jagged shape of a tall, lego Godzilla had forced you to find home between him and Tooru more times than you could count. Everything had been so much bigger. Scarier. Still, those gauzy memories don’t quite hold a candle to this. 

Hajime’s hand glides down your back in repetitive, methodical strokes. It makes you feel delicate, like something in you might fracture. You try to ease your breathing as he pulls you closer. The proximity isn’t anything new, but this is something else. Different. It always is, with him, only this time you don’t need to convince yourself otherwise. 

Fingers twisting into the thin cotton of his yukata, you mumble, “Thanks, Haji”. 

You feel his lips on your temple like hot wax. Your eyes flutter closed, and all at once you feel brave enough to say it, but the moment passes as his head drops against the pillow. 

From the recesses of your mind rose the rehearsed speeches, the recipes for honmei chocolate, the imagined cliche scenarios that you left dog-eared in highschool. All the ways to say ‘I love you’. 

Hajime has always expressed love in smaller ways. You’ve observed, over the years, his little habits. Easing small burdens. He’d take the clothes off his own back if it could make your journey smoother but wouldn’t ever dream of asking you to stray from it. That’s where you differed, and what you feared. 

If he got cold feet you would need to be the brave one. 

For all that you had doubted about the nature of Hajime’s feelings towards you over the years, you could have some faith in it now. The thought of him leaving again without hearing it from you—without knowing you were an option—doesn’t bear thinking about. 

Vague and half-formed, you succumb to sleep on the end of a drowsy self imposed promise. Tomorrow, you’ll tell him. 

Wading through a cottony haze, your consciousness sharpens in increments. Every single physiological response in your body is shouting that it is far too soon to rise. You groan, tilt your head and let it loll against your arm; the other is flung outside of the covers, fingertips skimming the futon edge. 

You’ve turned on your side in the night. Slowly, you realise a firm body has conformed to your back, knees nudged up behind your own, bending them toward your chest. The way you melt into their warmth and nudge against the cradle of their hips is instinctive. Then the shallow, steady breaths brushing the nape of your neck stutter on a sharp inhale and your eyes fly open, remembering where you are. 

Hajime. 

After a few seconds endured with bated breath you release the tension in your muscles. He’s asleep. 

There’s stark relief. The initial terror in your chest ebbs. Careful as you go, you slip out from Hajime’s grip. A crease forms in his nose, frowning at your absence, and you stay to see how he reaches for you even subconsciously. 

A long yawn forces your jaw open, tongue sitting like cotton as the last dregs of sleep fade. A quick look around the room tells you Takahiro is the only one up. The latticed door to the onsen is cracked open. You pull your yukata tighter to your chest to shield against the slight draft. Blood rushes down to your toes as you walk, prickling white noise filling both legs. 

Bordering the onsen is a quaint patio area mimicking a traditional veranda. There’s a mosaic garden table and two matching folding chairs, one of which is occupied by a visibly hungover Takahiro. 

“Anyone would think you had a wild night out,” you murmur, closing the door behind you. The air is cool again. Birdsong carries over from the trees.  Takahiro peeks at you through his lashes, a permanent frown etched into his brow. A headache, if you had to guess. He’s slumped in the chair with long legs stretched outward, a cigarette nestled in the ‘V’ between his fingers, held up by a loose wrist like it alone was too heavy.

The tip glows red as he takes another drag and turns his head away to exhale the smoke into the dew laden air. “Never let me mix drinks again,” he rasps.

“You say that every time,” you cross your arms over your middle and sit down. The metal is cold under your thighs, felt through the thin fabric. “Sleep well, atleast?”

“Like the dead,” he flashes a conspicuous smile as he brings the cigarette to his lips. “You?”

His nonchalance falls flat and betrays his interest. Subtle in his teasing. Despite already knowing he would’ve seen you and Hajime on his way to the veranda, the confirmation leaves you feeling hot.

“It was comfortable,” you reply stiffly, braced to defend yourself ad nauseam. Takahiro’s eyes softened in the rousing grey-blue daylight. 

“Good,” he says. 

“That’s all?”

“What, you want me to force the subject? Figured you've had enough of that already”. 

“No,” you sigh, sinking into your chair. “…Thanks, Makki”. 

Takahiro shrugs lightheartedly and stubs his cigarette out. There’s movement from inside the room. At that moment the door slides open, and Hajime pops his head through the narrow gap. 

Your fingers twist hard around your belt. He looks sleep mussed where he’s sitting on the tatami, pushing the door further open to lean against the frame. There’s recognition and relief in his gaze as he glances from Takahiro to you. No indication he was awake before. 

“Hey,” Takahiro says. 

“Morning,” Hajime replies, sounding as though his throat is dry. A draft dances through and his face scrunches slightly at the nicotine smell. “I set an alarm for breakfast. They’ll be here in any minute”.

“The other two up?” you ask. 

“Mostly,” Hajime nods in their general direction. “Tooru’s getting in the shower and Issei’s on the phone to his little brother”.

Takahiro takes a deep inhale and pushes his centremost knuckle to his forehead. “I’ll go help put away the futons,” he states with a groan. Hajime tucks his legs in to allow him through and swats at the hand that scrubs over his hair in passing. 

He turns his attention to you. A crease from his pillow marks his cheek. “Have you been awake long?” 

“About ten minutes,” you reply, staring hard at the dense garden and dwindling into silence caught somewhere on the knife’s edge between awkward and companionable. Running water streams from the wooden spout into the onsen, making the surface ripple. You latch onto the sound. “Shame we didn’t use the onsen”.

“We’re still here another night,” Hajime says placatingly. “Use it when we’re back from the festival if you want”. 

You nod, adjusting your yukata without reason. The simple need for distraction. “Maybe,” your mind can’t help veering toward the worst case scenario. What would’ve changed by that time, tonight? What would you say, and how, if anything at all? The thought makes your stomach twist. You’re not sure you could recover if he reacted poorly. 

Blinking out of your reverie, you realise that Hajime had been talking. Heat prickles under your skin. “Sorry,” you grin awkwardly, and it feels brittle on your face. “Got lost in my thoughts”.

“About what?”

You wet your lips, like that could soften the blow. “I’m going to miss you,” you tell him. His expression falls. “Both of you,” you add hastily, which does little to reassure him. “When’s your flight again?” 

Hajime’s mouth thins, eyes dipping low. “Late tomorrow night. Or early I guess,” he answers. His shoulders shake and he laughs ruefully, “I’ll miss you too, y’know. Not sure you realise how much,” like it was a matter of fact. The earth would go around the sun and Hajime would miss you.

“Like a hole in my head,” you murmur, so quiet you’re not certain he heard you. Then, slightly louder, “Are you excited to get back to California?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m excited to leave. Got a lot of interesting stuff coming up this semester, though,” he perks up when you gesture, encouraging him to continue. Inwardly, selfishly, you only want to hear him speak a little longer. “One thing I’ve really wanted to do is biomechanical testing. We use it for detailed analysis of our players movement. So…”

The air stifles as the sun rises and drapes across the private veranda, warming the wood panels beneath your feed. Once breakfast has been laid out—and you’ve been bid an enthusiastic ‘good morning’ by the staff—you gravitate toward the same seating arrangement as the night prior. 

It’s nothing short of a buffet. A traditional Japanese-style breakfast, hot rice and miso soup, grilled fish, dried seaweed and shellfish boiled in soy sauce and sugar, all served across four hand-woven bamboo trays. There are western elements to the spread, including coffee and bread, which Tooru happily reaches for. 

“A person like you should really avoid stimulants,” Hajime muttered as he came to sit at the table. 

Tooru startled, hands poised over the steaming coffee pot. He pouted, “A person like me? What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Paranoid, is what I mean”.

“If you're so concerned about my overactive limbic system maybe try being nicer to me!” 

The morning crawls onward with an atmosphere of trepidation. As if waiting for the other shoe to drop. You squirrel away in the ensuite bathroom again to get dressed, taking longer than is necessary. Condensation from Tooru’s earlier hot shower sticks to the tile and the mirror’s surface. The reflection is foggy, your figure like a smudge.  You regret not bringing nicer clothes for the festival—knowing you’ll be surrounded by all that beauty and colour and you worry you’ll look dull in comparison. 

Regardless, you smooth out any lingering creases in your outfit. Dull or otherwise it flatters your silhouette nicely. 

“Oh”.

You step out just as Takahiro angles his mouth to exhale. Smoke plumes out the open door in delicate wisps, swept away by a humid gust of wind. “Shit—sorry,” he mutters, a little flustered as he scrambles to shield you from the smoke, eyes roving over your form. 

“You okay?” you ask, unsure if you should be amused or insecure. 

He stubs his cigarette out into the ashtray balanced on the side table and wipes his hands on his jeans with such speed you worried it might create static. Then, suddenly, he’s across the room with his thumb sinking into the swell of your left cheek, tobacco fingertips framing the right. He pushes them together until your mouth is puckered. There’s nothing sweet about it. Rather, it looks as if he wants to squeeze you like a clementine. 

“You’re all glowy. And determined,” the crease in his brow deepens, and he adds pressure to his fingers until you’re squirming, flustered. “And you look cute”. Issei emerges from the garden at that moment. Hand up his dark turtleneck shirt, scratching idly at the hair on his belly. 

A deep groan rumbles in his throat. “What are you two doing?”

“I think it’s finally happening”. 

Drawn to Hanamaki’s incredulous outburst, Issei stares at your confused, squashed face as it is turned in his direction. His mouth parts and he squints, as though he were searching for the right words. 

What the fuck, you think. 

“What the fuck,” he says, as if plucking the thought from the air. 

“Right?”

They sidle either side of you. Tall and looming, their overbearing presence has anticipation swooping in your belly. Issei smells it like blood in the water and hooks two fingers to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Well look at that,” he teases, bending forward until your eyes cross. “Wonder who you’re getting all dressed up for. Us?”

“Fuck off,” you grumble, though it comes out muffled and terribly nasal. Takahiro laughs, and his thumb skips over your rabbit-footed pulse as his hand slides down the column of your throat and away. 

“Oi. In all seriousness you do look good,” Issei smiles. His kind eyes squint with it. They’ve made a clear effort themselves. That’s part of the fun. 

A voice floats in from the genkan, “Who are we talking about?” Tooru looks up from his phone and he beams. “Oh! You look cute,” he says, tone light and pleasant. “Hajime will like it”.

“Your reactions are worrying me a bit,” you reply dryly in favour of ignoring the heat in your cheeks. “Anyone would think I usually look awful”. 

“No,” their three voices overlap as they protest. “You never look awful,” Tooru says, shaking you by the shoulders. Then he stops to consider his words. “Well. Maybe that time we thought you had strep throat”.

“What Oikawa wants to say is,” Takahiro cuts in with a flat glare in the other’s direction, “We’re here to support you today, and stuff. That’s all”. 

“And stuff,” you repeat, a fond smile coming unbidden to your lips. The surge of affection has you trying to stretch your arms around three big bodies. “You’re being overbearing. But thank you”. 

Their arms come up to wrap around your back and reciprocate. You are corralled into a long, strong hug, compressed from every direction. They release you when Hajime returns. He is visibly stupefied at the scene, brow knit as he fiddles with the collar of his dark denim jacket. 

Your spine straightens, taking an unnecessarily deep breath. “Hi Hajime,” you say. It feels so different now, now there's all that premeditated intent behind it. Like ‘IloveyouHajime’ bunched into a single word. 

“Hi. You look…” Hajime's throat bobs. “Good. You look good”.

You glance at the boys and chew the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress your grin, “So I’ve heard”.

The sun is at its highest point when you leave the ryokan together. You are swallowed up by gold beneath the gingko trees flanking the road, a mosaic of dappled light filtering through the partial canopy and intermixed with the softly shaded ground. 

Foot traffic grew dense on the main street, teeming with life. “Stick close,” Hajime murmured next to your ear. You suppressed a shudder and took his arm so as not to stray far. The crowd herds your group closer to the heart of the festival. Sound assailed you from every direction. Thousands of lanterns have been strung up, forming a blushing canopy over the yagura, a makeshift stage housing performers and musicians, handsome taiko drummers setting the pace for participants to gather around it and dance along in circles.

There’s a sense of harmony, pigments blended into one another. Families are swathed in beautiful kimonos and silks, jinbei and traditionally woven hats. Your group stood out for their height alone—Mattsun especially, the tallest of the four men. People part to let you through, and children look skyward with awed eyes, jumping in place to see how high they can get. 

The current pushes you towards the stalls, where an amalgamation of savoury scents pervade the air. Sweet, crisp okonomiyaki sauce, intense pickled ginger, charcoal smoked meats. Hunger knots in your stomach. Hajime looks over the heads of people and spots some vendors. 

“Guys,” he raises his voice and drops his arm around your back with firm reassurance. The others pause, colliding with the moving bodies around them. “Food first. Then we can go to the games”.

You’re suitably satiated after takoyaki. The folded boat-shape container they’d handed over to you is warm in the already throbbing heat. It burns at the nape of your neck; the sun and the many stares of those around you. Takahiro, Issei and Tooru, too, keep flicking their eyes over, as if waiting for something to happen, or some kind of sign. 

Music plays over the din. A quick-tempo showy melody, like one would hear at a circus. Takahiro points at the ring toss stall. “Hey, ‘kawa. Win me something,” he says. 

“Win it yourself!”

“Don’t be like that babe,” Takahiro laments dramatically, his movements becoming languid and sloppy as he drapes himself around Tooru’s shoulders with his mouth curled into a smarmy grin. “You’re so much better at tossing than me”.

At your back, Hajime trembles with restrained mirth. Issei catches your eye and shakes his head while Tooru sniffs primly, attempting to scrunch his own smirk into a displeased pout. “Fine,” he relents. “But one of you needs to win me a mask at the rifle-shooting game”.  

“I don’t need to do anything,” Issei replies dryly as they start toward the ring toss game with startling synchrony. You glance at Hajime’s face, at another tentative, uncertain beginning of a smile, and feel the limitless joy of being together ballooning inside you.

“Did you want anything?” he asks as you walk. 

Giddy, you cling closer. Part of your brain is stuck on the thought that anyone on the outside looking in would probably assume you were a couple. “If you’re feeling generous,” you exaggerate the flutter of your eyelashes, making Hajime snort. 

Hours slip through your fingers like sand. In no time at all the sky began to darken. There’s a bubbling anticipation in your chest the later it gets. You lift your head to be met with the ochre of evening, azure blending into vivid orange at the horizon. 

Issei tips his head back to take in the sky. “Fireworks are starting soon,” he announces. Tooru’s eyes flicker to you. The tangible sense of finality that had permeated the afternoon comes to a long awaited fulcrum. You’re tempted to linger amongst the stalls, simply to vy for extra time. 

“You two should go and find somewhere to sit,” Tooru insists, shaking his finger from Hajime to you, “We’ll go grab some more food and join you later”.

Hajime levels him with a flat look. “All three of you are needed for that?”

“Yes,” Tooru smiles back, an intensity to his expression. You shift your weight from left foot to right and wait with bated breath.

After a moment of anticipatory silence, Hajime exhales his acquiescence and turns to you. “Come on then. Let’s find a spot”.

You’re pulled along with him, casting a lasting glance toward your friends and their encouraging gestures as you go. He leads two steps ahead, shoulders drawn to his ears, which are now notably pink. The fingers around your forearm are clammy and loose enough that you could break free. Instead, you overturn your wrist and slide up into his palm, aligning your hands to properly hold him. You squeeze three times, and the rigidity in his posture lessens.

Hajime leads you away from the crowded centre toward the river bank as the display starts in an explosive burst. Couples and families have dispersed there to watch the fireworks. When he manoeuvres himself to his knees you bend to sit beside him, the soft blades of grass flattened under your weight. 

The fireworks go on for close to half an hour, great pulsing strobes, fiery dandelions and starbursts of light brightening both the sky and the water. You hear nothing over the noise, not even your own breathing. A streak of gold shoots up, few becoming many, fizzling into pinpricks of light mimicking fireflies.

You wonder after it ends, "Are the Californian displays better?"

Hajime binks at you, registering the question. He makes a contemplative sound. "Bigger, yeah. Especially on the fourth of July," he brings your joined hands over his lap and you stare as he absentmindedly strokes the back of your knuckles. "Wouldn't say that makes it better. Better depends on the company".

You mumble your agreement, "Think the others missed it?"

"Would be pretty hard to miss," he smirks softly, falling into a comfortable silence. Childlike laughter chimes around you, sparklers of every colour glowing etching names and shapes into the darkness. “They’ll be around here somewhere”.

You lift your gaze, staring at his profile. Your eyes traced the line of his jaw up to the delicate shell of his ear. “Hey,” you mumble, drawing his attention away from the surroundings. Speckles of light reflect in his irises as he turns to face you, cheekbones burnished with a soft red afterglow. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something”.

His brow arches in lieu of a response. Every movement he made you mirrored without meaning to. Quieter than before, you start, “I…” and as fast as it comes your resolve withers. Stretches and thins into weak, fibrous threads.

“What’s wrong? Is it that bad?” he tries for a grin. Hajime puts on a brave face for you, he always does. But you can hear the genuine concern in this voice, and it spurs you on.

"Just don't want you to think I'm being selfish".

“You can be selfish sometimes," Hajime argues.

“Even with you?”

“Especially with me”.

You scrunch your eyes shut.

Hajime frowns and rushes to wipe the stray tear with his thumb, swiping right through it like spider silk. "Take your time," he murmurs, hands an unsteady counterpoint to the surety in his voice. Your heart beats, a desperate rattling behind your ribs. Trembling hands, damp skin. The swoop in your stomach that makes you feel as though your body is precariously balanced on a cliff's edge. This could be everything you’ve ever wanted. This is it.

A slow burn has to catch fire eventually.

So you reach inside and twist the spigot of your heart. A trickle becomes a flood fit to burst. It’s all encompassing, like love and heartbreak at the same time. You look at him and blurt, tremulously, “I’m in love with you,” then wince for having said it, as if you hadn’t really meant to.

“I have been for as long as I can remember. You’re my best friend and I was scared to say it and…” you continued, voice all in a rush, with the pained expression of someone who hadn’t meant to say that either, “I still am. Scared, that is. I'm sorry it took this long. My feelings for you were always at odds with my fear of losing you. And I’m sorry if it’s selfish. I know we don’t have much time left until you leave, and this could make everything weird, but you deserve to know that you're loved. That I love you. And—really, Hajime, if you could just stop me whenever you feel like it that would be great,” you snapped your mouth shut, white hot with embarrassment.

Hajime remained motionless, jaw slack and muscles wire-tight with tension for a long, sickening moment. The sting has you backing off, away, trying to think of something to explain, some excuse—

—Hajime surged forward and kissed you.

It is not like you imagined. There's nothing slow about it, no hesitance nor gentility. Hajime kissed as if trying to press the full weight of his want upon you. As if gravity were a mere suggestion. You suck in a sharp, surprised breath. Relaxing into it your arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders to pull him impossibly close, drinking in his soft shudder when you brush the nape of his neck, making all the little hairs there stand endwise.

Hajime's lips are smoother than they look. His hands roam over your hips, kneading the soft parts of your body, and you give way to indulgence. You tilt to kiss his shallow cupid's bow, down to the corner of his mouth. Teeth nibble at your lower lip, the tip of his tongue hatching hundreds of butterflies in your stomach as he traces the seam with promise.

Another loud bang startles you out of the kiss. Laughter and whispers. You sharpen to the surroundings, noting the distant acrid smell of smoke. Rather than release you, Hajime wrapped his arms around your waist and tucked his nose into the hollow where your jaw and neck met. Faint stubble tickles your throat. Your heartbeat clamours in your ears, the blood in your body blush rushing to your head.

"Sorry," you hear him say. His lips drift across your skin as he speaks. The apology fills you with immediate dread. "Should've asked before I did that," he continued quietly.

"Fuck. Is that all?" you slump in his grip with a quiet, wet laugh. "You scared me".

Hajime rears back to look at you, enough room to share a shallow exhale. His palm, large and rough, rose to cradle your cheek. He leans his forehead against yours. You feel like you’ve eaten the sun, brimming with inexpressible tenderness.

"Sorry," he repeats, understanding washing over his expression and a sheepish, fond smile playing on his lips. Pinker than before, not cold bitten, but kiss bitten. "Waited to do that for a long time," his eyes soften in the shadows, half lidded as they flit across your features.

"You have?"

"Used to think you would be my first kiss. First everything, really," Hajime's smiles broadens at your uncertainty, awed and dumbfounded, as he maps out the curve of your jaw with his thumb. Light over your fluttering pulse point. His hand drops and the heat lingers on your neck. He swallows, a sobering moment. "I love you too. Not sure if there was ever a time that I didn’t," he pauses then, looking out toward the orange glow flickering through the treeline, expression unguarded and open. “I kept trying to find opportunities to tell you. I didn't know how. Thought it wouldn't be...”

"Fair?" you finish for him. Of course.

The bonfire has been lit. Cheers can be heard across the river. Your thoughts splinter, stuck in the present while wondering if the others found their way, or if they were hidden somewhere, watching it all unfold. The mental image of them crouched in a random bush together makes you snort, and Hajime's brow pinches.

"Just," you rush to explain, grasping his forearm. You're halfway into his lap. When had that happened? "I imagined the guys hiding somewhere trying to spy on us. S'stupid".

An impish grin graced Hajime's face, ducking his chin as though to hide it. "I wouldn't put it past them," he says. And it hits you that—Hajime has always looked at you like this. Has been saying he loved you, for a long time.

You dither, your skin suddenly cool, and your palms clammy. "Hajime," you say at the same time as he begins to speak.

"Oh—you can—"

"No, you".

"I was going to say we should head back," his voice is infused with fond exasperation, gaze dipping to your union. He clears his throat, "For some privacy. I can't touch you the way I want to, out here".

“Right, right,” you nod slowly through the rush of adrenaline. It prickles in your fingers, the skin on your arms pebbling as Hajime eases you to your feet and a strong arm snakes around your waist. His lips brush your cheek.

“This okay?” 

Melting into the crook of his elbow like it was a space carved just for you, you return a kiss to his jaw and tell him, “You don’t need to ask”. 

“Noted,” he says roughly. 

The walk to the ryokan is a blur. You hardly remember the faces of those you passed. The dancers had been bright in your periphery, their movements reduced to streaks of colour, and every beat of the taiko drum thundered in your chest. 

The quick text you sent to the group chat receives an overwhelming litany of winking emoticons and exclamation marks. Inwardly you hope Hajime doesn’t read them until after—whatever it is you’re heading back to do. Hajime notices. “What’re they saying?” 

“That, uh,” the phone screen dims as you lock it and shove it deep into your pocket. Your legs keep moving. “They promised not to be back for a while,” you shared a meaningful look and wet your lips at the ideas flitting through your mind. The taste of him lingers. Takoyaki, toothpaste and lip balm. 

Together you stumble through the lobby to your room. Hajime remains close at your heel; not once do his hands leave your waist, steadying your movements. You feel drunk. Exhilarated and swept up in the newness of it, as if in a free fall. The keycard almost slips from your trembling fingers as the door beeps open. You step into the shadowed genkan and swivel to take his face into your hands. Another beep as the door closes. You press yourself to Hajime’s front and kiss him. Natural as anything. 

Hajime leads you deeper into the room. The tatami yields under your feet. He sighs blissfully as your tongue swipes along the seam of his mouth, opening up for you and coaxing you in. It’s languid and without demand. The soft, wet sound makes your skin hot. You shudder as he sucks on your tongue, letting go to take the flesh of your bottom lip between his teeth.  

“Need you. On the bed,” you murmur, threading your fingers into his cropped hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. Starting at the crown, you make your way down the back of his head to the nape of his neck where you found him to be sensitive. He shudders, goosebumps spreading over his skin, and arousal seeps through your core. 

“Anything you want,” he breathes. A frisson of anticipation zips up your spine when he steps forward to crowd you against the bedroom door, fumbling at the handle. It swings open and your stomach tightens at the abrupt inertia, stumbling onto the bed together with an oomph. 

Hajime rises onto his forearms, flicks on the lamplight before bracing either side of your head. His nose bumps yours, a warm puff of air against your mouth as he bends his knees, slotting your hips together. You kiss him again. It’s more of a press of mouths, because you can’t stop smiling, and neither can he. 

The outline of his cock is pressed hot against you. You hook your heels into his lower back and breathe his name into his mouth. Flint sparks in your belly as he instinctively ruts forward, rising frantically to meet him. Lips part above your own in a shaky groan, quivering as he deepens the kiss. 

There’s tension buzzing under your skin, the restless, pleasant kind that diffuses into every fibre of muscle and leaves you shaking. A soft hitch of breath. You rock your hips in search of relief, feeling his cock hard in the tight confines of his jeans. “More,” your voice dwindles into a weak moan.

“Slow down,” he calls to you, gentle and placating in a way that makes your eyes sting. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” and you wish that were true.

The rustle of fabric as you undress is inordinately loud in the intimate atmosphere he draws you into. Hajime’s eyes deign to stray from you as he shucks his jacket off and pulls his shirt over his head. The blush on his chest looks like the aftershock of a shot of sake; colour that seeps through his body and stains his skin. He’s gorgeous in the warm dim light, emphasising the shadows of his pecs and the downy hair on his navel. You trace a finger through it and preen at how his abdomen clenches. 

A rough hand slips behind your knee, not quite prying them apart. Hajime thumb strokes the skin there. “Can I taste you?”

Desire tugs at the base of your spine, heart racing. You’re wet. You can feel the cool kiss of air between your thighs. With a surge of want they fall open to him. The quiet hitched breath doesn’t escape you as he looks at you. 

Palms smooth down the backs of your thighs. They ache and stretch to accommodate him. Hajime descends, forging a languorous path of wet kisses on his way. Your stomach twists in anticipation when he blows lightly over your pussy, bringing your legs up to straddle his head, kneading the soft flesh there. 

Hajime’s eyes can’t find a place to call home. Flitting from your sex to your chest to your face, mouth hovering just above where you want him. Even so you find yourself wanting to kiss him again. Wanting for more hands, more mouths, more time to learn him with. 

“You’re beautiful,” he rasps, pressing praise into the delicate skin there. It’s the expression on his face that makes you throb. The intense, unabashed want. You’ve never seen him look like that. “You’ll tell me what you like, yeah?”

You concede with a barely audible mumble, unable to trust your voice. The corner of Hajime’s mouth quirks into a smirk. Then his thumbs are tucking into the innermost creases of your thighs, gently spreading your folds. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit before licking a broad stroke through your folds. 

Forcing his eyes open, Hajime clutches at the fat around your hips. He laps at your pussy, alternating between slow and fast, firm and languid, finding a rhythm that plays your body until your hips are rolling against his face. You cling to the bedsheets, head dropping back into the pillows. “Like that. Hajime,” you gasp as flickers back and forth over your clit, breathlessness abated by the sudden rush of air to your lungs. “Fuck. Don’t stop—!”

You hear his deep inhale, and his eyes scrunch shut with a long groan as he keeps pace. It sends an echo of pleasure through you—makes you clench around nothing, an innate plea from your body. He kisses your pussy, open mouthed, sweet and precise. Heat gathers in your belly like a solar flare. The pressure has you bursting at the seams. 

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you say, voice caught in your throat. Your thighs wrap around his head, toes curling. He doesn’t push, or adjust his pace, or let his enthusiasm get the better of him. A broken moan spills from your lips, pelvis undulating with each wave. Hajime maintains the rhythm—exactly as you need it, right as your spine arches into the sheets, and your orgasm ripples through you. 

Your breathing begins to steady. Your legs fall slack, hung limp over Hajime’s shoulders. He hums, a satisfied little noise, and rests his cheek against your inner thigh as his tongue slides lazily through your folds. You take in the arousal and spit coating his cheeks, half lidded stare, the sheen of sweat on his brow, and feel a surge of affection. 

Your fingertips graze his temple. His eyes flutter at the tender touch, and Hajime tips into it, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Good?” he asks, smiling. 

“Good?” you repeat with disbelief. You grab at his shoulders to coax him back up, pleased when he goes willingly. You readjust as he buries his arms under you and gathers you close to his chest, kissing the corner of your lips. You turn and murmur into his mouth, “You’re a little too good at that”.

Hajime laughs, lolling his forehead to yours. “Just good at following instructions,” his voice goes tight at the pressure against his cock, your hips raised to feel him through his briefs. “Fuck”.

“If you want to,” you tease dazedly. He nips at your lip in retaliation. 

“Don’t feel like we have to,” Hajime reassures after a beat, hand coming to rest on your waist. He strokes up and down your flank. “I don’t have any condoms. And I know this has been pretty fast”. 

You consider him closely, love suffusing through you like a warm, pleasant fog. It spurs you to admit things you wouldn’t have otherwise. “I’m clean. We can stop if you want to,” you kiss his cheek, “But I’ve waited enough. I want you,” you kiss the bridge of his nose, “Wanna know what you feel like inside me,” you kiss his slack mouth, tasting yourself. “Want you to know what I feel like when I cum, so you can think about it when we’re apart—”

Hajime pins you to the bed like a butterfly, his jaw set tight. His eyes are dark, gone is the colour of nascent spring. You feel swallowed up by him. “Keep talking and you’re going to make me cum,” he rumbles, reaching to push down his briefs. 

“I don’t care if you cum as soon as you put it in,” you squirm, tucking your chin to watch the moment his cock slips free. He sits in his palm and wraps his fingers firmly around the base, leaning deeper into the cradle of your hips, legs splayed overtop his firm thighs.  

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Hajime replies dryly, dipping to kiss you again. You’ve lost count of how many. He positions his arm above you by the headboard and the hot weight of his cock settles on your sex. You share a soft sigh as he guides the tip through your folds, the underside nudging against your clit. 

“You know what I mean,” your focus is torn between talking and angling your hips to take more of him. “Doesn’t have to be mind blowing I just—want to be with you,” you mumble, quiet like an admission, and Hajime’s concentration comes apart at the seams. 

The air is stolen from your lungs as the tip slips in. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, seeking—something. Leverage. A tether. Chest to chest, Hajime presses you deeper into the mattress as his cock sinks into you. Slow, attentive to your shifting expression while you adjust to the stretch. 

And when he bottoms out you feel full. He’s thick. it has a sense of contentment spreading throughout your body. Eventually, “You can move, big guy”. 

Hajime gives a gasping breath, groaning your name on the next. The rough timbre of his voice makes you pulse around him. The corded muscles in his arms flex as he shifts. There’s a dull sting while he pulls out, and a startling emptiness, immediately sated as he rocks his hips forward. You arch upward, angling your hips to take him deeper, and his eyes screw shut, lips parted in a silent moan.

Hajime fucks you with slow, deliberate thrusts, gradually building a rhythm, finding a pace that you respond to. You can hardly bear to look away from him. Flushed pink with exertion, the light lovingly kissing the left side of his face, mouth swollen and red. He’s murmuring little incantations of praise that you strain to hear over the sharp slap of skin, every thrust plucking another breathless sound from your throat. 

And he’s looking right back, almost reverential. A desperate pinch to his brow. You dig your heels in, nails biting at his back. It’s all you can do to hold on. His kisses grow clumsy as his attention wanes, reaching a spit-wet hand down to play with your clit as he pistons his hips. 

“M’close,” he grunts like it pains him to admit. 

Your ears are ringing. The sticky, wet echo reverberates around the room as Hajime fucks you. His strokes press impossibly deeper and you choke on a moan, feeling him in your throat. His fingers rub faster over your swollen clit. Pleasure spreads through your belly, blood rushing between your thighs. 

“Please,” you cradle his cheek, hot against your palm. He takes it in his free hand, interlocking your fingers against the bedsheets. The intimacy has your mind going numb. You’ve become a knot of a person. That new vulnerability, the love he’s immolating you with, is what knocks you toward the edge. “Hajime,” you cling to him desperately. “Hajime”.

“Fuck. I’m coming, I’m—” Hajime buries his face into the crook of your neck, intermittently squeezing your hand. His thrusts are harder, sloppy. He shudders to a stop, his orgasm carving him straight down the middle with a drawn out moan. 

The tension seeps from him all at once. You laugh breathlessly at his collapse, the weight both comfortable and bruising. His pelvis is nestled perfectly against your clit, and every twitch creates another wave of pleasure. You undulate your hips to chase the friction. 

The only indication that Hajime notices is the smile curling against your throat. He lets his lips drift across your pulse, folding his arms around yours until the world and it’s axis are just that—Hajime. Without needing to ask, he stays close and circles his hips even as his cock softens inside you, tipping you over the precipice. 

Time is difficult to measure while swaddled in your intimate little bubble. You’re not sure how long you spend simply holding one another, commiting how the other feels to memory. Hajime kisses your forehead. “I love you,” he says.

“Love you,” you croak back unattractively. He flinches at the sound, and props himself up to search your face. 

Eyes wide and earnest he asks, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m alright. Just processing everything,” you reply, blinking away the sting behind your eyes. Hajime doesn’t look convinced. 

“Tell me,” he gently encourages. There’s an anxious edge to his tone that you want rid of. 

“Besides the fact that I had sex with the guy I’ve been in love with since middle school and everyone is going to know that when they get back?” you laugh. Hajime’s mouth curls at the sound as he carefully manoeuvres you both onto your sides. Better. “I’m just scared about what this means for us, I guess. Are we—you know, together now? Doing the long distance thing?” 

Giving a thoughtful hum, he hooks your knee over his hip. Whether it’s to put off the mess a little longer or keep you close, you’re not going to complain. “I want to be with you,” he says. 

“Even though we’ll be…” you squint as you think and reach inward for the specific number “…five thousand three hundred and fourteen miles apart?” 

“You looked that up?” Hajime’s smile widens, dopey and fond in a way that makes your heart ache. “But yeah. We’ll take it one step at a time”. 

“Then what’s the next step?” 

“Next?” he says. Another tender kiss to your temple, a deep, pensive inhale. “Next, we use the onsen”.

EXTRA:

You can’t be sure how long you stand there, sluggish and unblinking, fixated on the distant threads of grey cutting across an otherwise dark sky. It felt dissonant to the torrential downpour in your chest.

A warm body comes up behind you. Issei rests his chin on your crown, rubbing it back and forth as Takahiro knocks your elbows together, “Ready to go?”

No, you think. After a few beats of silence you phone buzzes in your hand and you scramble to check it. The background is the picture Takahiro took of you and Hajime by the lake, in a world of your own. A notification bar cuts across the screen. 

Hajime (03:34): I love you. I’ll call when I land. 

You swallow that thought and uproot yourself, “Yeah. Yeah I think so”.

[arc-misadventures]

Vtuber AU. Weiss collabing with her mom or sister?

The VTuber: The Empress of Ice

Today was an unusual stream for one, IHateMyDad2.0. Then again, among any streamers what would be considered normal?

Bot, no today, she could have a very special guest, one that could have disastrous, or highly beneficial implementations to her channel for years to come.

Only time would tell.

~~~

IHateMyDad2.0: Hello everyone, and welcome to the stream!

Her white haired avatar gave a dazzling smile as she addressed her chat. She loved streaming, within this space she could feel the mountain of worries she had built up over years of abuse by the hands of her despicable father slowly being chipped away. And, today was a special day.

For today she was listening to her family councillor, and had decided to take part in a family exercise they had recommended to help reunite her with her family members who had nearly been torn apart by their father’s actions.

IHateMyDad2.0: Okay, chat! We have a special guest with us today!

~~~Stream Chat~~~

Steveo: Whoo! Stream!

Ferbanjo: Hi Snowangel!

Monkittiy: A guest?

StarChild: Is it cookie?

~~~~~~

IHateNyDad2.0: No, no it’s not, Cookie. No today we’ll be joined by a family member, a never before seen family member at that! So, everyone please give a warm welcome to my mother, ‘The Ice Empress!’

Emerging from the corner of the screen was a 2D model of a lady that extruded an air of mature elegance, and a crown of nobility upon her. One could easily tell based upon the models that the duo were related.

Although one couldn’t help, but point out several, physical differences between the pair.

TheIceEmpress: The Ice Empress? That’s a terrible name. I thought we agreed upon the, Sovereign of Snow?

IHateMyDad2.0: What? The Ice Empress is a really catchy name.

TheIceEmpress: And, a derivative name that a preschooler would come up with. SovereignofSnow carry a much more palatable air or royalty to it. Royalty that must be feared, and respected.

IHateMyDad2.0: Mom?! It’s a cool name, right chat?

~~~~~~

Littledino: Sovereign of Snow sounds better

Monkitty: The ice empress is rather bland

Yenta: We can call her, Sovereign for short

Draven: A new queen has appeared!

Ferbanjo: All hail the Sovereign of Snow!

Heartbreaker: Sovereign!

4SakenGodde$$: ❤️Sovereign❤️

Adrastus97: Milf!

~~~~~~

IHateMyDad2.0: Eh…?

IHateMyDad2.0’s mouth hanged wide open as she stared in shock as her chat swiftly agreed with her mother, and the fact that they were already simping for her mother.

IHateMyDad2.0: Okay, fine! The Sovereign of Snow it is…

SovereignofSnow: Now that is far more appeasing to the senses~! Don’t you think so too dear?

IHateMyDad2.0: It is a little better…

SovereignofSnow: Now then my dear, what are we doing for your stream; Are we going to talk about your fellow streamers? I’ve often heard you talk about them, I’m quite curious to learn about them.

IHateMyDad2.0: I… I haven’t talked to you about my friends before.

SovereignofSnow: Well… no you haven’t. However, I do hear you scream something about cookies quite often.

IHateMyDad2.0: Eh…?

SovereignofSnow: She’s a fellow streamer isn’t she?

IHateMyDad2.0: Cookie? Yeah she is a fellow, VTuber I hang out with. Her full name is, CookieMonster. I call her, Cookie for short when we’re chatting, and playing games.

SovereignofSnow: Oh that was what was happening. I thought it was your safe word.

IHateMyDad2.0: MOM?!

IHateMyDad2.0’s model burst into a fierce blush as her mother roasted her so effortlessly. Her chat erupted into a fit of rampant laughter at her expense.

IHateMyDad2.0: I am in no way in such a relationship that with anyone that requires a… a safe word!

SovereignofSnow: That’s no surprise really, you have much left to be desired compared to your sisters.

IHateMyDad2.0: What is that supposed to mean?

SovereignofSnow: That compared to your sisters, and myself for that matter, you are quite lacking in certain physical aspects.

IHateMyDad2.0: What aspects…

~~~~~~

Yenta: Is the aspect that she is flat?

Littledino: No booba

StarChild: Flat booba

Draven: She pads

~~~~~~

IHateMyDad2.0: I AM NOT FLAT?!!

She yelled in rage as she saw the comments her chat was making pouring in as the insulted her body’s shape, and size. A response, that if an expression could be displayed would have shown a teasing smirk from the bottom of her lips.

SovereignofSnow: No, you are not out right flat. But, when you are compared to your older sisters, or myself, a fair comparison would be apples to watermelons.

IHateMyDad2.0: You are not that big?!

SovereignofSnow: B to E, E to F, and F to G my dear~!

IHateMyDad2.0: Your my mother, of course you would be the biggest one among us!

SovereignofSnow: Actually, I am a F-Cup. Your sister, B…?! No, no names… Ahem. The… Black Sheep of the family is the biggest.

IHateMyDad2.0: She’s how big?! I thought she was only a cup size bigger than me?! Not that big??

SovereignofSnow: I thought you were aware of this? Her model certainly displays her sizeable cleavage quite well.

IHateMyDad2.0: Well considering what her streams are like, I thought she was doing it for the views.

SovereignofSnow: That wouldn’t be of any surprise to me. The Black Sheep of the family has always been the most flamboyant, and outgoing of the four of you.

IHateMyDad2.0: Resulting in her being the degenerate of the family…

IHateMyDad2.0 scouled as she remembered the nature of her older sister’s streams, and the rather depraved aspects of them.

IHateMyDad2.0: Why do you let her do those kind of streams? I thought you would be all against her streaming considering what she does.

SovereignofSnow: Oh, but I am against them. I don’t like the videos she does. But, she is a grown woman, and she is allowed to do as she pleases. And, as her mother I have to respect her choices. I don’t have to like them, but I will respect them nonetheless.

IHateMyDad2.0: Oh… That’s really nice of you, Mom.

SovereignofSnow: Thank you.

~~~~~~

Adrastus97: The Sovereign is really growing on me.

4SakenGodde$$: She is quite understanding of her daughters

bumblequeen: I like her

Stevo: Me too

Ferbanjo: I hope we see more of her in the future

Summertimeaadness: Same

~~~~~~

SovereignofSnow: But, there is one thing about my daughter, and her streaming that concerns me.

IHateMyDad2.0: What’s that?

SovereignofSnow: Who is this man she is… obsessed with? The one she refers to as, ‘Darling?’

IHateMyDad2.0: ‘Darling?’ Oh, she is talking about a fellow streamer; His name is, ErrantryPaladin.

SovereignofSnow: And who exactly is this, ErrantryPaladin?

IHateMyDad2.0: Well, he is… Actually, There is a short video that was uploaded of him that I was planning on watching, would you like to watch it with me, Mom?

SovereignofSnow: By all means.

IHateMyDad2.0: Awesome! Okay, here is the video… What?

SovereignofSnow: What is it?

IHateMyDad2.0: The name of the video it’s… It’s called, ‘The Broken Paladin.’

SovereignofSnow: Broken Paladin? Is something wrong?

IHateMyDad2.0: I… I don’t know. This was a bit taken from his stream, but the video was made by a person watching his stream, not, Errant himself. So, I have no idea what it is about.

SovereignofSnow: Then let’s find out what’s wrong with your sister’s darling paladin then.

IHateMyDad2.0: Okay, let’s start the video.

She hit the play button on the video, and watched a story play out that she did not expect to see.

~~~

IHateMyDad2.0’s stream cut away to an image of, ErrantryPaladin; He was in the midst of a simple game of HOI4, building up his chosen nation of, Brazil’s infrastructure for the upcoming war.

ErrantryPaladin: Okay, that should help my production. Hmm… I want to build some railways… What do you think chat, should I build a railway around my whole country, or should I…?

His words were suddenly cut off as a donation was made, followed by the robotic male voice, and the message it had to deliver.

StalwartDoggo: “Hello, Errant! I’ve been wondering something about you, and you fair maidens…”

ErrantryPaladin: This should be good.

Stalwart: “What is it like having all these woman fawn over you? What is it like to be the alpha with a throng of woman hanging over you?”

ErrantryPaladin: …

ErrantryPaladin: Pffft! What fucking bullshit is that?!

If it could have been seen one would see the collective viewers of, Errants jaws drop like an anvil. They had expected him to say many things, but what he had just said.

ErrantryPaladin: Alpha… Pff… what a fucking joke…There are no woman fawning over me, the real me, not this…

Errant’s hand waved in a circle around his face, looking tired at the screed.

ErrantryPaladin: This mask…

He looked to the side of the screen, and despite the fact tgis face couldn’t portray such emotions, one could only see a broken, and tired man as he stared far off into nothingness.

ErrantryPaladin: What I mean by that is, people only know the mask, this face I present to all of you.

ErrantryPaladin: The face of a huntsman, a lone warrior, who fights for the people against the hordes of Grimm monsters that attack the weak, and defenceless. The face of the wannabe hero…

ErrantryPaladin: But, the real me… I am no where near as amazing as him. I’m just me.

He sighed as he seemed to lean back in his chair, his mind deep in thought.

ErrantryPaladin: You see… people could be shown an image of a person, and they think that, that person is cute, and they’d be interested in meeting that person, and maybe go on a date with them. But, then they actually meet that person in the flesh, and totally be turned off by that person.

ErrantryPaladin: I mean, how many of you would still like me if I was five foot two, and a chubby. I will bet money that many of you would lose all interest in me.

Errant looked away as he heard another ping appear before him.

ErrantryPaladin: Ahh, no, QueensBane, I don’t look like that. Actually, I do look a lot like, Errant. 6’2”, blonde hair, and deep blue eyes. I just lack his confidence…

A deep sigh escaped his lips, as he watch his chat feed play by. Getting annoyed by the comments his chat was making.

ErrantryPaladin: “You’re a ten, ErrantryPaladin.” No, I’m a seven, eight at best chat… Listen, I am handsome enough guy to get the girl, and I have the money to support a family… If I was such a great catch… why have all of my relationships ended so horribly…

ErrantryPaladin: I mean… my first girlfriend, was only dating me to get close to my sister! She was just using me… bitch couldn’t ask my sister out herself, she had to use me as a proxy?!

ErrantryPaladin: Hmmm… Now that I think about it, the last time I saw her she was nursing a black eye, a bloody nose, and a broken lip… My sisters are really protective of their little bro.

The vindictive smile that spread across his face was a terrifying sight to many, but it faded as soon as it appeared as a bitter frown usurped his smile.

ErrantryPaladin: The next girl I was dating dumped me because I was boring. Still don’t understand what she meant by that.

ErrantryPaladin: I caught my next girlfriend cheating on me. She tried to play it off as a ‘mistake’ that will never happen again.

He scoffed in indignation as he shook his head.

ErrantryPaladin: Bitch had been banging this guy behind my back for about a month, so this wasn’t a quote, ‘mistake.’

ErrantryPaladin: And as for my last girlfriend… Chat, have you ever seen those videos where a guy comes up to a couple, and ask if they will cheat on your partner for a thousand bucks?

His eyes scanned his chat feed as he saw several dozen variations of the word ‘yes’ scroll by. As well as people asking if that was what happened to him.

ErrantryPaladin: It was for a hundred.

Errant just sighed in defeat as he looked down at his desk.

ErrantryPaladin: We had been dating for three months, and she was willing to throw it all away for a measly hundred bucks… I told her to take the hundred, she could use it to pay for her uber. I dumped her at the pier with that steamer, and cut her from my life. That was about… two, and a half years ago, give, or take a month, or two. I haven’t been in the dating scene since.

ErrantryPaladin: So no, StalwartDoggo… I don’t have any bitches. No one sees me as a catch since they just throw me away in the end for the dumbest of reasons. I don’t have anyone! Hell I don’t have any friends either!

ErrantryPaladin: I’m all on my own… just like always…

Errant stared into the void for a while, his mind not paying attention to his stream before he took a deep breath, and turned to face his chat.

ErrantryPaladin: Now, where were we?

ErrantryPaladin: …

ErrantryPaladin: Ahh yes… Trains~!

~~~

The mother daughter duo stared at the screen as the video ended they did not expect the video to end in such a way. Especially, IHateMyDad2.0, she had always seen, Errant as an indomitable mountain, that always seemed to have everything under his control, and yet he seemed so broken on the inside that she had joined idea how to respond to that.

Her mother however…

SovereignofSnow: Hmm… You don’t suppose he’s into older woman now do you?

IHateMyDad2.0: …

IHateMyDad2.0: Eh?

Her face broke into an expression of wild confusion, and shock as she heard those words leave her mother’s mouth.

IHateMyDad2.0: Y-Y-You can’t be series, Mother?! You’re at least twice his age! Do you seriously think he would be interested in dating someone your age?!

SovereignofSnow: I don’t see why not; Aren’t all men into well endowed, and full bodied woman? He has had many loveless relationships, I have had a loveless marriage, we have so much to connect over about that alone. I think we would make a lovely pair. Don’t you think so dear?

IHateMyDad2.0: I-I…? W-What?!

SovereignofSnow: Oh! I’m also a bonafide, Milf. What young viral man doesn’t want to bed a milf?

The last few minutes had been the most unbelievable minutes of her life, she had expected many things to happen, but to hear her mother say those few words broker her in a way she never expected, and left her with but on response.

IHateMyDad2.0: WHAT THE FUCK MOM?!!

~~~

Meanwhile on, ErrantryPaladin’s stream he was informed that, IHateMyDad2.0’s mother had made certain comments about him. Now he didn’t have the time to watch the full video, so he was stuck with looking at, IHateMyDad2.0’s mothers, SovereignofSnow’s model where he came to a simple conclusion.

ErrantryPaladin: …

ErrantryPaladin: …

ErrantryPaladin: Smash.

[daechwitatamic]

banner by @/itaeewon

The Price {coming soon!}

Rating: NSWF - minors do not have my consent to interact Genre: Snow White and the Huntsman!au, angst, smut, unhappy ending WC: 8k

Summary: The Queen is responsible for everything you call yours: your home, your job, your freedom. You live without laying claim to anything else, lest the Queen leverage more in exchange for her grace. But the Queen has just named her latest price: the life of the young blacksmith, Min Yoongi.

Warnings: language, drinking, there’s a plague and it’s a problem, reader’s parents died (see the previous warning lol) and there are scenes of her grieving process, reader is a hunter so there’s mentions of animal carcasses and hides, lots of mentions of reader’s big fancy knife, a murder attempt, kissing, nip stim, groping, fingering, clit stim, penetrative sex (protection not mentioned either way), reader on top, angst, unhappy/ambiguous ending

A/N: Part of the Make Me Your Villain collab! Please give the other authors a lot of love!!! Huge huge huge thank you to @/here2bbtstrash for beta-ing!

//

Mirror, mirror - look and see. Who might take this throne from me? Mirror, mirror - who's the threat? Show me which boy's blood to let.

Teaser:

The Queen is seated, and it’s so cramped in the room that it’s hard to properly bow, but you do your best. 

“I asked you here because I need something done. You seem, somehow, to be my best option.”

You duck your head. “I’m at your service, as always.”

And you are. You owe the crown everything - the home you were allowed to keep, your brother’s education, your income. Your freedom, as conditional as it is. 

The Queen seems to think before she speaks, and when she does each word is short and deliberate.

“There’s someone I need gone,” she says, her voice giving away no emotion. “A threat to my throne. I’ll pay five times our normal scale. I’ll pay you for your discretion, as well, on an ongoing basis.”

You respond with silence. You can’t process quickly enough - you don’t know what to tell her.

The only thing you can tell her is yes. She holds your whole world in her hands. 

But if you tell her yes, then you have to do it. Can you kill a person, can you pretend it’s no different from cutting a rabbit’s throat? 

Five times your normal price could do a lot for you. You could fix up the cabin - patch the roof where it leaks, reinforce the cellar the way you’ve thought about for years. 

None of it matters. You can’t say no to the Queen.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you hear yourself say. Your stomach is a block of ice, turning over and over with the tide. “I am yours to command.”

You know it. She knows it.

“Min Yoongi. The blacksmith’s boy,” she says coolly, and you aren’t even surprised. It’s like part of you knew, somehow. Part of you has been waiting for this ending all along. Isn’t this exactly why you’d never let him get too close? There was never a happy ending in the stars - not for you.

Posting this Friday, January 12th - please look forward to it and the rest of the collab pieces!!

[dreaminghelaena]

asoiaf characters as youtubers

cersei: she is the CRAZIEST mukbanger ever. always has some new drama to talk about and it’s very very interesting so she has millions of subscribers. you know that meme of azealia banks’ internet feuds list? yeah that’s cersei. she’s beefed with everyone on the platform and never makes any apology videos for it. she’s had the channel since before she gave birth to joffrey and it’s still going strong. she sometimes does sponsorships but only for wine companies

tyrion: he is the vsauce of asoiaf youtube. does a lot of videos about scientific theories and experiments that get a lot of views. sometimes has drama with people but it’s not very often. he did a face reveal once he got to 3 mil and people edited picsart flower crowns onto his head and made it their pfp, so his comments are just filled with those. sometimes does his own experiments but they always end up going wrong

margaery: she does a lot of makeup tutorials!! she makes sure to use easily accessible drugstore makeup products so people can follow along. she has a couple million subscribers and is renowned as the most non-toxic makeup youtuber of all time. tried to collab with cersei but cersei didn’t show up. she also used to be a nail tech so she has a master class on that

theon: OMGGG theon is THE internet gossip youtuber ever. he’ll literally be pumping out videos about feuds hours after they started. some call him shady cause of the types of videos he makes but he doesn’t care cause he’s having fun. he also has a twitch gaming streaming channel and he is the Jerma of his universe there. he sucks at the games and does not know anything about gaming consoles or the best mics/cameras etc so he has to get computer science™ major jon to help him

sansa: sansa is a fashion design major in nyc so of COURSE she is posting lifestyle vlogs. she started the whole channel because she was featured in a few of margaery’s videos and people kept asking for her to make her own. but she is also very careful with her privacy cause she’s scared of someone finding her. she also has a second channel where she posts sims 4 videos and it’s super chill and fun over there

arya: arya’s really into self defense so she mostly posts tutorials and videos about that. she’s super super helpful in the comments but will insult people brutally when provoked. her genre isn’t as popular as the others so she has a couple hundred thousand (very loyal) subscribers. she also has a secret second channel that only has around 10k subs and everyone there gatekeeps tf out of it. she posts roblox and fortnite videos with her siblings that are really funny and entertaining. all of the girls in the comments are thirsting for robb 😭

jon: jon doesn’t post very much but when he does post it’s minecraft videos. most of the time sam is in them and sometimes robb will make an appearance but he has no idea what is going on. jon posts minecraft builds and he has his own smp (is that what they call it????) he’ll occasionally post videos about playing choices matter games like detroit become human and until dawn. sometimes ppl go ??? because during his minecraft build videos he traumadumps in the background instead of just putting on music or smth. he doesn’t show his face tho cause he’s afraid of getting made fun of

myrcella and tommen: ok they have a super secret channel that only has around 1,000 subscribers where they post videos of their cat. that’s all. people in the comments are super sweet and myrcella and tommen make an effort to respond to all of them. their videos only get like 230 views each time they post but they don’t really care they’re having fun

renly and loras: they’re posting relationship vlogs and stuff but they don’t have a filter so sometimes they talk about really nsfw stuff and get in trouble for it. they’re mostly known for their travel vlogs but they also do videos about drama in their lives that is literally insane. like once renly casually brought up how his brother almost killed him during a ouija board game and loras is like “mhm mhm” but all of the comments are ???? margaery collabs with them all of the time too

bran: 3am challenges.

[bicheetopuff]

I saw a promo collab they did for burger king, and it's so funny like Katsuki only has the little paper crown he don't even work there 😭 he's just there to be around Izuku who is all nice and cute in the worker outfit

I saw that, and while the thought of Katsuki staying by Izuku’s side even at Burger King is cute, it honestly kinda makes me sad that the meme got so big that someone in charge agreed to collab with fast food joints to make money from the joke.

It feels like the core of bnha as a story was just ignored and it feels like the world just proved the narrative right. They watched Deku go from a quirkless kid with a dream to a kid who made the most with a borrowed power but missed the point that it was always his spirit that made him the hero he was, not his strength.

It’s just really disheartening how quickly fans decided to demean Izuku for being quirkless and saying that the story was “all for nothing” when Izuku getting a quirk and keeping it was never the end goal. From the beginning, he called it “borrowed.” The end goal was him being the best hero he could be with the limited time he had with that “borrowed power.” And that’s what he did…

Like, what did they take from the story? That quirkless people really are useless and have no place in society outside of a minimum wage job? Did they miss the fact that he became a teacher at the best hero school in Japan? Why did no one make fun of All Might when he lost OFA and became a full time teacher? Was All Might being the symbol of peace for, who knows how many years, all for nothing too?

I just don’t understand how someone can read a story where you’re supposed to empathize with this kid who’s been the victim of the society he lives in, only to somehow adopt the same attitude that that society had that the story so clearly portrayed as wrong. Not even just in Deku’s case either, quirk discrimination was a major part of Himiko, Spinner, and Shoji’s arcs too.

Multiple examples from different perspectives, yet most of the internet still managed to miss the point… and I think it’s gross how the misinterpretation of what the story was actually about is becoming bait for the sake of corporate greed. I didn’t look too much into it but whether that collab was agreed upon by SJ or Bones, it’s gross either way, especially when you think about the fact that they can make these marketing decisions without Horikoshi’s consent.

[rebirth-eliphas]

All About BA-TSU CLUB

Ba-tsu was founded in 1971 by designer Ruki Matsumoto. I believe the brand started as a formal wear/business wear line? One notable thing about Ba-tsu is that they dabbled in costume design, they’re well known for designing the costumes for the “Battle Royal” films. I won't go too in-depth on the brands early history, they didn't start as an alternative fashion brand so it’s not very relevant. The alternative clothing they made, including the Kyo collab, was done under a sub-brand called “Ba-tsu Club.” (I have no idea if Ba-tsu club was also designed by Ruki Matsumoto, it's all a bit of a mystery.)

In 2004 Ba-tsu was acquired by  a company called Crown Creative Co. In September 19, 2006 Ba-tsu went bankrupt and closed all of their lines except Men's Ba-tsu, which remain open to this day. 

Ba-tsu Club top

One of the reasons Ba-tsu is so iconic in the V-kei scene is because of their collaboration with Kyo from Dir en Grey. Kyo designed all of the pieces and Ba-tsu released them. This really pushed Ba-tsu into the spotlight.

Ba-tsu Club x Kyo set (this collection was huge, I'd guess they released at least 20+ items together)

BA-TSU CLUB PRINTED SKIRT One thing I think really sets BA-TSU CLUB apart from other punk brands from its time is how versatile their pieces are. You could style them really over the top or just with a simplistic outfit! —They often use custom printed fabric and embroidery in their pieces, which is also pretty unique!

BA-TSU CLUB SOCKS —Speaking as someone who owns a decent amount of pieces from BA-TSU I can attest to the fact that the quality of their pieces is extremely consistent, It’s absolutely top notch.

BA-TSU CLUB JEANS I wish I had more information/history on this brand,It’s difficult to research them because they have never had a website :( all of those neckties and things printed with “BATSU.COM” ARE CATFISHESSS! anyways thx for reading my blawwwgg I’ll b back tomorrow :3

Current men’s ba-tsu page. Mens-batsu 

Ba-tsu bankruptcy source http://thtt.blog78.fc2.com/blog-entry-33.html

(Some people online say this is ba-tsu’s site but it’s actually the website of a mall that had a ba-tsu store at one point.) https://web.archive.org/web/20030222184025/http://www.livehep.com/five/f3/batsu.asp?sid=80 

[hum-suffer]

I'm yours

Ishan is a hopeless romantic. In the sense that his romantic interests never let him hope.

The most recent person that he has been head over heels for is going to give a seminar in their college and he's Ishan's favourite.

Ishan is the head of the Cultural and Intellectual Committee and as such, he's in charge of almost all the extracurricular events that take place in the college. He's always had such bloody issues with 90% of the guests and speakers for being unprepared or late that these days he just assumes that the guests will be late, but hopefully not too late.

Which, brings him back to his current romantic interest— Shubhman Gill.

The man has been guest speaker in their college twice by now, third time monday, and he has never disappointed Ishan. He's always on time, he's always perfectly dressed, and he always emails Ishan his speech and let's Ishan point out details that he would humbly request to add or remove. Ishan could have kissed him for being a half decent human being the very first time he did that.

Plus, the college being the Techno faculty, the super famous technological prodigy of India coming as a guest speaker, Shubhman sometimes gets assaulted with too many questions and people and sometimes with no good interactive audience at all and yet, he smiles and talks to the teachers afterwards.

The first time Shubhman talked to him, Ishan had been putting away the gifts Shubhman received so that the man could take them on his bike without damaging the Tulsi plant.

(And that was another thing. A famous and important personality coming on his fucking bike? Ishan drooled a little bit when he heard Shubhman softly ask Ritika ma'am for a place to keep his helmet at.)

"Thank you for inviting me," Shubhman told him in a bashful way, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks.

Inexplicably, Ishan wanted to bite those cheeks. He held himself in chem and smiled back,"Thank you for coming, Mr. Gill. You've been a pleasure to work with."

"Please, it's Shubhman! And honestly, I had fun coming here as well. I hear you're the organiser of the event; it's amazingly done, I must say. Your management is impeccable."

So what if Ishan let the praise get to his head? So what if he stalked Shubhman on Instagram later? They had exchanged numbers—for future seminars, Shubhman had explained, much to Ishan's misfortune— and Ishan was entitled to be a little over his head for once!

The second time they talked, was when Ishan congratulated Shubhman on his award as the leading influencer of social media. The third time was when Shubhman wished Ishan on his birthday. The fourth was when Ishan had to invite Shubhman for ALASKA organisation's collab with their college and his presence as a guest judge.

Shubhman had sought him out again.

"I had a lot of fun," he said with that damnable smile of his,"thank you for inviting me again, Ishan."

Ishan shook his head,"Thank you for coming, man. Honestly, your way of interaction makes learning more interesting for the students. And, well, throws me some points to become the favourite teacher of the year."

Shubhman laughed, a sound that Ishan wanted to get drunk on for the rest of his goddamn life. "You have those competitions?"

Ishan looked around dramatically and leaned towards Shubhman, as of telling a secret. Shubhman, that perfect man, leaned forward as well, looking completely serious about this so called secret.

Ishan reached on his tip toes to whisper,"The students do that in their classes on Teachers' day. If they do it publically, they have to give the best teacher paper crown to teachers senior than me. So, a private award for me to take."

Somewhere in the background, something huge fell and Ishan startled badly enough to almost stumble but Shubhman caught him by the arm and grinned,"Cheers to the best teacher, then. What's the other activities you planned amazingly?"

And that's how Shubhman had ended up getting VIP passes to see the Darshan Raval concert that had been arranged.

Virat bhaiya had raised an eyebrow at Ishan showing Shubhman around the campus while they prepared for the concert lightings and all, but hadn't said anything. Ishan was so thankful.

They haven't talked in the four months after Ishan wished Shubhman a happy birthday.

____________________________________________________

So, in short, Ishan is a hopeless romantic. He turns every little gesture into a gesture of love and he has many one sided love stories that live rent free in his head.

He would have romantisized this as well, to be honest, if he wasn't confused as fuck.

He's been home for all of five minutes after a damn long day— it's exam season— and all he wants to do is flop on his bed and sleep for the next four weeks. A text pops up on his phone, from an unknown number.

'Are you tired, love? Anything I can do to help?'

Ishan frowns. None of his friends changed their numbers recently and moreover, none of them use nicknames. Can't be a student, no student of his would dare disrespect him. He may be lenient most of the time, but he's tempered enough to break their audacity on the very first lecture.

'Who is this?'

The reply came instantly. 'Your admirer? Your worshipper? Your fan?' a second passed as Ishan gawked at the message. Another message dropped. 'Whatever I am, I'm yours.'

Well, damn. Someone's smooth.

'Thank you for your kind words, but I prefer not to own people. It's illegal yk?' Ishan feels like an idiot as soon as he sends the text but he can't do anything because it's seen immediately. The person on the other side must be bloody stuck to their chat.

They send a few laughing emojis. 'I could turn the world around for you to be mine, though.'

Goddamn.

Ishan leaves the message on seen as he types the unknown number on Truecaller, but there's no registered name under the number.

He's about to leave and go freshen up when another message pops up.

'Searching for me on Truecaller will result to nothing, love.'

Ishan leaves the message on delivered as he looks around himself, his big house feeling emptier by the second. He blocks the number, somehow feeling a weird mix of anticipation and trepidation. He takes a fortifying breath and nods to himself, throwing his phone on the dinning table on his way to his bed room.

He tries to get the message out of his head as he looks for another YouTube video to see while eating his dinner.

'Do you know that blocking someone in the middle of the conversation is rude, Ishan?' the pop up message reads.

'Fuck off.'

____________________________________________________

There's a swarm of notifications going off and that's how Ishan wakes up at the ungodly hour of 2:34 am.

He blindly reaches for his phone, the brightness will kill him he's sure, but somehow manages to read the notifications with squinted eyes.

It's an annual Spotify subscription? What the fuck?

He scrambles to sit up and turns on the lamp, trying to focus more. The bloody notifications are an absolute onslaught to his ears. He even has an email announcing his annual Spotify premium account but there's no SMS of deduction from his account. What even—

Before he can start to plan a schedule to go to the bank tomorrow and also somehow plan a call to the customer service of Spotify, another message from that unknown number pops up.

'Happy belated Birthday, Ishan. Sorry I couldn't get you any actual gifts this time, I'll do better next time.'

Next bloody time?

'There won't be a bloody next time. Don't interfere in my life again. And cancel this bloody premium, i don't need it.'

And he lies.

He does need the premium for when he pulls all nighters and for when he drives to and fro to college. He needs it because he needs someone to talk and listen when he wants to be awake and podcasts are the only way that happens lately when he's off work.

Yes, he has a horrid social life— as a professor often does. All his friends are his colleagues. His family usually knows that he pulls insane hours and they only call at weekends.

'Don't reject it, pls' the message comes, as Ishan ponders his lonely life. When was the last time he enjoyed his life thoroughly? Another message pops up. 'Look, I just want to do something nice for you, okay? Leave it be, it's not your money thats costing you and I've got plenty of money to spend on my dear ones, with god's grace.'

Ishan doesn't know what to reply and he is incensed at himself for it. What the fuck? Ishan has never been greedy or wanted what he couldn't have. This random person suddenly gifts him a Spotify premium, Ishan contemplates his life and he hesitates in doing the right thing?

'Pls Ishan?'

Oh god, he can hear the puppy eyes. He turns off his internet and throws the phone on the bed. Somehow, Ishan manages to sleep.

____________________________________________________

The next morning, it's thankfully Saturday. His Saturdays go great almost always.

His hand itches to listen to his Spotify playlist he's made specifically for travel, but he doesn't want to use a stranger's gift. The stranger might know him and do it out of good of his heart or whatever, but Ishan, in all good conscience cannot use someone for their money.

As he absentmindedly drinks his evening tea, Ishan contemplates any tasks he has for the next day— grocery shopping, getting a haircut, finding a plumber to fix that minor leakage in his kitchen tap. It's gonna be a long day.

"Ishan!" He blinks up like a deer in highlights as he's startled by Rohit bhaiya. "What are you thinking?"

"Kuch nahi, bhaiya," he says and grins when Rohit bhaiya puts his hand on his shoulder. Ishan has always been a fan of skinship, and while Virat bhaiya being touchy is normal and comforting, Rohit bhaiya being touchy is rewarding and privileged. "Aap batao, how was your day?"

He groans in reply,"Puchh mat, Bhai. These B.Com students look innocent but they're so not! Apparently some kids sold around a paper of Accounts saying it's a leaked paper but it wasn't and making it clear to the students as well the board members? Hell. Why did I even accept to be the Secretary there when I'm Dean here too?"

Ishan laughs,"Because you love Virat bhaiya and lost a bet?"

"Shh, don't speak about it where students can hear you!"

Ishan laughs again. Feeling happy is a natural state of his when he's around his colleagues, they're all so good to him. It's what makes him stay in the college despite him getting offers from a lot of colleges in bigger cities. He's never gonna get the same affection anywhere else and he's ready to face some separation with his family while he works here. He's already made it clear that they're gonna come love with after his father finally retires.

"Accha, tell me what is the status of overmorrow's seminar?"

The one where his celebrity crush is going to be the main speaker?

"Spectacular. I've done everything, bas I'll get the flowers and the gift watch and everything else is set. Bhaiya bas Monday ko maachis dhundhni na pade, haa?"

It happens almost every damn time. It'd be ten minutes from arrival time of the guest and Ishan would tell some student to get the matchsticks for the auspicious diya lighting and no one would find the matchsticks. With everyone else, it's fine, but Shubhman? He's a punctual man, running around like headless chicken in front of him is not how he wants to establish himself and his students.

Rohit bhaiya nods understandingly. "Pakka. Varna ye apna hai na vo, usse lighter le ke candle light karke de Dena."

Ishan shakes his head at the confusing slang Rohit bhaiya uses. Amar, one of his students, has a smoking habit and hence carries around a lighter. The idiot always saves himself by offering his lighter at times when lighting something was necessary.

"Thik. Anyways, I'm going home, bhaiya. Anything left for me to do?"

Rohit bhaiya shakes his head with a grin and lets him go.

Its almost reflex when Ishan puts his earphones in and starts Chhaiya Chhaiya.

The bloody quality makes him blink and straighten up. And oh. Yeah, he's using premium.

Even as he feels a little guilty, his head bops to the beat as he drives back home.

____________________________________________________

When Ishan comes back home again, his garden looks different.

He's convinced that it's because he's not inspecting it properly so he crouches down and cranes his neck to look at the grass and some flower plants he has. He can't put his finger on it, but it's different.

He glances around the rest of his garden and that's when it catches his eye— the mower. And the pile of grass beside.

Someone fucking mowed his garden? And somehow, to the exact way he likes it.

And then, he hears the start of a two-wheeler, and before he's even out of the gate, the person has turned the corner and all Ishan can see is the shade of their taillight on the trees.

Ishan hightails it inside his house and checks it all over.

No lock broken, no thing stolen and no money moved. Everything is as it was when he left in the morning.

His phone pings with another message.

'Sorry to leave like that, ik it was obnoxious'

'how'd you like your garden tho? Did I do well?'

And. Ishan is a weak man, okay?

He knows this is wrong, he knows he has a stalker probably, and someone with probably deep issues, but. He bloody can't accept such big help without saying anything in gratitude, okay? He's weak.

'Its fine, tho I'd like to meet you someday' what the fuck is he saying. He wants to meet a probable sociopath?

'And thanks for the garden. You've done it perfectly and it's a great help. Thank you' there. He's been polite.

Another message comes. 'I think you'll enjoy our meeting a lot, love. And your welcome'

No other messages pop up throughout the evening.

Ishan denies to even himself that he checks his phone every five minutes for the stranger.

He's intrigued, he says to himself when he goes to sleep.

____________________________________________________

Tagging: @mayakimayahai @onthecloudseven @ek-ladki-bheegi-bhagi-si @kyayaarkiraa @fortunatelycrazyyouth @khwxbeeda @ispeakmorelanguagesthanyou @ishkrisq

[azsazz]

The Autumn Chill

Eris x Reader

Summary: @acourtofmenandthirst and I did this little collab about Eris being crowned High Lord and the battle he feels with his emotions now that Beron is dead.

Warnings: Death, Angst, coming to terms with his feelings, mentions of abuse.

Word Count: 2,004

_________________________________________

The deed was finally done.

Beron was dead.

He hadn’t met his fate quick enough for any of his seven sons. Not the two that were dead, not the one that had been run out of his home, and certainly not for the one who’d planned his demise.

You’d been there when it happened, when the ambush came, the Shadowsinger slinking through the dark forest, trailing you all as you walked across the garden towards the Forest House. It was done stealthily, silently, on their own property with the guards occupied, and the magic had swept like a cool Autumn breeze, carrying the High Lord’s power from him to his son.

Eris had nearly glowed, his freckles lighting like embers gleaming underneath the moonless sky. His eyes blazed bright with flames as he flexed his fingers, rolling his soldiers with a painful inhale of breath, like receiving this gift made him feel weaker, rather than more powerful.

Something had changed within him, you knew it instantly.

You could see it in his stature, standing taller than ever, the tilt of arrogance to his head, chin dipping to stare at his father’s dead body down the tip of his nose. His eyes were not the soft flicker of a candle you had come to know and love so well, now there were only wildfires, engulfing the title that was rightly his.

With a single nod of thanks towards the Night Court warrior who disappeared the instant he knew the transfer of power was complete, Eris had turned back towards the house, leaving the body of the former High Lord behind, lying face down in the grass.

You spare a last glance at the dreaded male. You never called him your father, per his cruel request at your wedding when you’d been forced to dance with the High Lord. His grip had tightened on yours, an iron hold you found yourself trying to contain your struggle as he’d leant down to whisper the offer in your ear, as if getting to call him father was some great ordeal instead of an utterly terrifying one.

His blood seeps into the earthy ground, tainting the gardens. 

You wonder if Amaretto will plant a tree there for him.

You trail after your mate, gulping down the crisp night air, letting it sting your lungs and clear your head.

Eris would now have to suffer his fathers’ loyal followers, put them in their place, make them follow his rules or they’d find themselves much like their precious High Lord.

He waits for you at the bottom of the steps leading up to the house. When you step up to him you see your Eris, his eyes softer and assessing you, a warm hand placed to your cheek to make sure you’re alright. You hold yours over his, a gentle nod in response to his unspoken question.

Eris offers you an arm and leads you up the stairs.

You find the family in the sitting room, Amaretto and her sons lounging on the plush deep red couches, and you force yourself to swallow the bile rising in your throat as the color reminds you of that of your father-in-laws. 

You’ll ask Eris to replace them immediately.

They’re speaking softly – of what you don’t quite catch, as they sip at their warm tea, completely unaware of the shuddering transfer of power that had happened outside.

The Lady of Autumn looks up as Eris leads you into the room, stopping under the arch, his hand warm in yours. Her porcelain face goes even paler, her chestnut eyes widening as if she can sense exactly what’s happened.

“Beron is dead, and I am your new High Lord,” her oldest son announces, voice loud and confident, no room for protest. The authoritative tone sends shivers up your spine and you straighten, raising your chin to appear as certain as your mate.

His two remaining brothers stare at him, eyes bulging and shocked at the news. A flicker of a glance shared between them has Eris’ fingers twitching for the knife tucked into his riding boot. He doesn’t want to use it, but he will if he should need to.

Oak, his third brother, keeps his face a mask of calm, ever the rational one. The only give he has is his glowing eyes blinking confused, wide as they flicker from Eris to you, to their mother, and back once more.

Pyro, the second born – appropriately named for his hot temper, much like their father – furrows his brows as he glares up at his older brother, fury painting his face red. His lips purse like he’s going to spit fire just as you’d expect he would, but from the way he keeps quiet after a sharp jab from Oakland’s elbow, you knew he was less than happy.

Eris will have to watch out for them too.

The Lady of Autumn breaks the silence, trying to stifle a sob in her seat, but it chokes out of her from the shock. The teacup falls from her grasp and spills down the front of her burnt orange skirts, clasping a hand over her heart. Her husband for so many years, finally dead.

If they had been mates, she would’ve known instantly.

Pushing up from the sofa, she tries to rush past her oldest son in a flurry of anxiousness and tears, but Eris drops your hand and raises his arm, catching her across her stomach and hugging her to his chest, halting her in her panicked dash to find Beron.

She’s screaming, sobbing, fighting against her son as she tries to slip from his grasp. Eris holds strong, face stony and staring straight ahead. He’s shaking, but it could pass for Amaretto should anyone notice. You can read the strain pulling at the corners of his mouth, his eyes narrowing slightly as to hold back a wave of his own emotions. He doesn’t even let a single feeling slip down the bond.

He’s fully playing the part of High Lord now.

It’s only when the Lady of Autumn collapses to her knees, face buried in her hands and body shaking with each sob that wracks her slim body, that his brothers slide off of the couch and kneel before him.

The sentries that had come running at the sound of Amaretto’s screams halt in their place, taking in the heir turned High Lord, how his brothers are knelt in their spots, greeting the new High Lord. They follow suit immediately.

“Take care of Beron,” Eris instructs, holding out his hand for you. You take it without hesitation, chin held high. His hand is trembling, fingers clutching onto yours in an almost painful manner, but you refuse to show any sign of discomfort, following your mate as he leads you out of the room.

Eris does nothing but guide you to your shared bedroom, not a word spoken between the two of you. His shoulders heave, chest puffing out as you watch him force himself to breathe, to take slow and deep inhales and exhales to calm himself.

You usher him into the room, turning only to shut the door quietly. When you face him again, you find him already halfway across the room.

“He’s…” Eris’ breath hitches, voice raw and thick with heartbreaking emotion. He sinks to his knees before the fireplace, “He’s dead.”

You place a hand on his shoulder, supporting him silently. You don’t know what to say, what to do with the stoicness your mate is showing. You weren’t expecting a party now that the disgusting High Lord had finally fallen, but you could admit that you weren’t quite prepared for Eris to respond like this.

But just your presence is helping more than you could ever know. And maybe someday he’ll tell you exactly how much you mean to him, being there with him when the deed had been done, and being with him here presently, now that his father is gone and he doesn’t have to be afraid of being beaten down for feeling. No longer does he have to hide behind the neutral facade, that he has no emotions, that nothing can hurt him, and that he feels no love, only hatred.

It was a miracle you’d accepted him as your mate - that you’d willingly fell into his open arms. He doesn’t know how to express himself, how to let you know how much he truly loves you. Words like that were torn from him many years ago.

“I’ve burned myself for so long that I’m not even sure I know who I am anymore,” Eris admits, voice like gravel. It takes a lot for him to confess this, of that you know. You watch him carefully as he stares unblinking at the raging flames licking swirling in the hearth before him.

He’d been wishing for this day to come, for so long, when Beron finally perished and his power would come to him, crowning him the new High Lord of the Autumn Court.

He just never thought how badly his father would fuck him up before he did.

You lick your lips, gaze washing over him, the male so prim and proper, always standing so tall with his shoulders straight and head held high, now with his back arched and shoulders slumped. The male who glared at everyone, who's cocky smirk even you couldn't smack off his face, kneeling on the hard wooden floor before you, brows pinched tight and a frown pulling at his lips. The male you fell in love with, torn apart at the hands of his father, succumbing to his turmoil.

Eris’s blood races hot through his veins, flames dancing under his skin, begging to be set free. His breathing grows shallow, air evading his lungs, singeing his throat. Your words come out muffled and Eris completely misses what you say as you kneel beside him, pooling the both of you with your rumpled skirts. He feels your hand slide over his back but his bones feel numb, only knows that he’s sitting upright because he’s pressed up against you.

You run your hands over his shoulders, across the strong muscles of his back and up to caress his neck. You bite back a curse when your fingers brush against the pale skin peaking just above his stiff jacket collar, burning just as hot as the fire roaring in front of you. Curling your fingertips into his hair, growing unruly, you tug gently at his strawberry locks. 

Your mate is unwavering at your touch, the one that so often has him melting into you, or at the very least earns a soft smile with a wicked glint in those amber eyes. It’s almost as if his body and Beron’s had been switched, as he leans lifelessly against you.

“Eris,” you breathe, desperate for him to turn his head, afraid he’ll burn his eyes from staring too long at the fire - if that was even possible for someone of his lineage.

Only after you caress the shell of his pointed ear does he tear his gaze from the fire, wide eyed and lips parted as it resettles on your own.

And suddenly there doesn’t need to be words. The worried look in your eyes jumpstarts something within him, seeing his mate in such pain. He opens the bond and a floodgate of love pouring from your body into his has him settling, melting into the feeling as he returns his head to your chest, shutting his eyes tightly to focus on the strong beating of your heart.

He doesn’t have to talk about it right now, is what he realizes. Because you will be by his side from this moment to the next, for as long as the both of you shall live, and even if it’s not tonight nor tomorrow, or any of the days or years following that, you will understand, because you are the flower that blooms after his flames have singed the forests black.

[dark-mnjiro]

[at the] bottom :: okkotsu yuuta

authors’s note: hello! This is my own submission for my “Touch of Divine Rush” collab that I ran! I apologize I’m a day late. With my grandmother’s passing - it was very difficult to focus on any projects without getting emotional. I hope you all enjoy this!

warnings: yuuta x gender neutral!reader, they/them pronouns, retelling of orpheus and eurydice, sprinkle of sukuna x afab!oc (aruna from my crown of thorns series), sprinkle of retelling of hades and persephone, angst, mentions and depictions of death, hurt/loss, comfort, yuuta not listening to directions to save his life, this is probably one of the more tame fics I’ve written but I’m super happy with it

so will you wait me out

or will you drown me out

“Yuuta!”

Panting and sweat dripping from his brow, Yuta shot up from his place next to the fire. How long has this journey gone on now? One day? Two? Three? He had seemingly lost count the further he journeyed into the underworld. Your voice was the only thing that kept him hoping and praying that this wasn’t for nothing.

He stood up before using the heel of his boot to extinguish the fire and grabbed his katana, securing it on his back. A sick feeling bubbled in his stomach. He knew he would have to fight to save you. But who could survive fighting the devil?

As he journeyed further, darkness seemingly surrounded him. The torch he used to give him light offered little assistance. It seemed the tunnel was growing longer with each step he took… and took him further down to hell.

Your name fell from his lips with a light whisper.

Your name was like music to his ears, causing a smile to curl over his lips. The sheer light in your eyes was enough to sustain him for life. With you, life seemingly made sense to him and he had a reason to continue, to keep fighting. It was as if life had meaning, had a purpose, again. Yuuta couldn’t just let you slip away so easily. He had to fight. For you… For both of you.

He called out your name again.

His voice grew louder as it echoed against the cave walls. A sigh fell from his lips as he reminisced about the last time he had spoken to you. Your hair caught in the breeze and the smile on your face only made the sparkle in your eyes even more pronounced. The way his name so easily slipped past your lips, like a chorus that constantly played over and over in his head. And almost within an instance - you were stolen from him.

Crying out your name, his voice echoed against the cave walls as he heard low growls echoing back toward him. He knew he was growing close as he slowly made out the large silhouette of what he would consider a monster.

“Cerberus,” he whispered to himself. He would have to stay quiet to sneak past the beast that guarded the gate to Hell. As his eyes strained at the darkness, he made out the yellow eyes of the three-headed dog before white teeth gleamed in the darkness. He tossed his torch aside, snuffing out the flame to confuse the beast before rushing into the darkness. If he made a run for it now, while it was confused by what direction he was coming from, he could seemingly get past it.

Or so he thought…

The beast’s massive paw came colliding with Yuuta’s body before sending him flying back against the wall. A low groan of pain emerged from the youth before he forced himself onto his feet. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth as he wiped it away with his thumb.

“Clever beast,” he commented before grabbing his katana.

Yuuta rushed toward Cerberus before managing to stop its claws from striking him again with his katana before sending the blade through the flesh of the beast’s leg. Blood seeped from the wound, covering Yuuta’s face before the animal howled in pain and thrashed about, using its strength to try and take down Yuuta. Thankfully, Yuuta was able to dodge the onslaught before using the katana to injure the other leg.

“Stop!”

His body froze in place at the intruder.

“Stop it,” the voice was softer this time before Yuuta managed to make out a pair of red eyes.

“Who-?’ he asked, realizing the voice was feminine.

“What is a human doing here?” she asked.

Yuuta could feel the color draining from his face. It couldn’t be her.

“Answer me,” she hissed as the crimson in her eyes only darkened. “What is a human doing here? Get out… that is your final warning.”

It was the queen of hell herself. The lover of the devil. Perhaps, she would listen to his words.

“A-Aruna,” he began. “I’ve come here in search of my-”

Her red eyes narrowed. “... your lover is dead. You cannot save them. Not anymore,” she hissed. “Turn around and leave, mortal. You are not ready to be here.”

Her words made his stomach fall to his feet. It was impossible. “I want to see him.”

“He’ll kill you.”

“Then I’ll be with them.”

A heavy sigh left her lips as her gaze softened at his words. “You shouldn’t be in such a rush to die,” she commented. “Come…”

The walk was silent as Yuuta’s gaze stayed fixated on the dark queen in front of him. It seemed the rumors were true. She was cold and distant… it was said that her forced marriage to the king of the underworld only seemed to fuel her bitterness toward the world.

Aruna opened a door before walking inside. She signaled the guards to hold the door open so Yuuta may enter. His dark eyes widened as he took in the sight before him. Sure, it was dark - a perfect place for a king of the underworld, but it was filled with blazing torches and several extravagant decorations to flaunt the God of Death’s lesser-known titles of dealings with money.

“My queen…”

Aruna paused before looking up.

“What have you brought to me?”

“A mortal was found wandering the tunnels.”

Yuuta stepped into the room before looking up and seeing the God of death, the king of the underworld, leaning back on his throne with a smirk curling over his lips.

“He wishes for an audience with you,” Aruna explained before Sukuna motioned for her to approach the lesser throne next to him. Without question, she took her seat before a sigh fell from her lips.

Sukuna rested his chin in his hand before his red eyes flickered to his wife. “…for what? That silly dead-“

“I ask you to allow them to live. Let them leave this place and live out their days with me—!”

The grimace on Aruna’s face was enough to silence Yuuta as he knew he had made a grave mistake.

“Your lover is dead,” Sukuna spat. “A lost soul. You can’t get them back…”

“Please. There must be a way. Anything. I’ll do anything.”

The king of the underworld’s attention remained fixated on Yuuta before noticing his wife’s posture tensing in the seat next to him. “Anything you would like to say, my dear wife?” Sukuna asked, leaning into Aruna’s ear.

She turned to face him. Her face remained emotionless but the pain in her eyes was evident. “I think we should hear his case,” she whispered.

“…you sympathize with him?”

“He loves them,” she countered. “That much is clear. Why would he make such a treacherous journey if he did not truly love them? Let’s at least hear him out before you cast judgment.”

The smirk on his lips spread before running a hand through his queen’s fiery, red locks. “Boy…” he commanded. “Step forward. You may speak. You have my wife to thank.”

Yuuta was confused. Why would the queen of the underworld be so eager to hear his pleas after being so callous to him? Swallowing hard, he looked up at their thrones.

“Why?” he asked, quietly.

She was quiet for a moment, glancing away before returning her attention to him.

“Once upon a time,” she whispered, beginning a tale that sounded oddly familiar to Yuuta. A young goddess had grown weary of the life she was promised by her mother. She was to remain pure, untouched by any man or celestial being, and bring forth the spring each year. Everything had been so carefully calculated for her - the young goddess had no control, no say in her happiness… her own life.

The young goddess enjoyed her time away from her mother. And one day was seduced by words and promises to pull her away from the life that had been so carefully laid out for her. Quickly, she had agreed, disappearing into the darkness with a god, who promised her riches and a title no one could rival.

“And haven’t I showered you with more love and gifts than you could want?” Sukuna asked, his eyes fixated on his queen.

Yuuta was right.

This was her story…

She remained unmoved, staring at Yuuta. “She was seduced into darkness too soon. Perhaps, it’s too soon for your lover as well.”

Sighing, Sukuna stood up. “Speak.”

His body tensed, as the energy in the room shifted. “They-they were murdered,” Yuuta explained. “Taken before their time. The fates would never wish a fate so ill on any mortal. A monster slayed them…”

“A monster?”

“A centaur…”

Aruna’s gaze softened. “It pursued them?”

“And when they refused - it murdered them… I found their body… massacred.”

“Sukuna-”

His hand rose to silence his queen before staring at Yuuta once again. “You are correct the fates would not allow a mortal to die in such a fashion by such a creature,” he explained. “But, taking a soul back from the underworld is no easy task.”

Shaking his head, Yuuta shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll do anything.”

“I’ll allow you to lead their soul back,” Sukuna explained. “Under one condition.”

“Anything!”

“You may not look upon them once you begin your journey until they step out of the shadows and escape to the outside world,” he explained. “If you do… their soul is mine for eternity.”

“Sukuna-”

“Silence Aruna.”

Aruna sighed before looking away from him.

Sukuna returned his attention to Yuuta. “Do you understand?”

“…yes.”

Snapping his fingers, a figure appeared in front of Yuuta. His eyes widened before rushing toward you, encircling his arms around your body. Confusion washed over your expression, wondering just how you arrived here or why Yuuta was even here.

“Yuuta?”

His heart swelled at the sound of your voice saying his name in such a tender way before his grip on you tightened. “I’ve…I’ve come to take you home,” he whispered into your ear.

“Home…”

“Just remember our deal,” Sukuna interrupted.

“Of course,” Yuuta replied before turning away from you.

You were confused again as Yuuta refused to look at you again. “But Yuuta?”

“I’ll explain when we get out of here,” he assured you as he began walking away and motioning you to follow. Quickly, you followed trying to match the pace of his footsteps.

A sigh fell from his lips. Your footsteps… a reminder that you were still there. As long as he could make out your footsteps, he knew he could complete this challenge.

But the god of death wouldn’t give in so easily… Whispers of the dead began to fill the tunnel as Yuuta continued his long journey back with his lover in tow. He blinked, before shaking his head lightly. The whispers were becoming louder - harder to ignore. His lips fell into a frown.

“Yuuta…”

There it was. Your voice. Relief washed over him immediately.

“I’m right behind you Yuuta,” you continued.

“I know. I know.”

He strained his ears to listen to your soft footsteps, counting each one. One and two. One and two.

Are you sure they’re there?

Frozen, Yuuta stopped in his tracks.

He lied to you. He would never let anyone go.

The taunts were growing louder. Rubbing his head, Yuuta forced himself to keep going. Doubt began to fill his mind. Was she there?

“Yuuta,” you said again. “I’m right behind you.”

His steps faltered for a moment before a sense of relief washed over him again. Your voice managed to soothe the nagging sting s of doubt clouding his mind. You were there. Your steps were there. One and two. One and two.

Bright light flooded the tunnel, blinding Yuuta as he shielded his face with his forearm until his sight adjusted. The exit. Was it the exit? He took off in a sprint, knowing this hell was finally over.

“Yuuta! We did it!”

Your cheers were like music to him as the warm sunlight hit his pale face. A sigh fell from his lips before excitement filled his body. Quickly, he turned around to greet you. But what he hadn’t realized…

You hadn’t stepped out of the shadows yet.

“Yuuta… no.”

The light in your eyes before your body collapsed.

“No!”

Rushing to your lifeless body, Yuuta cradled you close to his chest. How could he have been so stupid? Tears flowed freely from his eyes before his body shook in remorse. How could he have done this to you?

He was so close.

And with that, the years passed. His body grew weary and tired. But not once did he forget about you. He embraced the idea of death, knowing you would be there to greet him one day and you could live out the dreams you once had planned for yourselves.

“Yuuta?”

His eyes widened before realizing he was standing in a beautiful garden, surrounded by flowers and trees. The blue sky above him was so peaceful that he couldn’t help but smile. He raised his hands, realizing his body was no longer frail, but young and strong again. Was this what death was truly like? What a magical place this was…

He heard his name again.

But the voice that spoke his name so gently, it couldn’t be…

Your name fell from his lips as he looked to see you standing with your arms outstretched wide.

“I’ve been waiting for you…”

He rushed toward you, embracing you tightly as a giggle bubbled from you.

“Welcome home…”

i can wait for you at the bottom

i can stay away if you want me to

i can wait for years if i gotta

heaven knows i ain't getting over you

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Jamil, Idia: Desires so Deep

Ignore me getting a late start on this new birthday series 💀 (Got busy with irl stuff!!)

Oddly enough, the vignettes don’t mention Jamil’s birthday at all; they’re at the National Art Museum in the Land of Dawning to celebrate its 100th anniversary. It seems this new series (Platinum Jacket) will have vignettes with more focus on how the boys relate to and what they think about important historical figures in Twisted Wonderland!

… Also, the fact that the book 7 part 5 update came out a few days before Jamil’s birthday… and then his vignettes go and show a Maleficent painting in them… Yeah 😭 but what’s even funnier to me is that Idia calls Jamil a chuunibyou WHich iS SO ACCURATE, THANK YoU fOR CALLinG HIS ASS OuT, KING 🙏 What is Jamil doing in that sussy Groovy if not being a chunni…

A Tale as Old as Time.

Contained within a shining platinum frame was an illustration of a starry scene. A man in a fine white turban crowned by a single violet plume. A woman, perched on a balcony, in a refreshing blue-green, a jasmine flower set into her long, dark braid.

They stared longingly into each other’s eyes, conveying an emotion not spoken aloud. No words were needed for what they had: a love so tender it made the night weep. The stars into glittering tears sliding down the face of darkness.

Standing before the painting of the happy couple, Jamil folded his arms and frowned.

… Can feelings truly defy social status?

"A street rat marrying a princess… Hah."

His fingers curled to fists, digging into the pristine white fabric of his suit. Jamil's expression remained neutral, no hint of the bitterness brewing within. He was a master of leashing it.

What nonsense. I doubt their happiness lasted long. The difference in their standing is far too vast to be bridged.

Jamil lowered his gaze and looked away.

Adjacent to the loving pair was a spindly man with a curled goatee. His crimson and black headdress resembled the flared hood of a desert viper—a look iconic to the Sorcerer of the Sands. He gleefully clasped a golden oil lamp in his long, bony fingers. A remarkable achievement, an item he had been searching his entire life for.

Now, here was a great man. Someone who had slaved away and earned his reputation, climbed in social ranks on merit alone. The Sorcerer of the Sands would die a highly accomplished man, advisor to a sultan, renown scholar mage, and seeker of truth.

The very symbol of Scarabia’s spirit of deliberation.

"Jamil-shi?"

The voice was soft and nervous, like that of a specter not yet parted from this world. A faint blue glow fell upon the Sorcerer of the Sands.

Jamil turned, releasing a sigh when he realized who had appeared beside him. "... Oh. It's you, Idia-senpai."

"Eeep!" His upperclassman jumped at the mention of his name. He clung to the doorway, and anxiety evident on his pale face.

"Well? Don't let my presence deter you from appreciating the artwork."

"N-No, that's okay!! It was getting to be too crowded in the main hall, so I wanted to dip and take a breather somewhere quiet to let my stamina recharge... b-but that's completely pointless if other people are still around!"

"You won't even notice me. I not a snake—I don't bite," Jamil insisted flatly. Not unless I want to. "You look suspicious lurking in the doorframe. You may as well come in."

Left with no other choice, Idia awkwardly shuffled into the exhibit.

He positioned himself a good distance away from Jamil, not saying so much as a word as he stared at an ornate figure of a broad-bodied ape. Its lips were twisted into a grotesquely wide smile.

Nestled in the monkey’s palms was a massive red jewel, glistening even in the scarce light. Idia's own terrified reflection bounced back at him in the gem’s many facets.

"Can't believe I got dragged out for this," the third year grumbled under his breath. "I-I wanted to go to that pop-up Sled Over Heels collab cafe with the walk-in museum... Instead I have to be here and gawk at the same pictures I've seen over and over again in magic history textbooks... Aaah, it totally doesn't compare at all to cute anime girls pouring all their passion into the artful sport of sledding!"

Some small, fragmented part of Jamil grimaced at the disrespect, try as he might to close off his ears, to not engage. No good ever comes of provoking a stubborn mule, he chided himself.

But the devil on his left shoulder pounced.

"Idia-senpai," Jamil spoke carefully, a slight edge to his voice. It made the hairs on the back of Idia's neck stand at attention. "Are you not a fan of this style of artwork? Or is it the subject matter you find distasteful?"

His upperclassmen startled. Horrified as the realization that Jamil had heard his every complaint, the tips of his flaming hair colored pink.

"W-Well... I'm not exactly a buff for this kind of thing," Idia stuttered. "It's ancient history. Been there, don’t that. Th-There's really no point in being on that grind cycle if it all just amounts to the same ending anyway. That's basically all history is, anyway."

Jamil bristled—though he took care to not let it show. "I beg to differ. The story of the Sorcerer of the Sands defies such paltry notions. He struggled much in his life, even served under a carefree, incompetent sultan that barely listened to a work he said.”

I know what that’s like.

“Jamil…!”

A smile he thoroughly detested flashed in his mind. So big and pearly and irritating as he offered him his hand.

“Let’s start over. We can be rivals… but we can be friends too.”

But that boy was a fool.

Feelings can’t trump social status. Not then, not now. Not ever.

“And yet it was thanks to his contributions that he is remembered today as one of the greatest men to have ever lived. The Sorcerer of the Sands was able to break free and live as he desired. He acquired the Genie of the Lamp and phenomenal cosmic power. He decided his own destiny.”

"Uweh, sounds like he's your kami-oshi, Jamil-shi... I guess it makes sense though, since you and the Sorcerer of the Sands are the same character archetype and everything. Chunnibyous gotta stick together and all…”

"… What is that supposed to mean?" Jamil planted his hands on his hips. He didn’t understand all of Idia’s slang, but he also wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

Idia's eyes—wide and anxious—cut away from him. “I-It’s nothing important…”

“Then why are you hiding it?”

“B-Because you’re definitely the type who would hold a grudge if anyone pisses you off!!”

“How rude. I’m offended that you think so lowly of me.” Jamil allowed himself a little smirk. “I’ll have you know that I won’t stop there. In fact, I’ll enact a vengeance plot so excruciatingly humiliating that you won’t ever be able to face the light of day comfortably again.”

“S-See?! That’s what I meant!! Y-You’re a certified chuunibyou!!”

“Whatever that means, I assure you that I’m not. Is it so wrong to look back on history and to appreciate how far we’ve come since?”

“Th-That’s…”

Jamil found himself returning to the painting of the Sorcerer with the lamp. He was almost drawn to it, lulled into a hypnotic trance. An item that could make all of his hopes come true…

“Let me ask you this: if you could have any wish granted, what would that wish be?”

“E-Eh?! Any wish…” Idia fiddled with the glittering buttons on his suit. He nibbled on his lower lip, a darkness having swept up what little color there was left to him. “I-I can’t say it, but… more than anything, there’s someone I want to say goodbye to.”

“I see. A fond farewell.”

Letting go.

Jamil’s chest tightened.

In a distant memory, flowers of fire lit up the night. He had been dancing then, hair and fabric flying as he spun and spun and spun. When had he last felt so free? His wings unbound, the sky as his limits.

“As for myself, what I wish for most of all is…”

He glanced back at the painting of the two lovers. Star-crossed, against a star-streaked sky. Adventure calling, liberation beckoning.

A look most malicious graced his careful controlled features. Lips in a lopsided smirk, eyes like daggers, glinting sinisterly in the dark. Concealed weapons rising to the surface.

“… to be well-connected with people who may prove useful in attaining my dreams. Yes, that’s it. Useful.”

[sipsteainanxiety]

˖°.𓆩♡𓆪 .°˖ valentine's day brings promises of chocolates and roses, hugs and kisses, smiles and laughter. but this year it also happens to bring along something more... bittersweet ˖°.𓆩♡𓆪 .°˖

welcome to dark chocolates, a multi-fandom valentine's day collab brought to you by the teahouse, a discord server ran by @petrichorium and myself. you will find stories of romance and love, yes, but with a twist!

the deadline for this collab is, of course, valentine's day, so expect pieces to be posted around then and subsequently updated on this masterlist! you can also track the #teahouse collab: dark chocolates tag for fics as they are uploaded.

please be mindful of the tags listed for each fic. we hope you enjoy all the following wonderful pieces written by the wonderful authors in the server. happy reading! ❦

for you, anything by @tsukkismoonlight

pairing: nakedtoaster x reader

mentions: general warnings around breakups, thoughts/anxiety related to self image/self worth

summary: you've sworn off love. after the way your last ex treated you, after all of the heartbreak, and all of the nights you lost to someone who didn't care, you have had enough. or, that's what the plan had been. you wouldn't have guessed that a tiny fan server with less than ten members hid someone who made everything feel like all of that pain was worth it. and you, they'd do just about anything.

idk man by @antheawritings

pairing: onion thief x reader

mentions: character death

summary: dead grandpa :( but it’s okay bc sexy onion man :)

cacoethes by @venexus

pairing: aki hayakawa x reader

mentions: prior toxic relationship (reader & unnamed ex), romantic tension, smoking

summary: cacoethes (n.) - the urge to do something inadvisable.

alternatively: when you escape a toxic ex, your favourite work colleague is there to pick up the pieces.

untitled by @petrichorium

pairing: diluc ragnvindr x reader

mentions: sfw, royal au, reader is explicitly female, canon typical violence, family death, mourning

summary: in which after five years spent rampaging amongst the frigid tundras and snowy forests of snezhnaya in the aftermath of his father’s death, crown prince diluc ragnvindr finally makes the journey home with a life-threatening injury—and an unanticipated companion.

standing still by @lou-struck

pairing: wakatoshi ushijima x reader

mentions: breakup angst

summary: you have been together for years, but it doesn't seem to be going anywhere.

a persistent lack of follow through by CooPigeonCoo (ao3)

pairing: todoroki shouto x reader

mentions: exes, breaking up & making up, angst with a happy ending, personal growth, drinking, sexual content, child abuse, humor, pining, natural disasters, serious injuries, domestic fluff

summary: shouto had learned a lot from his father; how to take a hit, how to pull himself back up, and how to hold a grudge.

but one thing endeavor could never teach his children was how to be a good partner.

shouto had to learn that particular skill the hard way.

-----

he had spent long, sleepless nights reflecting on the things you had told him; the reasons you left. every moment of your acquaintance was turned over repeatedly in his head and examined until one devastating conclusion was reached:

"i was a bad boyfriend," shouto muttered dejectedly, idly picking at the label of the shochu bottle in the middle of the table.

----- a story where shouto loves, loses, and learns.

the night train by @pikatsum (tumblr) / Undercover_Royalty (ao3)

pairing: midoriya izuku x reader

mentions: SFW, some angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader

summary: “what, did we both get dumped, tonight?” you ask, ever tactless in the face of silence.

through the sniffles, the hooded man gives a little jolt that might have been a laugh. it’s a start, at least.

when the night calls by @sipsteainanxiety

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

mentions: char death (bkg) but not reaaalllyyy, aged up chars (25+), supernatural elements in a pro-hero au, grief/mourning, horror-esque but it's romantic i promise, hurt/comfort

summary: you thought katsuki was gone—that he had abandoned you in this life to move on to the next. you saw his body—lifeless, cold, still. saw him get lowered into the ground in his dark casket enveloped in his hero colors. you stayed, for hours after the funeral, at his grave.

you thought he was dead. that he'd left you alone.

you were wrong.

[reccyls]

Ikevil x Ikesen collab event chat part 1

There's a group chat with William, Jude, Mitsuhide, and Masamune for the collab between Ikesen and Ikevil

---

Mitsuhide: I apologize for calling on you. I heard from Sasuke that there were people with strange powers who were quite familiar with wicked deeds, and I found my interest piqued.

William: I had a wonderful time with Sasuke. I'm honored to speak with his friends.

Masamune: And I'm just here because it sounded fun. I'm Date Masamune.

William: My name is William Rex. I work for an organization called Crown under the employ of Queen Victoria of England. Our duty is to condemn evil with evil of our own.

Jude: Oi, those are state secrets.

William: Jude, introduce yourself too.

William: Jude?

Mitushide: Left on read, I see.

Masamune: You two don't get along?

William: I apologize for him. I'll introduce him, then.

William: His name is Jude Jazza. We work in the same organization, though he is also the manager of a trading company. He enjoys laughing at the misfortune of others and earning grudges from others. He's a masochist.

Jude: Now you're just saying random shit.

Masamune: Oh, you're back.

William: I was just joking.

Mitsuhide: What is a 'masochist'?

William: Someone who takes delight in pain.

Mitsuhide: I see. So he's a kind villain and a masochist manager?

Jude: Oi.

Masamune: So? What did you call the two of them over for, Mitsuhide?

to be continued on Feb 1...

[spinef0ryou]

Q and A interview with Will Ramos in Metal Hammer Magazine. Transcript under the cut.

ARE LORNA SHORE BRINGING DEATHCORE BACK?

Lorna Shore's growler-in-chief, Will Ramos, answers your questions on goblin screams, dream collabs and singing with a camera down his throat

SINCE WILL RAMOS joined Lorna Shore in 2021, the US deathcore band have been on a mission that's seen them leapfrog to the forefront of their scene. Will's mind-boggling vocal abilities have turbocharged them, and Hammer crowned last year's sprawling symphonic fourth record, Pain Remains, "the most essential deathcore album of the decade". Last summer, Will sang with a camera down his throat so we could all see what the hell was going on in there, but now, in his biggest challenge yet, he takes on your questions...

What's your favourite type of scream to do? - N4turalbornkll, Twitter

"They're called 'tunnel screams, like if you're going through a tunnel. But I like calling them 'goblin screams'. It's like two different tones going on at the same time. It sounds really cool."

What bands got you into metal? - Ben Ryan, Facebook

"Linkin Park was definitely one of them. Meteora... freaking Hybrid Theory! I listen to albums from my childhood all the time - I still love them and they still hold up; Bullet For My Valentine, Lamb Of God, AFI... I had a couple of friends that listened to metal that I used to play videogames with, and one of the bands they played me was AFI. One song, Affliction, was just straight-up screaming the entire song. I was like, This. Is. Crazy?' Then my friend said, 'Dude, here's a bunch of bands that you should check out?' It was Lamb Of God, Whitechapel, Linkin Park."

How long do you think you'll be able to maintain your iconic screaming voice? Ten years? Thirty? Forever - Nettels_, Twitter

"I haven't fallen off yet. I don't know. Hopefully forever, but every day I make a joke, I'm like, This is the one. This is going to be the last one, this is it!"

What other genres do you love? - Jordan Bonvicino, Facebook

"I don't listen to a lot of metal so much anymore. I was looking at my Spotify Wrapped from last year... It was ap, psychedelic rock, indie music, and metal was fourth. I love bands like [Japanese singer-songwriter] Joji. I love Mac Miller. I love Drake. And I love sad music, so stuff like (post-hardcore artist] Bilmuri. They're metal, but they're also very sing-y. And I like that because now that I've been doing so much screaming in my life, I want to get better at something that's not screaming - so, singing. That's the next tier for me right now."

Are Lorna Shore bringing deathcore back? - Ed Burns, email

“I don't know if we're 'bringing it back'. We're doing really good for ourselves, and I love that people are hopping onto the train. That's incredible. Ilove that it's inspiring other people to even do more metal music. I just do what I do and I can't think about what I'm doing. I still can't look at myself in the mirror and be like, 'That's one of the big guys."

Hammer: Who were 'the big guys' to you?

“The ones that inspired me were late Suicide Silence vocalist] Mitch Lucker, Phil Bozeman (Whitechapell and Trevor Strnad (late Black Dahlia Murder vocalist]."

Do you avoid certain foods before singing, and if so, which ones? - Matt Doherty, Facebook

"I'd say eat light foods - if you eat something crazy heavy, you're going to feel very tired. I have maybe a slice of pizza, but you won't see me eating five or six slices. Ilove ramen and ramen is something that I'd have all the time when I'm on tour just because it's spicy, so it clears your nasal passages and it's soup, so it's good for your stomach."

What's your favourite Lorna Shore breakdown? - Undeado8, Twitter

"I think it would be Hollow Sentence off Immortal (2020 album, featuring ex-vocalist C] McCreery]. If we're talking about the newer stuff, Sun//Eater is definitely my favourite breakdown. It's the hardest song in the set. We have a sample of a katana [samurai sword] coming out and slicing something open. This specific sound is the unsheathing of the sword. It's halfway in, where the breakdown gets even heavier, so I just imagine a moshpit of people with inflatable swords killing each other."

Would you ever re-record Immortal? - Corey Hunter, Facebook

"I have, and I'm doing it for myself. I made a Patreon, and I told myself, I'm going to start redoing all of the old Lorna Shore albums."

Hammer: Would the band ever re-release the older albums with you on vocals?

"As a band we wouldn't - we want to have forward momentum. Art is always going to get better as long as you don't go back and start fixing things. We're like, 'What's the next thing? I'll put out Immortal on my own, but that's it."

What is your favourite song on Pain Remains? - Alex Chiczewski, Facebook

"Pain Remains I: Dancing Like Flames. It's the saddest one. I told you, Ilove sad music! You get to a point where you listen to breakdowns so many times, you become a little numb to them. For me, the only thing that holds me onto music after the breakdowns, is how do I feel about it? It's not about the melody or the breakdown. It's hearing the lyrics and I feel what this person is feeling and that it feels real. That's why I love Pain Remains I - it's the most genuine."

What is your best advice for dealing with crippling depression? - Zare Ralf Karadzin, Facebook

"Distract myself. Everyone alwavs sees me as Labradoodle Will. That's great, but I'm just like everybody out there and everybody gets sad sometimes. I dealt with depression a lot when I was a little kid, and if there's anything that's helped me, it was trying to distract myself with things Ilike to do, whether it be screaming or my little RC (remote control] cars, or playing Minecraft. Take everything day by day... conquer this day. Then you know tomorrow is another day, and you beat that day. Eventually you start putting yourself in the cycle where you'll have more good days than you have bad days."

What bands would you like to collab with in the future? - Notabumbleb88, Twitter

"Id love to collaborate with Sleep Token. They're my favourite freaking band right now. They are so incredibly good; Vessel and I have very similar singing ranges, too. Also, I Declare War, because they're just so incredibly heavy... In Flames... and Ilove Oceano - their vocalist Adam Warren is so good."

Hammer: What do you think a Sleep Token/Lorna Shore collab would sound like?

"It’d be insane. I don't know if our fans would love it, but I would. Let's go!"

What does it mean to you to be the Latino/Hispanic representation of deathcore and heavy music in general? - Shaun Fontanez, Facebook

“It's incredibly stressful. I don't speak Spanish, so a lot of Hispanic people will come up to me just like, 'Yo, dude, I'm so happy that you're here; you're Hispanic, I'm Hispanic!' I'm like, 'Thanks, man, appreciate that. I'm going to tell you right now I don't speak Spanish' and see that shock on their face. I do wish to speak more Spanish. I am a bad Puerto Rican... Or maybe I am the perfect Puerto Rican, because if you know anything about Puerto Ricans, half of them also don't speak Spanish. So, shout out to Puerto Rico."

How does it feel to have such a sudden and rapid growth in notoriety? - Christopher Andrew Ryan, Facebook

"It has been very big. Honestly, it's an incredible thing to see. We're very happy that we're all able to live off the art that we're putting out, not a lot of people can sav that. We're so caught up in the race, though, we're focused on what's next so that we can stay up here. If we fall off, you can only get to this point once, and then you lose it. We're trying to ride it for as long as we can."

How difficult was it singing with a camera down your throat? - Andy Pierce, email

"I didn't think it was going to sound good at all because I was so numb and mucus-y. When you’re doing vocals, you don't want mucus because it gets in the way and you can't even feel anything down there. It's almost like if you sang out loud and you just covered your ears, and you couldn't hear what you're putting out. That's what it felt like! Hopefully it'll be better next time (now I know what to expect!)”

PAIN REMAINS IS OUT NOW VIA CENTURY MEDIA. LORNA SHORE PLAY DOWNLOAD IN JUNE

[vesprynna]

"The water's lovely, you should join me," Nyniv said as she threaded her fingers through the cool lake water as she floated on her back. The tendrils crowning her head drifted lazily beneath the surface, and her brilliant light blue scales glimmered in the sunlight. Bremin gave a concerned, growling noise from where he lay on his stomach.

"Can't swim," he replied, his big hand latching securely onto the rock beneath him as he arched his head toward her. Nyniv smiled gently at him.

"I know you can't, but I'll keep you afloat."

Here's the annual Mermay collab between @unicornia93 and I! This year features our beloved OCs merprincess Nyniv, and her half werewolf lover Bremin :3

The collab was inspired by this stunning painting called "The Siren" by Giulio Aristide Sartorio, which we both really love! There's also a few callbacks to our old Blooming Romance project here <3

Bremin belongs to @unicornia93

Nyniv is mine <3

[whippersnappersbookworm]

Inaidhal[Chapter-5]

Bhognohridoy (broken hearted)

Collab with @harinishivaa

Poonkuzhali was exhausted, she was tired of waiting and peeping around to get a glimpse of her Ponniyin Selvan. Since the day the Kodambalur illavarasi had arrived, Poonkuzhali hasn't dared to go near him. She was afraid of witnessing something that could break her heart into a million pieces. Although she had seen the aforementioned women roaming around the Vihara, taking care of Arulmozhi ,tending to his wounds.She was curious about this woman who apparently is going to marry her, Ponniyin Selvan.

Vanathi was exactly like she imagined, beautiful, graceful and petite. Just like a so- called perfect princess should be. Jealousy filled Poonkuzhali's heart even with the very mention of her name. What was so special about her? Why does everyone think that she is his perfect match? Will she ever be able to understand him or protect him from the dangers of the world like she did? Does she even care?

No, she does. As much as Poonkuzhali wants to ignore it, she knows in her subconscious mind that Vanathi cares about Arulmolzhi. She had seen her sitting beside his side looking at him like he was the only thing in this universe. Vanathi's love for him was pure and beautiful, maybe much stronger than hers?

"No!" Poonkuzhali stabbed her knife into the wooden pillar as the very thought entered her mind.

" No no it can't be , her love can never be stronger than mine!"

Since Poonkuzhali was a young child she has been known for her beauty. Everyone who sees her compares her to the divine goddess of heaven. Men fall at her feet yearning for her love , but Poonkuzhali never spared them a glance. In her heart she always believed that she was destined for greatness. Only the greatest of all men is worthy of her beauty and her love. She was meant for a divine entity, not some mere human being. So she guarded her heart with care and saved herself for her god , until she met him: Her Ponniyin Selvare.

Poonkuzhali still remembers the first time she saw him. He emerged like a divine being, a golden light surrounding him like a halo. He was the sun among mortals , his presence had the power to turn hell into heaven. He won her heart with a few words , he gave her a new identity, a new birth: Samudra Kumari , The queen of the seas. From that day onwards, Poonkuzhali decided that Arulmolzhi is the one meant for her, he is the king to her queen. She nurtured that dream in her heart for those painful months of separation , her dream transformed into a reality when she met him again in Eezham. He nurtured that small dream , and gave her hope . But all of those dreams disappeared as soon as that princess arrived! She came out of nowhere and took away Ponniyin Selvan, her Ponniyin Selvan. The one who talked about his dreams with her. Arulmozhi didn't even care to inquire about her once? He didn't even search for her? How can he do this?

" Of Course he can,” Poonkuzhali muttered as she used her knife to destroy the wooden pillar of the vihara.

"He is too busy with his princess to care about this boat girl!"

"Ayoo!" Poonkuzhali turned around to find Vandiyathevan standing behind her with a mischievous smile on his face.

"Is the Samudra Kumari planning to destroy the vihara or what?"

" Go away!" Poonkuzhali answered.

" I don't need you!"

" Of course you don't, but I do. The crown prince has called you.”

" What? Why?" Poonkuzhali turned around to face him.

" How can I know?" Vandiyathevan shrugged his shoulders

" Why don't you come and find out?"

Vanathi didn't want to be in this family meeting, she didn't want to be near Ponniyin Selvan when he is reunited with Poonkuzhali. Because she knew she couldn't bear to see him glancing at another woman with love in his eyes. It was Kundavai who forced her to come here.

" Why are you hiding from her, Vanathi? There's nothing to be afraid of! Be a brave girl and face your fear. Be the Vanathi I know, calm and quiet but an enigma in her heart,” she said.

Right now, Vanathi didn't feel so brave , she felt like the walls of the room were closing , choking her and making her breathless.She had an urge to disappear inside the Earth like Sita , as she sat there half-listening to the banter between the three siblings.

"Illavarasi, Poonkuzhali is here."

Vanathi's head jerked up to finally face the woman she had heard so much about. The woman who was able to win the heart of the unattainable Ponniyin Selvan, the heart of the man whom she loved.

Poonkuzhali was the very epitome of beauty. She reminded Vanathi of the stories of the divine Apsaras she heard from her grandmother when she was young. Vanathi was not a man, but she could understand why any man would fall in love with her. Poonkuzhali was ethereal, she was like a burning flame , her beautiful eyes reminded Vanathi of the sea : the sea during the storm . She stands tall among all the royals , as if daring them to challenge her. Her haughty gait and proud posture reminded Vanathi so much of Illayi Piratti. No wonder Arulmolzhi fell in love with her .

Kundavai on the other hand was taken aback by Poonkuzhali. She expected a timid and shy girl, who would crumble under her glare, but this girl was something else. She didn't care about what the people in the room thought about her , she didn't care that they were royal, she only had eyes for one person, her brother. Maybe Vandiyathevan was right, Poonkuzhali was special. Her presence reminded Kundavai of a certain friend from her past…

‘No!’

The very thought made her shiver,

She was right. Poonkuzhali is unsuitable for her brother. Not because she is a boat woman, but because she is a fire that can burn him.

"So you are the one who saved my brother?" Aditha enquired

" Yes , Ilavarase," Poonkuzhali bowed down as Aditha addressed her.

" I couldn't have done that without my aunt's help."

" Your aunt?"

" I will tell you about her later, Anna," Arulmolzhi whispered to his brother.

" Thank you, kanna,” Aditha turned around to the girl standing in front of him.

" You don't know what favor you did to our family. We will always be grateful to you."

" It was nothing Ilavarase, I have to do this for myself,” Poonkuzhali replied, making Kundavai scorn, in anger.

Aditha simply smiled at her reply.

" Ah, you are a smart girl, I see. So tell me, Samudra Kumari , what do you want as a reward for saving my brother?"

" Re…reward?" Poonkuzhali mumbled

" Yes reward , Penne, you saved my brother's life. I have to reward you for your brave deed."

Poonkuzhali looked towards Vandiyathevan in confusion.

" Go on. Tell,” Vandiyathevan encouraged her

" I don't need anything, Ilavarase."

" You must need something. Go on, tell us."

"I really don't…"

Aditha smiled seeing her hesitate.

"Tell me Kanna , I promise you I will try my best to give you what you want."

"Ayoo Ilavarase, don't promise me anything too rashly, you will regret it later,” Poonkuzhali laughed bitterly.

Aditha scorned at her , this girl was now getting on his nerves . What is the deal with her?

"Why don't you just tell him?” Kundavai interrupted , wanting to end this conversation.

Poonkuzhali stood up, fixing her gaze at the princess. She had heard about her, she knew how much influence she had on her brother's life. Poonkuzhali also knew that Kundavai was the one arranging the marriage between Vanathi and Arulmolzhi. She was the one taking him away from her.

" You can't give me what I want, Illavarasi , rather you don't want to!" Poonkuzhali replied, rendering everyone in the room speechless. Anger rose in Kundavai's face as she realized what she meant.

" I think I should leave. I am sorry if I have upset you with my words. Please forgive me if you can,” Poonkuzhali replied as she ran out of the room and clashed with Sendhan

"Kuzhali wait!"-

He called out her name but Poonkuzhali didn't stop to listen, tears threatened to come out of her eyes not because she regretted her words but because she remembered how Arulmolzhi hadn't bothered to glance at her once while she was there, rather he was busy staring at the beautiful face of a certain princess .

"Oh, you are not wrong Arul , that girl is a Spitfire,” Aditha tried to joke to lighten the intense atmosphere Poonkuzhali has caused with her unexpected declaration.

" Hmm " Arulmozhi replied as he glanced towards Vanathi, who refused to even look at him. Why? Was she okay? What was Akka thinking about bringing her here in front of Samudrakumari? Didn't she know it could affect her heart? What if she once again faints? Who is going to take care of her then?

" Arul, are you even listening?" Kundavai snapped at her daydreaming brother, though she had noticed his looks, and had to control her smile.

" Anna is saying something!"

" I am, I am!"- Arulmolzhi replied as he tried his best to compose himself

What am I doing? Why am I worrying so much about Kodambalur Ilavarasi? When akka is there to take care of her.

" Vallavaryan, why don't you come and sit down? We need to discuss our plan of action,” Aditha gestured to his friend.

“Of course, llavarase,” smiled Vanthiyathevan, taking a seat next to Aditha, who noticed the tense yet easy air between his brother and the Kodumbalur Princess.

He sighed. Looked like his brother needed to hear about love from him.

Kuzhali is here!! Let us know your opinions on this chapter! please!!!

@vijayasena @vibishalakshman @thelekhikawrites @ambidextrousarcher @celestesinsight @jukti-torko-golpo @kovaipaavai @rang-lo @dr-scribbler @ragkee @ @ @arachneofthoughts @sakhiiii @harinishivaa @freeunknownwasteland @nspwriteups @willkatfanfromasia @gemsmusings @celestesinsight

[sailoryooons]

F*ck Christmas | Teaser | myg

❆ Paring: Yoongi x f. reader

❆ Summary: Making hating Christmas your entire personality was never the plan. Then again, it seems bad things only ever happen around Christmas - like discovering your fiancé cheating on you, forcing you to move back to your sleepy hometown. But Min Yoongi happens to love Christmas, and if there is one thing your very stubborn childhood crush is going to do, it’s try to reignite your Christmas spirit. Even if he has to force-feed it to you with gingerbread cookies and too-sweet eggnog.

❆ Genre: smut, fluff, friends to lovers

❆ A part of A Hyung Holiday Collaboration

❆ Warnings: Light depiction of inner turmoil, not liking Christmas in this teaser

❆ Collab Masterlist

❆ faq | my masterlist

❆ Authors Note: I cannot wait to share the holdiays with my favorite hyung line @nabiolive @here2bbtstrash and @gimmethatagustd! Keep your eyes out for our absolutely ridiculous holiday madness hehe

COMING EARLY DECEMBER

Yoongi’s breath turns to fog as he laughs. You watch the way his eyes crinkle, shining with mirth under the gray light of the moon. He glows under the night sky – cheeks frozen-blush, lips chapped a little from the winter wind, nose cherry read. Droplets of dew cling to his long hair, a crown of diamonds on a prince spun from moonbeams.

At least, that’s what it feels like as you watch his laughter settle. Yoongi smiles up at the sky and that tight feeling constricts in your chest again. This version of him is so much softer than the teenager you remember. Warm at the edges, melted with a lifetime of experiences that have thawed that hard exterior.

Something like envy slithers through you. Envy that Yoongi has long healed from his hurts. That he seems to have settled in who he is now, in happiness and knowing his path. He doesn’t have everything but he has enough, and as he turns to look at you, dark eyes sparkling, you can’t help but avert your gaze.

You don’t want him to see the inside of you. You don’t want him to see that you aren’t there - that you’re not healed and the thing inside you is ugly.

“It’s more about Christmas as a concept,” Yoongi sighs, looking back up at the sky. Marshmallow clouds drift across a midnight canvas. You can only make out the brightest of stars here, the light pollution dimming the effect. “I’m not religious either, but the effect that the holidays can have on people is touching. Heartwarming. People love others a little extra.”

“Yeah, well they should do that year-round.”

“Small steps, small steps. Maybe it’s an open conversation at a dinner, or maybe it’s someone seeing family they haven't seen in a while. There are so many opportunities for love and warmth and chances to open your heart.”

“You sound like a Hallmark commercial.”

“Make fun of me all you want,” he chuckles. “I know it sounds idealistic and a little bit naïve. But I’ve experienced too much sadness to keep thinking that’s all there is, and I’ve seen people’s lives change around the holidays. It’s special.”

You hum. “Why wait until the end of the year for all of that so-called happiness, then?”

“Life is hard - like really fucking hard. Sometimes when the end of the year is staring you right in the face, or when you're realizing it may be your last Christmas with an aging loved one is the push people need to take that first step to being happy.”

“You’re celebrating procrastination.”

Yoongi sighs. He rolls over on his side and props his head up with his hand. You feel a flush of warmth curl through you under the weight of his full attention. Suddenly the cold hard ground you’ve opted to lay on doesn’t feel so bad.

“I’m celebrating people being moved to do something.” His tone is gentle. You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He seems thoughtful, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. “I’m celebrating that sometimes the holidays are the worst time for people. But maybe something small will happen to make them feel even a moment of happiness. Just one small second of relief from the fucking madness.”

You think about everything that’s happened in the last few weeks. A tightness constricts your throat and you try to swallow past it. It takes you a few moments, but you imagine what it would be like to have just a fucking second to catch your breath. To have a moment of pure, unfiltered happiness.

“I just…” Yoongi’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I want people to be happy. And it feels like maybe this time of year has more potential than most. So that’s what I celebrate. Not the gift and the capitalism and the hypocrisy of it all. But the little seconds in between.”

A long, slow breath of air leaves you. You watch it steam and curl toward the sky before fading. “Well, Yoongi. I wish I was nearly as optimistic.”

“Maybe you can be.” You glance at him and see him smiling. “Just give me a chance to persuade you, yeah?”