#honey haloed weakness

[avocado-writing]

cutman

turns out I’m gonna keep being horny for hugh jackman. had a crush on him when I was 10 and I guess that hasn’t changed almost 20 years later. anyway here’s a fic where he’s in a cage fight and you’re his cutman xoxo

pairing: wolverine x reader

rating: explicit

cws: blood, injury details, smut (dirty talk, semi-public sex, rough sex)

The bell rings and Logan staggers back to you, the roar of the crowd meaning you have to get close in order to be heard. You grab ahold of his biceps and manoeuvre him into a chair. He goes without complaint, any effort to resist having to be reserved for the actual fight itself. Opposite him, the other guy goes to grab a glass of water and you are once again reminded of his sheer mass; he’s twice Logan’s size and built like a fucking freight train. He catches you watching and hits you with a greasy smile, and you turn in disgust back to your lover. 

“How you holding up, honey?” you ask Logan, quickly glancing him over, getting a grunt in reply as he tries to refocus. He looks pretty bad. Bruising is flowering on his face and there’s a nasty gash on his forehead which is bleeding freely. You know he’ll heal up quick on his own, but you still get to work - pressing the ice-cold enswell to the worst of the spreading purple and dabbing at the blood with an epinephrine-soaked cotton swab. 

You’ve been called the best cutman in the business. This is true, but the fact your primary patient can heal himself up is probably a bit of a bonus too. For Logan, you’re mostly here to soothe; soothe and observe. 

“Okay, you’ve fucking got him, Logan. He’s weak on his left. He keeps trying to lead with his right hand which isn’t his dominant, I think he’s holding back because you’ve fucked his shoulder. If you don’t let him distract you, you can finish him off. You hear me?”

He focuses up at the smell of chemicals, eyes hazily locking in on you. Silhouetted by the grimy lights of this place, his vision not quite sharp yet, you have the hazy glow of a halo around you. An angel sent for him. The closest to heaven he’ll ever be. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, a bloodied hand coming up to caress your face. You smile despite the smear of red he leaves on your cheek with his fingertips, clasping him close. You press a kiss into his palm.

“What did I say, handsome? Stay with me.”

“Don’t let him distract me. Go for his left.”

“Atta boy,” you say with a grin, one which Logan manages to mirror despite still feeling slightly concussed, your praise like a shot of adrenaline. You surge forward to kiss him and he meets you with enthusiasm. He’s drunk on the moment, on the fight, on you. You can taste the copper as your tongue slides against his, the roughness of his beard scraping your cheeks. The crowd cheers leerily but you both ignore it. You and him, that’s all there is, the pinprick of your existence in this vast world. 

“I fucking love you,” he growls against your mouth. You nip at his lower lip, catching it for a second between your teeth in a promise of what’s to come later. 

“Finish this guy off and take me home, Logan. I’ll fucking die if you’re not inside me tonight.”

When you pull back you will be wearing his blood as lipstick, warpaint; a reminder that you belong to each other. 

He snarls, half-feral, and you think he might just take you there in the cage, in front of everyone who’s come to watch him fight. But the bell goes again to signal the start of the final round, and Logan staggers back to his feet instead. 

He doesn’t even get you home. 

When the fight is won and you’re hoarse from cheering his victory, he drags you into one of the dingy little bathrooms. It’s dark and definitely not soundproofed but the two of you don’t care. You run your tongue along that delicious vein in his bicep, tasting the salt off of his hot skin, and he grips your thighs so hard you know that he will leave bruises in the shape of his fingerprints. 

“Mark me up, Logan. Let everyone see who I belong to, baby.”

“Fuck, such a dirty little mouth,” he growls, but you can hear the gruff chuckle in there too. He lifts you onto the sink like you weigh nothing, tearing at your belt and jeans so that he can get proper access to you. He’s rock hard, cock straining in his hand as he pulls himself out, and you wonder if he’s been this turned on since before the last round. 

Usually you’d sink to your knees and encourage him to fuck your throat, let him bring you to tears before he made it up to you, but he has no such patience now. He needs to sheathe himself in you, find your tight heat and bury himself there again and again. He’s about to push inside when you grab his forearm. 

He looks up with a glint of worry in his eye. You know, just for a second, that he thinks he’s hurt you. He’d stop if you asked him to, sweet little puppy. Instead you give him another ferocious kiss. 

“I wanna turn around. Wanna watch you fuck me.” You nod to the dirty mirror over the sink and he makes a deep noise of agreement in the back of his throat, manhandling you so you can brace yourself on the porcelain. 

You moan as he fucks inside of you with one vicious push, throwing your head back to reflect the long line of your neck. You see mirrored the dual look of feral desire and total adoration in his face as he fucks you like he’s been challenged to make your legs stop working. Holding on the best you can, you watch his injuries from the fight heal slowly, wounds stitching closed by themselves, bruises receding from purple to brown to nothing at all. It’s that sort of regeneration that makes him beg for you to draw blood when you bite him as you fuck, just to leave the proof on his body a little longer that you’ve been there. That you’ve loved him. 

“Fucking love you, Logan,” you cry out as he slams so hard into you he threatens to break the fucking sink. He leans over and grabs you by the hair, moving your face so that he can kiss you with more teeth and tongue than lips. You love it. 

“Mine,” he chokes. You wrap your little hands round one of his, bloodied and rough. 

“Mine,” you echo back, sinking your teeth in. 

[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”.

[chilschuck]

Chilchuck but we are his pretty wife, and we didn't abandon him this time.

Not only that, but we are also very caring and nice, and it's practically a surprise how we are with someone like Chilchuck.

I can picture him standing with a serious face and all gloomy, and then we are next to him beaming rays of sunshine (bonus if we are also blonde and a hafling)

They are literally the "sunshine x grumpy" trope

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ ohhhhhhh my god. so……..i was so happy with this cute request that i kind of ran with it LOL. this is such a good concept and i can picture this so well in my brain. i wrote a domestic lil drabble that i hope is okay, as my thoughts just went insane over this. WAHHHH i hope you enjoy and that this is okay!! thank you so much for your idea, anon!! <3

— SUNSHINE: chilchuck x wife!reader.

꒰ rating: ꒱ sfw and soooo fluffy. reader is also a half-foot!

꒰ wc: ꒱ 675

✦ please i need more domestic bliss with this man. he deserves to feel so loved and happy. i tried to keep this light and sweet and playful bc i think he’d be grumpy but also. give this man the love he needs and he’ll thrive please chilchuck just one chance please pleas—

“Chil?” Your voice was so soft and sweet, it’s honey-like tone melting him to his core. You had decided to surprise him with breakfast this morning, something you loved to do when you had him here with you.

If the smell didn’t rouse him, your presence certainly did. It was an understatement to say that you were his weak spot, a point within him that he tried not to dwell on too much. Especially when the sun hit you in that halo of light at just the right angle, seeping through the windows and making his eyes flutter. Waking up to you was an experience he felt he couldn’t get enough of, drunk off of your velvet words as you brushed the bangs out of his face.

“Mm?” Was his only response, leaning subconsciously into your touch with a gruff sigh. You only laughed, that twinkle in your voice causing his heart to stutter within his chest. Why must he be married to the human form of sunshine? Surely his constant grumpiness would deter you, but much to his amusement, it only made you grin.

“Do you want breakfast, love?” Gods, when you called him that, he could feel his ears burn hot. Finally fully opening his eyes, his gaze found yours, softening instantly. How he managed to find someone like you, he would never understand. Regardless, he sat up, pawing at his eyes to dust the sleep from them. “I’d rather have you.” You heard him grumble, cheeks rosy. Another one of those addicting laughs left you. He didn’t think it was amusing. “Fine, I’ll get up…”

You practically bounced in place, rocking on your feet in excitement. It wasn’t hard to see that you adored your husband, his sleep shirt wrinkled and hair messy from sleep making you bite your lip in glee. Chilchuck gave you a skeptical look, scratching the back of his head before stretching. The action reminded you that he did have a little height on you, your own size as a half-foot causing you to feel small in any context. His shirt rode up to expose the tummy there, causing you to leave your gaze locked at that spot for a moment.

“Are you really this excited for me to get out of bed?” He mused, grumpiness slowly ebbing away at the warmth completely radiating off of you. You felt yourself nod, wrapping your arms around his waist and peering up at him with that expression that always made him weak in the knees. “I’m always excited for my husband to wake up and join the living again.”

“Is that so?” Chilchuck grinned, his voice rumbling in his chest and tingling against your skin. “You want a grump like me awake at this hour?” You couldn’t help but feed into him, continuing to nod your head cheerfully. “Really? Then it would be a shame if…”

Before he finished his sentence, you felt yourself pulled down to the bed as he fell backwards, a yelp leaving you in shock. He held you in his embrace, nuzzling into your neck and yawning. “...I took you down with me. Oh well.” Obnoxiously fake snores followed his teasing reply, causing you to laugh in bewilderment.

“Chilchuck, are you serious? I had finally gotten you up! Everything that I made is gonna get cold!” Although you spoke with mock frustration, the longer you found yourself in his embrace, the more you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Huffing, you relented. “Not my fault that your breakfast is going to be freezing by the time you finally get moving.” Your own grumbling, voice muffled against his shirt, caused him to chuckle. Your head buzzed.

His playfulness this morning made you feel a little giddy, studying his face as the light filtered in. A few gray hairs were illuminated in the sea of auburn, something you found pleasure in. You had to remind yourself that you both weren’t as young as you used to be, but if you were able to continue spending this life with him, well… Maybe it wasn’t so bad.

[dancewithdeath11]

Damnation

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller knew he was damned, why would a pretty thing like you be with a man like him anyways?

Warnings: Smut 18+, lowkey religious undertones (talks of damnation, sin, using god's name in vain (lol)), just fuckin’, not too dirty, more like poetic smut? Love dirty old man poety rizz, fem-anatomy, unprotected sex, use of pull out method 

Wordcount: 1.5K

======

Breathing never sounded so loud. So frantic. Steeped in carnal lust and punctuated by growling grunts. 

He knew. He knew it deep down. Knew this was something bad. Something that shouldn’t happen. Something that would spell out going to hell together hand in hand by the mock of the angels. 

But something like this was worth the damnation. 

It made sense that sins like this were associated with hell. It’s hot, his greedy hands wandering across the sweltering expanses of your skin. The choked moans against one another's lips. Half hooded eyes of a man almost twice your age taking it all in.

How your innocent, ditsy fucking haltertop was bunching around your waist from when he untied it from the pretty bow that you had it in. Although, his hands were shoving the pathetic excuse for clothing back up. It got trapped under your tits, unintentionally, all so he could dig his worn fingers into your supple waist. His jeans were pushed down just enough, your shorts on the ground somewhere. It was almost unfair how you were left so exposed while he was almost fully dressed. 

Joel Miller knew from the second you came up to him that he was screwed. 

At first he thought it was a delusion. Seeing something that wasn’t there. A mirage of an oasis out in the desert that he wanted nothing more than to drown in. In what world would he guess your silent infatuation? Occasionally catching your gaze at the Tipsy Bison or around town. Of course, Joel would spare a small smile for a pretty thing like you. You would return it, beaming at him from where you were, lifting a hand to waggle your fingers at him. 

But he was knocked out when you came up to him for the first time. Your charm broke him quicker than he’d like to admit. After that you were a pleasurable constant in his life. The two of you run into each other quite often. Either quick hellos or long talks. His eyes were fixed on you and only you. 

He couldn’t, shouldn’t.. He swore to himself he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t tarnish you like that. Touch you with his bloodied hands that had taken too many lives. They were permanently stained, a fixed reminder. That should’ve been all it took. No way could Joel Miller do anything with someone pure like you. He was a sinner. 

But oh..

When you came up to him. Sweet you asked for help. How could he deny? 

More importantly, how could he foresee the future? How would he know that you’d pout up at him with the same kissable lips he knew spoke prayers in that house of worship they had in Jackson. He knew you went every Sunday. Was he supposed to know what to do when you flirted shyly, smiling and batting your eyelashes? What about when you grabbed his tainted hand with your soft one? 

Joel was just a man. A weak sinful man who hasn’t touched a woman in years and now here he is. With you. 

He told himself. Just one kiss couldn’t hurt..

But after he had a taste, it was too much. He was diving right into the mirage of water. Drowning in you. Entirely and wholly. 

You’d moan, it was a saccharine sound. Deep and raw like fresh honey, “Oh God..” 

“Takin’ the lord’s name in vain, honey?” Joel chuckled, but it turned into a groan as he felt you clench at his chastising tone. Your nose scrunched in a way that Joel quickly came to love. Face pinched in pleasure as you struggled to keep your eyes open, occasionally slipping up and closing them. But you would open them back up just as quickly. 

Joel watched as you panted and squirmed beneath him, hair fanned out like a halo around you on the rug. “S-Shut-” You didn’t even get to finish before you interrupted yourself with a moan. 

You let out a low whine of frustration as you reached back behind you and grabbed at a fallen pillow. A reminder to Joel of how bad he was. Taking you on the couch like a desperate teenager at first, but when switching around the two of you ended up on the ground. A well loved rug scratching at your bare back, the hard floor making his knees hurt. 

Everything felt rough though. The rough scratch of Joel’s beard as he shoved his face into your neck. Kissing over the sweaty skin and marking you with purpose. Sloppy wet open mouth kisses that makes you tilt your head back and to the side to give him more access. Dirty girl.. Sinful. 

Joel’s rough thrusting was practically sending you up the wall. The head of his cock knocking something deep inside you. That something had you arching under him. Frantically reaching for a different kind of purchase every time, unable to decide where you should put your hands through the haze of lust. But at the same time he was sending you away, he’d drag you back with a tug to your waist.

Joel grunted as he looked down at you. Watching as your face screwed up in pleasure. The flush that covered your cheeks and spread down to your chest where your tits were slick with sweat and littered with hickeys. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth with want, but again, Joel was a weak man. 

He took your nipple in his mouth, nipping at the hard bud before laving over it with his tongue. His other hand skates up your side to give your other breast attention. Pinching and tugging your nipple, twisting it till you let out a whimper of pleasure. Your hands found their way into his hair, tugging just as greedily as he had been grabbing at you before. It’s all his fault. You’re tarnished. Greedy, lustful, desperation showing through with the way you bucked your hips against his and held his head in place from where he had his mouth on your breast. Breathless moans leaving your lips as he scraped his teeth over the plush skin. 

“Joel-” It was a weak call, pitched in a vaguely familiar way. But he could tell why you were calling to him. 

He could feel it all in the way that you were rolling your hips back against his a little weaker than before. You were clenching his dick in a way that had him grabbing your waist a little tighter. The erotic sound of your moans filled the room. Accompanied by the dirty wet slapping of skin on skin from where your slick coated the inside of your thighs. “Shit, sweetheart, ya sound like a goddamn pornstar..” He entertained himself with a smirk, then pressed another kiss to your sternum. 

Idly thinking of you in one of those dirty old films. Maybe he could find a camera, make a little home film of the two of you.. Joel cursed the thought because of how much he liked it. 

“What’s that?” 

Another fucking reminder of how much younger you are than him. 

He elects to ignore your question rather than explaining it, baring his teeth as he sucked in a sharp breath. You open your mouth to ask him again, but he shuts it down as he begins to thumb over your clit. Fingers splaying across your mound as he swipes his thumb over the too sensitive bundle of nerves. 

A broken cry leaves your lips. He leans up to be face to face with you. Wide innocent eyes meeting his, tears just balancing on your lash line. Joel cooed at you, “You close, baby?” He slowed the rocking of his hips, instead focusing on thrusting harder. Shoving his cock back into your dripping abused pussy like he was mad at you. 

Tears streaked into your hairline. A quick nod followed by a weak uh-huh, that was overtaken by a moan. It didn’t take long.. One, two, three good thrusts later and your legs were trembling as they tightened around Joel’s waist. You tenses and looked about ready to fold in on yourself as you cried out like a woman possessed. “Shit- fuck, joel! Oh Joel-” it was a hiccuping kind of cry. Your hands finding his biceps and nails biting into his skin as he sped up again. Searching for his own release. Getting off on how much slicker you got as your tight cunt spasmed and clenched around is cock. 

“I know, baby, I know..” He gritted out. Pinching his eyes shut as he tried to find some kind of self control. Hissing as he dropped his head, chin to chest as he pulled out and fisted his cock. Shooting his spend all over your throbbing pussy and stomach. “Fuck…” He sighed and opened his eyes again. 

There you were, taking quick shallow breaths as you looked at his cum pooling on your skin. And he watched as you took your delicate finger and swiped it up, bringing it up to your mouth. A flash of pink as your tongue darted out to lick it. Then you sucked your finger into your mouth, licking it clean as you finally made eye contact with him. 

You pulled your finger from your mouth with a pop, smiling up at him innocently, “Can we..do it again? Please, Joel?” It was innocent. You were innocent. But how could he not? Especially when you asked him so nicely. 

He licked his lips. 

Oh, he’s going to hell…

======

[giuliettagaltieri]

Masterlist

 K. Bakugō • E. Jaeger • M. O’Hara • S. Gojō • N. Zen’in • C. Snow

R. Cameron

Rafe Cameron

♡ Lovesick Little Thing

Synopsis: You follow Rafe around like a lovesick puppy until you start messing up over and over leading to a sequence of stupidly unfortunate events that you have nobody else to blame but yourself.

Chapter Count: 4

♡ Capitol Darling

Chapter Synopsis: Aspiring President Coriolanus Snow and Business Tycoon Rafe Cameron fights for your hand.

Word Count: 584

♡ Not Your Girl

Synopsis: You opened your eyes (Part ii)

Word Count: 2209

♡ Not Her Man

Synopsis: Feathers fall gracefully slow (Part ii)

Word Count: 3193

♡ His Girl

Synopsis: Featherless birds fall with a splat (Part iii)

Word Count: 4532

Coriolanus Snow

♡ Hunt for Glory

Synopsis: After living under the shadow of legacy of your fathers, you and Coriolanus Snow decide it is time to climb to the top, to reclaim what was yours.  You are a convenient ally, a dangerous and sly woman, and to his luck, it seems your heart was tender for him, until it no longer was

Chapter Count: 6

♡ Quest for Happiness

Synopsis: You got what you wanted. Power over Panem is on your hands. But after fighting in a battle of schemes and ruse, Coriolanus and you face a much more complex adversity. Together, you are a force to reckon with but when the odds seem to not be so much in your favor, will you manage to remain together?

Chapter Count: 7

♡ Smile for Me

Synopsis: With your family involved with the politics of Panem, it was expected of Coriolanus to make you the First Lady. Only, he cannot return your affections as he long gave up on such pursuits and only wanted a loveless marriage, until he had to listen to you make a stand for your beloved fabric.

Word Count: 1653

♡ Capitol Darling

Chapter Synopsis: Aspiring President Coriolanus Snow and Business Tycoon Rafe Cameron fights for your hand.

Word Count: 584

♡ Black, White, and Blood Red

Chapter Synopsis: Neither of you are safe in the arms of the other.

Word Count: 793

Gojō Satoru

♡ A River of Honey

Synopsis: Navigating through life with your husband and son who both seemed to have developed an appetite for something only you can provide.

Word Count: 1142

♡ Where the Blue Roses Grow

Series Synopsis: Snippets from the life of Gojō Satoru and yours.  Where the two of you journey on a path that was predetermined for you, with hearts bruised and unforeseen emotions blossoming.

Chapter Count: 9

Miguel O’Hara

♡ Project: Galatea

Synopsis: Allowing you sentience made things more complicated between you and Miguel.  But Peter Parker from Earth-199999 decides to take on an unfinished impossible project of his late mentor, and possibly bring you and Miguel back together.

Word Count: 6218 

♡ Project: Pandora

Synopsis: You are experiencing things for the first time and you can’t wait to explore what the multiverse has to offer, but for now, you’ll start with a messy college dorm room.

Word Count: 2174 

♡ Project: Eros

Synopsis: It does not feel the same without your wings and halo and you turn to science to help you gain them back.  But despite your angelic appearance, you find yourself allured by the weakness and carnality of the flesh.

Word Count: 5435

Eren Jaeger

♡ Sparkly Pink Skirt

Synopsis: When you are head over heels for Eren since high school, he finds it difficult to take in when you start to avoid him.

Word Count: 2586 

♡ Be Careful Not to Spill

Synopsis: Eren does not agree with the euthanasia plan and he will show them, with a little help from you.

Word Count: 2149

♡ Home is Where You Are

Synopsis: As Eren’s past comes to pay him a visit, you come to realize that love can come in all shapes.

Word Count: 1526

♡ Just Kiss Her Already

Synopsis: Craving for academic validation, you find an unexpected challenger who might have hurt your feelings, just a bit.

Word Count: 1724

♡ Kruger and Vixen

Synopsis: Having a love-hate relationship is fun until Eren messes it up, driving you away.

Word Count: 7077

♡ Number One Fan 

Synopsis: You have always been there to cheer him on, if only he would look at you the same way you look at him.  But who are you compared to the all too perfect Mikasa?

Word Count: 5496

♡ Cherry Flavored Kisses

Synopsis: The life as Eren Jaeger’s girl fascinated you, but it was nothing compared to the fascination you feel for the man, himself.  He could be nice if he wanted.  But nothing is as bittersweet as a love unrequited.

Word Count: 5862

♡ Doctor’s Order

Synopsis: You could not make your crush on Dr. Eren Jaeger any more obvious.  And even though you can tolerate his usual cold demeanor, you also know when to draw the line.  1 of 3.

Word Count: 1792

♡ Progress Notes

Synopsis: You are having fun, trying new things and meeting other people while Eren disproves the saying, “Out of sight, out of mind.”  2 of 3.

Word Count: 1370

♡ Care Plan

Synopsis: You’re back from your trip and a certain surgeon finds it difficult to not be in the receiving end of your undivided attention.  3 of 3.

Word Count: 1269

♡ Road Rage & Malibu Barbie

Synopsis: You may look like a barbie doll who got lost on her way back to her dreamhouse but Eren never fails to break your front quite often than you'd like

Word Count: 2292

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ At Daybreak

Synopsis: Yesterday's rejection made an awkward morning more awkward.  Mix in a ghost and a cookie jar, this morning is bound to be interesting.  Who knew that the Bakugou Katsuki knows how to tease girls?

Word count: 1401

♡ Hero Too

Synopsis: Being a hero means so much more than just the career that Bakugou chose and you wanted to prove that to him and a series of unfortunate events might just let that happen, because dammit! You’re a hero too!

Word Count: 3,553

♡ Still Jealous

Synopsis: Bakugou tries his best to be a good boyfriend when you get hit with a jealousy quirk.  And when cuddles don't work, leave it to Bakugou to come up with other ways to help.

Words: 712

♡ You call Bakugou “pretty”

♡ Manga omake

Naoya Zen’in

Coming Soon

[snowdropluck204]

How They React to Their SO Getting Sick - BNHA

PART 1

Katsuki Bakugo

Katsuki is the epitome of tough love, I feel that his parents did try to take care of him when he was sick but he didn't want to take it, he was going to fight this illness on his own! ~ You had gotten poorly over the weekend, so when Monday came around, you had let Aizawa know that you were ill and were stuck in bed watching YouTube with tissues littering your covers, a sign of your cold. ~ Sniffling softly, you settled down to try and nap for a little while, trying to take a break from the discomfort. ~ BANG ~ Shooting back up in bed, causing your headache to worsen quickly. Moving your gaze to the door, flinching at the light coming from the hallway of the dorm building, seeing the halo of light around a certain angry Pomeranian. ~ "What the hell babe!?" Katsuki shouted, causing you to wince at the volume. "Why weren't you in class!?" ~ Taking a look around your room, seeing the bottles of cold medicine, the tissues and your weak form in bed, he put the pieces together. ~ He also saw you had flinched at the light and his shouting, so he quickly shut the door and made his way towards you, trying his hardest to be quiet (which was very difficult for him). ~ Kneeling down next to your bed, he pressed the back of his hand against your forehead, feeling for a fever and not finding one. ~ Sighing a small sigh of relief, Katsuki pulled back and began working, he put on your favourite show, letting you snuggle up and went away, telling you he'd be right back. ~ Hurrying down to the communal kitchen, he found a can of your favourite soup and, whilst he would have preferred to make it from scratch, this would have to do, he began to cook. ~ He boiled the kettle for a cup of hot water with honey and lemon, knowing you hadn't drank or eaten anything, potentially for most of the weekend! ~ He silently scowled as he moved around the kitchen, he knew you were sick now, but he was mad at himself for not noticing sooner, thinking back on it now, he should have noticed you getting weaker, he'd spent the whole weekend with you! ~ Thinking that he was a shitty boyfriend, he stepped up his cooking game, bringing you up soup, honey and lemon and some of your favourite, softer snacks, nothing that would irritate your throat. ~ Shuffling into your room, he set down your food and snuggled next to you, waving away your protests of 'you'll get sick'. He didn't care. ~ "I'm gonna help you make this cold your bitch, babe!" He whisper shouted.

Izuku Midoriya

Baby Green Bean would just panic, I also feel like before he'd do anything to help you, he would observe you, take notes and then research the crap out of whatever it is to find the best and quickest ways to help you feel better! ft. Mama Inko!

~ When you realised you were sick, just a tummy bug, you text Izuku, knowing he would overthink your absence and you didn't want him panicking. ~ Little did you know, as soon as he got that text message, he was panicking. ~ He had gone to visit his mom for the weekend and now he was running around the apartment, his poor mother chasing him, asking him what was wrong. ~ "Mom! (y/n)'s sick! What do I do!? I- I wanna help but what if I do something and it makes it worse!?" He continued to ramble on about how he had never taken care of someone before, he'd never had a sick significant other because he'd never had a significant other in the first place! ~ His mom tried to calm him down, asking, how you were sick, he responded that you thought it was just an upset stomach. ~ "Oh, Izu, that's an easy fix, let's make a bit of a care package for them, they might not want you around too much if their stomach's queasy." ~ And that's what they did, Izuku worked on making a flask of ginger tea and packing some broth, his mom was at the store, buying you some sports drinks for hydration and some crackers, applesauce and bananas, if you're able to handle the fluids. ~ Packing everything in a cooler, Izuku kissed his mom goodbye, thanked her for her help and set off back to the dorms. ~ Knocking on your door, he waited to hear you let him in, fully expecting you to not respond and instead just leave his care package outside your door, but you let him in. ~ "Hi sweetie," He whispered, seeing you're eyes bleary, presumably just waking up from a nap. ~ He gave you a soft kiss on the forehead, fully aware from reading an article on the train over, that an upset stomach can also cause skin sensitivity and muscle aches. ~ You gave him a soft, weak smile. Izuku placed the cooler next to your bed, "My mom and I made you a care package, just a couple things to help you feel better." He smiled at you, stroking your hair out of your face. ~ You blushed a little at the amount of care your boyfriend was showing you, but thanked him and asked him to thank Inko for you, he agreed and went to leave. ~ You reached out and held onto his sleeve as he was leaving, "Stay?" You asked quietly, needing the human contact. ~ Smiling a big smile, Izuku nodded and tucked himself in bed next to you, pulling up the show the two of you had been watching together. ~ "Of course I'll stay sweetie! I'll always stay."

Shoto Todoroki

Shoto I think would be panicking but only on the inside, obviously when you're not feeling well, you're his main priority, but he doesn't know what to do! He'll sit and panic on his own and then try his hardest to help you, not doing too great…

~ You had the flu. ~ You had a fever. ~ And Shoto had no clue, how to help you! ~ He came to visit you in your dorm room, not realising that you weren't very well and got worried pretty quickly, seeing your tired, delirious, face red, sweating and cold at the same time and you didn't even acknowledge his presence when he came in. ~ He steps out of your room again, pulling out his phone to call Fuyumi, begging her to help him, he was so confused, poor baby! ~ Walking back in, he realises you've seen him now, reaching out with grabby hands for him to cuddle you. ~ Of course he's happy to, but he's desperately trying to stay as still as is humanly possible, hoping you'll be comfortable. ~ He notices that you seem to be moving a lot, moving from his left side to his right. He's not an idiot, he knows what the matter is fairly quickly. ~ Shifting you to lie on your front, cradled against his chest, he gently places his right hand on your forehead, soothing your fever. His left hand goes on the small of your back, underneath your shirt, feeling how your shirt sticks slightly to your skin. ~ Once you've fallen asleep, he once again texts his sister, smiling when he gets the text back, 'Keep her comfortable'. ~ He did a good job.

Eijiro Kirishima

Eijiro is most definitely the 'mom' friend, he knew exactly what to do and when he realises you're not well, he's sprinting around to help you!

~ Eijiro probably knew you were sick before you did! He probably always keeps some kinds of medication around, painkillers, cold medicine, cold and heat pads, emergency snacks. Anything really! ~ What kind of boyfriend would he be if he couldn't take care of his pebble? How unmanly would that be!? ~ When he notices that you're getting sick, you were getting tired quicker, you didn't have much of an appetite and you were starting to slur your words slightly. ~ He let himself into your room, with his arms full of - things! Just things! Blankets, some of his hoodies for you to wear, cold medicine, a bucket (just in case), a bunch of movies and TV shows, snacks, drinks and basically anything else he could have brought from his room to your own in one trip. ~ Once you yourself have realised you're sick, he doesn't let you leave your bed and he certainly doesn't let anyone else in! ~ Mama Eijiro is the most protective being and you cannot tell me otherwise! ~ But he's also a total pushover for you! You could ask him to kill someone, rob a bank or piss off Bakugou and he'd do it! ~ He did try his hardest to keep you comfy and happy, keeping you warm and well fed! You two would definitely binge movies and shows together, him happily commenting every now and then and you tiredly nodding along, happy he's happy. ~ But then the weekend was over and he was being physically dragged out of your room by Bakugou and the rest of the class, still shouting instructions at you: ~ "Keep drinking water through the day! I'll be checking how much you've drank! I've left some sandwiches and soup for you, try and eat if you can! I love you pebble-"

Denki Kaminari

Denki is my favourite clueless baby! I can almost guarantee he would have a minor panic attack/aneurysm whenever there is something wrong with you at the beginning of your relationship and probably whenever you're sick for the rest of it!

~ I feel like Denki would originally try to avoid you when he finds out you're sick, not to be mean or because he doesn't want to take care of you, it's because he doesn't think that he can take care of you! ~ The boy can barely take care of himself and boyfriend protocol dictates he should take care of his partner as well!? ~ Panicking, Denki would probably text the Bakusquad group chat, hoping they can help somehow! ~ They do. ~ The squad seemed to have a soft spot for you, even Bakugou! I feel like Mina and Sero would definitely be like, "Your partner is my partner", kind of thing. Then Katsuki and Eijiro are just the group's mom and dad! ~ They all leave different things outside your door for Denki to give to you, both not wanting to overwhelm you with their presence and also not wanting to get sick. ~ Katsuki cooks you lunch, Eijiro leaves you a flask of tea, Mina couldn't think of anything helpful after that so she ran out to get you snacks and sports drinks and Sero just brought you an item of clothing from each of them (definitely not asking Katsuki before stealing from him). ~ Eventually Denki would calm down, you would demand cuddles from him and any other day he would be on you like glue and would not let go! ~ But today, he was so nervous about hurting you, about making you worse, he was zapping like crazy and he didn't want to hurt you. ~ He saw the look in your eyes when he told you, but almost broke down when you told him you didn't care and pulled him into bed anyway. ~ You would spend the rest of the day watching movies, cuddling and most likely sending each other memes. ~ Denki calmed down and stopped shocking you, but he was happy that you loved him, Zaps and All.

Hitoshi Shinsou

Hitoshi would act cool on the outside, definitely acting stoic and uncaring but having a full on meltdown in his head. He wouldn't know the first thing about taking care of something that wasn't a cat, but he didn't want you knowing that!

~ When you tell him you're sick, he had just entered your room, so he stands there, staring at you from the corner, before whipping out his phone to look up what he should do. ~ "What are you doing?" You croaked at him. ~ "Well, I don't know what to do! So I'm googling!" ~ Chuckling and shaking your head, you mutter that you're fine, just needing some company. ~ He tries his hardest to just stay with you, but can't help thinking that he needs to do more for you. ~ He spent the rest of the day basically treating you like a houseplant, feeding you, watering you and facing you towards the sunlight, hoping something would help! ~ Hitoshi would most definitely use your sickness as an excuse to cuddle and take a nap. ~ He just would. Baby is tired and needs to sleep so any excuse will do! ~ Denki would definitely come looking for him. If he didn't find him in his own room, he'd immediately know to check yours! ~ He woke up Hitoshi when he came in and was instantly threatened. ~ "If you wake them up, I will leave you trapped outside the dorms for a week!" He whisper shouted, Denki giggling as silently as he could but did leave, not wanting to wake you up intentionally. ~ Hitoshi would have to wake you eventually so you could eat and take some medicine, he does so with a soft kiss on your forehead (definitely not checking your temperature or anything!).

[sir-walton-goggins]

The Ties That Bind Us

Arthur Morgan x fem OC

1.7k words

Summary: Arthur is back to camp way earlier than expected. His wife wonders what possibly could have him back so soon... and in such a bad mood.

Angst + Fluff

Tw child death, tw death

Credit for the header goes to @raevennsge

It had been a long day, and Kris was exhausted when she rode into camp at sundown. She lugged her heavy body straight towards the campfire, where she noticed the silhouette of her husband sitting around it.

‘Is he back already? That’s weird’ the woman thought, perplexed. Arthur usually stayed out for days, even weeks at a time, but now he was back after just a mere day. Something was off.

As she approached from behind, he leaned forward, head bowed, hands conjoined together as if in prayer. There was a dark aura to him that made Kris nervous. She could tell he was upset even before seeing his face.

“Hey,” she cautiously greeted him before laying her hands on his shoulders. Arthur didn’t move.

“Hi.” His tone was tired, forlorn.

“Are you okay, honey?”

No response. Instead, Arthur sighed and sniffled, picking up a pebble and throwing it into the fire. Kris waited patiently, rubbing his broad, tense shoulders.

“I need to be alone” was his lapidary answer. His wife nodded.

“Alright. I’ll be in our tent when you’re ready” she murmured, exhaustion getting the best of her.

While Kris got undressed and laid down to get some rest, Arthur remained perfectly still, sitting on the log alone. The fire was burning into his clear eyes, broadcasting his internal turmoil. He observed it like he wanted to part it and walk through it, to disappear forever. He desperately kept the pain inside his chest, and it jabbed at him mercilessly, slicing his breath short. He refused to let it out at the risk of breaking down, losing his composure. He couldn’t afford it: his composure was all he had now; he was the solid rock upon which everyone in the gang could count on. There simply is no time for weakness, when dozens of people depend on you to survive.

But he wanted to talk. Desperately. He wanted to tell Kris how much he was hurting. But his mind bounced back and forth between doing it and thinking it was stupid. After all, he had no reason to be that upset. It had been long enough now, hadn’t it? He was just being a big baby.

The outlaw had lost count of how long he’d been staring into the crackling flames, inhaling their smoke. The full moon peeked through the naked trees, stars glistening like tiny gemstones on a black evening gown. Everyone else had already turned in.

He should’ve gone to bed, but his eyes were wide open, his chest and shoulders too heavy. He missed Kris.

Arthur poked his head in their shared tent. His wife laid on the cot, sleeping peacefully. She looked like an angel: an halo of dark, wavy hair circling her head on the candid pillow. His chest temporarily felt a bit lighter in front of such a peaceful sight.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, Arthur undressed and climbed into bed next to Kris. He cuddled up to her, nuzzling his face into her shoulder and inhaling deeply. She smelled like home, like his safe place. It was so comforting, he almost forgot all about-

“Arthur…” she protested, making him curse under his breath.

“Sorry, dear,” he whispered. “Didn’t mean to wake ya”. His grip on her waist tightened and he pulled her into a hug. Kris exhaled, melting into his embrace and stroking his forearm. She has missed him, too.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” she asked, sleep still heavy and low in her voice.

Silence. Just rhythmical breathing, Arthur’s heavier and more disjointed. He exhaled, burying his face into Kris’s hair.

“Something happened yesterday…” he began. Nervous, he fidgeted with the stitching on Kris’s underwear, pulling at it and twirling it around his fingers.

“Wanna tell me about it?” Kris encouraged him softly.

“Not really…” His mind at fought a dire war between the effort of bringing up something painful and the temporary comfort of burying it down with the rest of his past.

“Okay,” she took his restless hand in hers, squeezing it lovingly. “But I think you should, honey. You’ll feel better after”.

She moved her head so she could look at him in the eyes. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

The blond nodded. He knew.

Kris smiled and kissed him on the cheek, cupping it and rubbing the coarse stubble with her thumb in a circular motion.

Arthur now felt reassured enough to open up, but he still hid his face in Kris’s thick hair.

“I was passing through this small village…” Arthur gulped, doing his best to spit the words out, where they wouldn’t rot him from the inside out. He paused to recount the scene.

Arthur rode in from the west side of the village, passing right in front of the tiny graveyard. He noticed a bunch of people gathering around an open grave, mourning the loss of a fellow citizen. What struck him the most was the utter silence and reverence in such a big crow: must’ve been someone important. He felt compelled to stop and watch from afar, like pulled into place by an invisible thread. The priest was the only one speaking, sending the poor soul off to their final rest.

As the clergy man droned and read from the Sacred Scriptures, Arthur got off his horse and approached, keeping at a safe distance from the funeral. Curiosity got the best of him, so he leaned out to have a look at the dug up hole in front of the tombstone.

His heart sank down into his stomach. That was too small of a grave.

“Today we lay our dear Ishmael to rest. His life was taken from us too soon, but when the Lord calls, we shall answer, and so now he sits next to His throne, in Heaven, forever safe from earthly suffering.”

Arthur felt all blood drain from his face. He desperately wanted to run, but he couldn’t bring himself to just turn around and leave. He felt like he deserved to sit through this. Like he had to.

Once the priest finished his speech, the undertaker began shoveling dirt on the casket, and it wasn’t long before the tiny body was hidden from mournful eyes forever, six feet deep.

A young woman, who had to have been the little boy’s mom, threw a red rose on the coffin, her face a veritable mask of pain. Two other women had their arms linked to hers, the only force holding her up and preventing her from falling on her knees, wracked by grief. And fall she did; she began to wail desperately, a sound which pierced right through Arthur’s chest and sent a wave of white hot pain straight to his head. Before he even noticed people were staring at him, he was bolting back to his horse and taking off at full speed.

“Oh, Arthur…” Kris sighed, the picture he painted way too real and raw.

Arthur swallowed the knot in his throat. He opened his mouth to speak again, but nothing came out.  

“I…” he paused, feeling his eyes sting unbearably.

“I miss him. Every day” he closed his eyes, tears that had been locked away for too long wetting his face.

Kris held him closer, squeezing him into a hug that she wished could’ve healed all his pain. Arthur wept in his wife’s arms for the first time ever, his deep sadness spreading to her. He never talked about Isaac, ever. It left Kris feeling so shocked that this was even happening. She froze, unable to come up with anything to comfort her grieving husband. She silently embraced him as tight as she could, caressing his hair and waiting for his sobs to settle down. With each one of them erupting from his chest, Kris felt a sharp knife stabbing her heart. Oh, there’s nothing worse of the sound of your beloved crying.

As Arthur calmed down they laid there for a while, entangled in each other’s arms, without speaking a word.

“Y’know,” he broke the silence, voice still broken. “I think this was punishment. I couldn’t save ‘em, and now I’m paying for it.”

“No, Arthur, this wasn’t your fault. Please, don’t blame yourself.”

He insisted, pain permeating his every word. “If I was there, I could’ve protected them.” Kris had never heard a sentence spoken with so much regret. She listened, heartbroken by all the guilt he carried, and felt so utterly powerless in the face of it.

“And now I’m scared I’ll ruin things again” he confessed, pressing his palms against his eyes to erase that poor mother’s face from his memory. “I don’t deserve a second chance.”

“Arthur.” Kris removed his hands away from his face. “Look at me.” She intertwined their fingers together.

“You do deserve a second chance. And you won’t ruin it. Because we are in this together, and I’m not backing down. Ever.”

Arthur looked up at her, unconvinced. “You should be with someone better.” he whispered, breathing it out with all the melancholy left in his lungs.

Kris laughed softly and shook her head. “I probably should, but I won’t” she brought his hand to her lips, “because I wanna be with you.”

Arthur smiled, eyes filled with unshaken love. Here stood his wife, his family, the finest woman he ever met, his second chance at life, at love. A day hadn’t passed where he didn’t feel grateful to be with her, even if guilt and conflict sometimes clouded his judgment. He wouldn’t let his past ruin the precious thing they had together, in the present.

He leaned forward, meeting her lips and rubbing his nose against hers gently.

“Afraid you’re stuck with me, Morgan” Kris joked, actually making him laugh for the first time in who knows how many days.

He cuddled into her shoulder. “I think it’s the other way around, Mrs. Morgan.”

“Mh. We shall see” she snarked, closing her eyes. “Goodnight, dear. Try to get some sleep.”

Arthur obliged, finally feeling lighter. What do you know, Kris was right. Again. He closed his eyes and Morpheus’s gentle embrace lifted him off the Earth, giving him some respite.

[bruisedboys]

hi!! i just found this blog and i really love your writing! could you please write some hurt/comfort for james potter x gn!reader where he takes them on a date to a restaurant but the restaurant is really busy and loud so they end up panicking and james helps them?

thank you so much!! this request was so sweet, hope this is ok my love

gn!reader 0.5k words

James’s hugs are grounding. He’s strong with his hugs, arms tight around your biceps and his hands on your back, pressing your chest to his like he wants to be like this forever.

You think he’s telling you to breathe, but you can’t really hear him over the sound of your own heartbeat. It’s deafening, like a drum in your ears. You search for something else to focus on. Luckily, James has pulled you so close that you can feel every breath he’s taking, his firm chest rising and falling against yours. You try to copy it to the best of your ability.

You don’t realise your heartbeat has disappeared from your ears until James speaks again.

“That’s it,” he’s saying into your hair, and his voice is smooth and calm and pretty as ever. It sends a rush of comfort from your head to your toes. “You’re okay, baby.”

Finally, finally, you feel like you can breathe again. It’s quieter out here than you thought, only the trickle of light rain hitting the pavement and muted music from the restaurant, faraway voices and distant laughter.

You take a deep breath, your nose pressed to James’s chest. His scent clouds your senses. Honey, bergamot, and the rain that clings to his hair and dampens the shoulders of his dress shirt.

“I’m sorry,” you find yourself saying, because he’s all dressed up and you’ve ruined the night. You’d freaked out in there and left James to usher you out of one of his favourite restaurants in the middle of dinner. You feel so guilty you could cry.

“What?” James sounds genuinely confused.

You look up at him, thinking he hadn’t heard you. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, chin to his chest, feeling close to tears. “For, um. For freaking out.”

James face crumples. His lips morph into a frown and he looks so sad you almost take it back.

“Darling,” he says, sticky as honey and twice as sweet. He releases you from his hold and you panic for a second but then he’s taking your face in his big, warm hands, fingers spread over your cheeks and jaw. “Don’t apologise for that shit. You can’t help it, you know?”

“I know, but—“

James bends to kiss your nose and your words are lost to the wind.

“Don’t,” he whispers, shaking his head softly, his lips hovering near your own. “It’s okay to get overwhelmed sometimes, honey.”

Your knees feel suddenly weak. He’s so lovely. So kind. Sometimes you think you’ve made him up in your head and he’s just a figment of your imagination. You clutch him closer to make sure he isn’t.

“Thank you,” you say. You think there should be a word, a saying, that means more than just ‘thank you’. All you can think of is, “I love you.”

James beams. The streetlight behind him creates a halo around his head, water droplets cling to his curls and his smile is so bright it’s blinding. He looks like an angel.

“I love you back,” he says like he always does. He bends to press a kiss to each of your cheeks, his hands sliding down to your shoulders. When he pulls away he’s still smiling bright as day. “I’ll love you more if you come home with me and raid the freezer for ice cream.”

How could you say no to that?

[marcusagrippa]

you met him when you were ten, and some might say it was by chance but you know it was not. fortuna was his uncle’s mistress, after all, not his. there were scraped knees and bloody noses and a gravitational pull that scared you (something apollonian, maybe - a disc around the head that only you could see), young as you were, and you lost a tooth that day but gained a friend. he was almost a head shorter than you and half the size, and he wheezed when he talked and his bones were the wrong shape and you could fit your thumb and forefinger in a neat circle around his wrist with room to spare, but something old in you knew that the world would be brought to its knees by those grey eyes and slim hands. 

you ran away from the house where you saw your father’s skull crack open on the kitchen floor and he taught you greek on the temple steps below a red-faced god, and the first time it happened it was over aristophanes, of all things. you were twelve but looked older and he had a limp and his hair was too long and when you kissed him he didn’t stop you, he barely even blinked, he just smiled and went back to correcting your pronunciation after you pulled away. you’d wonder later whether you’d dreamed it but at night you knew that there would always be a part of you stuck in that moment - under jupiter’s gaze with a hand in his hair and greek on your lips. 

the first time you begged him you were sixteen and your brother was in utica. you didn’t think suicide was contagious, but it couldn’t hurt to make sure, so you asked him for mercy over dinner and he said he’d think about it, of course, you had to understand that his uncle was a very busy man with a lot to worry about, a lot on his plate, but he’d see what he could do. you both climbed the tower that evening, the one he nearly fell from as a child, and he watched the sun set over the city’s skyline but all you could watch was the way the shards of fading light touched his face. you’re still not sure if he knew just how deep you’d already managed to fall but it didn’t really matter when he met your lips with his own that night. the second time was better - longer - and he tasted like wine and honey, and it would not be the last. 

you were seventeen and at sea and he looked like he was dying, all sunken cheeks and pale skin and sweat-soaked hair clinging damply to his forehead, and your shared quarters smelled like vomit for a week while the ship crossed to hispania. his voice was weak and that halo had dimmed and when you held him in your arms to try and quell his trembling he was  lighter and frailer than a bird. you were scared. the strength was there, the strength was always there, but it was buried under feverish sweats and wracking coughs and hatchling bones that felt like to snap at the gentlest touch. you stayed - because you always stayed. you wiped his brow, held back his hair, soothed him and cared for him even in the height of his delirium. that voyage  was when you found out about his nightmares; the ones that tore through him more savagely than the fever and left him sobbing and shaking like a child in your arms. they sent words spilling from his lips, words you can’t remember (don’t want to remember), frenzied and hoarse and almost incoherent. 

you wonder now if curses can flow backwards in time. you wonder now if he deserved it. 

the news came the week after the prophecy did. (the astrologer had kissed his feet - fallen to the floor and kissed his damned feet, and you had seen the strange distant look on his face as he was revered and worshipped, and that was the first time you remember that ice stab of fear piercing your chest as you watched him.) the letter fell from his hands like last summer’s dying leaves and he had stumbled, because who wouldn’t, really, in that situation, and when your hands hooked under his arms to keep him up you could feel the way he shook. that was that, then - the idyll was shattered. the future was set. iacta alea esto. 

the lists went up a year later and you knew without words that your sword would be the one bloodied by the end. 

you were twenty-one years old and on your knees in front of him. his hand was in your hair and his eyes were dark and you swore you could feel the drained life still caked under your fingernails, and when he forced your head back to make you look up you couldn’t tear your eyes away - he would be a god, you knew then, beyond a shadow of a doubt he would be a god. (if only you had known what kind.) a few soft words and a sharp tug and you found yourself pressed to him, mosaic tiles digging into your shins, neck aching as he held your gaze. a quiet question and a whispered reply - ‘yes, caesar,’ you said, but the words under the surface were all too clear. don’t think them, don’t speak them. the name was a promise, you thought, and it was not worth the struggle to take it back.

he took you in the temple against the column and for a little while, with your face pressed into the hollow of his neck and your fingers digging into his skin, you could imagine as the sun moved within you that nothing had changed at all. 

[reddamselette]

previous part

-

As they strolled down the endless paths of the mall, directed by signs and asked questions by the concession stands, Jason fidgeted with the teddy bear. His fingers would pick and pinch the fur, his eyes fell down to the beads with small glances, and for the first time, he couldn’t keep up with Leo.

He was quiet once they entered the court. Thousands of voices drowned out the music and the carousel, children’s laughter and family conversations. He remained silent until they sat down with their food.

Jason raised the fork to his lips, tongue melting with flavor from the cheese fries and the sip of soda he drank beforehand. He chewed slowly, staring at Leo as he unwrapped the monstrosity of a burger and bit into it happily. 

With a small, quickly fleeting burst of courage, Jason swallowed and spoke quietly, as if he hoped for the mall ambience to drown out his voice as well. He was never lucky that way. “I do. Dream about you, I do.”

“Do you?” Leo asked again, mouth filled with food and his words muffled but enough to be coherent. Jason’s heart paused for a moment, the calm before a wave of thunder washed over his body and rang in his ears that reddened each passing second brown irises stared past his physical body and directly into his soul.

Jason glanced off to the side. He felt breathless and lost the appetite to eat, instead reaching for his soda with a shaky hand that he also hoped wasn’t visible. He knew it was. He confirmed, lips moving around the red straw, “Yes.”

Almost like he was pleased, Leo nodded and let the conversation go. Jason’s fries had long became cold once they were ready to return to the arcade.

They played for hours. Basketball, bowling, racing simulators, and even games of ping pong— Leo won all three. Not fairly though as he had tossed Jason smiles and comments that sent the boy reeling and weak in the knees. It was cruel. He should’ve never told him the truth to his question, he realized too late that Leo was never going to let it go. He could still blow out the fire but a small spark could still ignite it. Once the flames grew in volume and size, there was no turning back.

Jason didn’t want to turn back, not at all. Instead, he’d rather stay and inhale the smoke in his lungs. Has he always been this hopeless? Yearning for something so close but so far out of reach? 

He and Leo were leaving the mall as the sun set beneath the skyline— covered in all sorts of colors with sun rays that formed a perfect halo around the other that it was unfair— when he tugged on the hem of Leo’s shirt, stopping both of them in their tracks just outside the doors.

“What..was that?”

Leo turned, tilting his head to the side that his dark curls fell over his eyes. “What was what?”

“That. Everything. All of it.” Jason said breathlessly, the words tumbling like he needed to push everything out before he overthought every single thing they did and kept it inside, locked away.

Leo didn't answer, grabbing Jason's wrist and pulled him into a photobooth after inserting a couple of bills to pay. Unease settled in Jason's chest as he held the stuffed animal on his lap, Leo's arm around his shoulders as they posed for the first picture and watched the numbers countdown before the camera clicked and the light flashed.

The first picture, they smiled. Leo held up a peace sign with his eyes crinkling as it reached his eyes, glittering like honey in the sun. Jason's smile was smile but genuine yet as they posed for another, Leo pulled him closer, their cheeks against one another. The camera clicked and the light flashed for a second and third time.

On the last picture, Leo cupped Jason's cheeks, his thumb brushing the faded scar over his lips with a dreamy look and a lovesick gaze. Leo pressed his lips against Jason's, the college printed out and ready to be taken as their lips moved in a gradual motion of yearning, fitting perfectly within each other's.

I dream about you too, Leo thought as he placed his hand on the wall behind Jason's head to deepen the kiss, running out of air but he was sure, he wouldn't need any. Jason had always managed to draw the oxygen from his lungs with breathless laughs and his softspoken voice.

Jason pushed Leo away gently with his hand on his chest, lips red and swollen with his ears burning in heat and a blush across his skin. "Wait, I— holy shit, wait. I thought—"

"I've been, like, so obvious," Leo whispered with a smile and Jason rested his head on the wall, beside Leo's hand and breathed heavily.

He pressed his hand to his forehead with a deep sigh. "That's what it was? With Piper and Nico and— oh my go— I'm sorry. I think I wouldn't have noticed if you didn't kiss me."

"Oh, you think?" Leo teased and leaned in for another kiss, pecking the corners of his lips then his cheeks and jawline. Jason laughed into his lips, cradling a head of dark curls and paid for another photo collage. Evidence printed with colorful ink of their kisses, catching small smiles and intertwined hands.

[exhaustedwriterartist]

A Completely Normal Post About Plants.

Specifically the poison kind. A continuation of this conversation with @crowsandturtlesandbatsohmy and @icequeenabby.

I will go over some of my favorite poisonous plants, and a plant that @nyaboshi brought up because it's really cool. I will share a picture of each plant, a fun fact about it, if it is used in medicine or if it has another purpose, the type of poison/toxin it contains, and what that does to the human body.

Disclaimer: I am not an expert. Just someone who enjoys hyperfixating on many different subjects. Enjoy my brain rot.

Anyways the plants:

CW: Mentions of death, execution, and poison (obviously lol)

IMPORTANT!!!! Just in case I forget to mention this on any of these plants, every part of all these plants is toxic.

Another note: Whenever I refer to gastrointestinal issues/diseases, I am usually referring to nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, stomach/abdominal pain, etc.

Foxglove

(Digitalis)

My favorite poisonous flower.

Did you know that this flower is mistaken for Comfrey, another plant who's leaves are used to make tea? This mistake has resulted in illness and several deaths.

Truly akin to this scene (iykyk):

Uses: This is used in certain medicines to slow down heart rates, due to high blood pressure, and in medicines for heart failures. It is possible to be poisoned from overdosing on this medicine.

Type of poison: Foxglove has a toxin known as digitalis/digoxin. Side effects of this poison include blurred vision/yellow or green vision [xanthopsia] (and seeing a halo like shape around lights), fatigue, gastrointestinal effects, weakness, bradycardia [a heart rate under 60 bpm], lower platelet counts (thrombocytopenia), arrhythmias [irregular heart beats], and the very rare case of cardiorespiratory failure. These symptoms can occur through consumption of the plant, and sometimes through over doses on the medicine. It can cause irritations to the skin, like rashes, if touched, and can cause terrible reactions from its pollen in certain individuals.

Oleander

(Nerium Oleander)

Many oleanders have a sweet, vanilla-like smell, however it is not recommended to smell them up close. These plants have been well documented in history, from Greek mythology to Vincent Van Gogh's painting titled "Oleanders." Despite it's deadly nature, it is quite popular among gardeners.

Uses: This plant is traditionally used to treat heart problems, asthma, and even cancer, but there is not enough evidence to support this actually having a positive effect. However there is more evidence of the leaves of the oleander being used as an effective anti-inflammatory and antioxidant under the right dosage.

Type of poison: The main type of poison in this plant is called toxic cardiac glycosides. But it also contains the poisons oleandrin, oleondroside, and digitoxigenin. These chemicals are found in all parts of the plant and affects the heart the most. The side affects if consumed include gastrointestinal effects, xanthopsia (yellow vision), eye irritation and burning sensation, effects to the nervous system such as tremors, seizures, coma, and cardiac effects including an increased heart rate that quickly slows to the point of death in some cases. If touched, it causes skin irritations and rashes, and can cause respiratory issues of the wood and leaves are burned.

Japanese Pieris

(Pieris Japonica)

This is a plant that @nyaboshi shared with me. This plant is native to several countries in Asia, including Japan, China, and Taiwan. It is a symbol of powerful beginnings and new opportunities.

Uses: The main use of this plant is for a honey made from this plant called "Mad Honey," and it is used as a traditional medicine and for intoxication (which can lead to overdose and poison).

Type of poison: These plants contain Grayanotoxins. These affect the brain, nervous system, and heart. If consumed, this plant causes blurred vison, slower heart rates and lower blood pressure, gastrointestinal effects, weakness, fainting, cardiac failures, coma, and neurological side effects.

Deadly Nightshade

(Atropa Belladonna)

Quite the popular choice for poisoning. There are many many references to this plant in popular books, shows, and movies. It is also famous for being tied to witchcraft. Belladonna, as it is commonly known, is one of many in the Nightshade plant family. Some well known edible Nightshades include tomatoes, potatoes, eggplants, and tomatillos. But Belladonna isn't the only dangerous plant in the Nightshade family, she has other deadly sisters.

Uses: This was used in cosmetics once upon a time. Please do not use it as such please. Surprisingly, there are many uses for Belladonna! Under the right doses, correct mixing of chemicals, and correct consumption/other way of taking this plant can help in reducing symptoms asthma, motion sickness, hemorrhoids, whooping cough, irritable bowel syndrome, and a few other ailments.

Type of poison: This plant contains alkaloids, such as hyocyamine, scopolamine, and atropine. Belladonna is known as one of the most toxic plants that we know of. Consuming this plant, including medicated Belladonna, can cause cardiovascular diseases (and other heart problems such as tachycardia [increased heart rate]), gastrointestinal disorders, complications during pregnancy, psychiatric/neurological disorders, rash, headache, staggering/loss of balance, delirium, dilated pupils, blurred vison, sensitivity to light, severely dry throat and mouth, hallucinations, confusion, constipations, and convulsions.

Touching these plants can cause severe dermatitis and may cause its toxins to seep through the skin.

Giant Hogweed

(Heracleum mantegazzianum)

Considered to be a very invasive species. It is widespread across east to west Europe, Canada, and in the united states. Because of it's dangerous nature, it is deemed by U.S. officials to be a noxious plant, so that the spread of this plant can be limited.

Uses: Not really. Its cousin the common hogweed was used in some medicines, but I would not recommend going near these.

Type of poison: The sap of this plant contains furanocoumarins, which combined with sunlight is severely phototoxic. When any part of the plant is touched, but especially the sap, this causes severe phytophotodermatitis, a terrible and serious skin inflammation, that includes severe blistering (and I mean SEVERE! If you have a strong stomach look it up examples of reactions you dare), a deep red rash, and even photosensitivity. And if you accidentally touch your eyes after exposure, it can harm your vision and even cause blindness.

I haven't seen information for when it's consumed, which is a good thing. It would probably cause intense internal damage.

Please just avoid this plant. For some reason I do not like this plant one bit. Whenever I see this plant I go : ಠ╭╮ಠ

Poison Hemlock

(Conium Maculatum)

You have probably heard of this plant or one of its siblings. This plant was used to execute prisoners in ancient Greece, including the famous philosopher Socrates. Fun plant huh? Also invasive.

Uses: Has been used as a sedative, antispasmodic treatment for symptoms of irritable bowel syndrome, and for some respiratory diseases, all in very small doses. However, there is not enough evidence to really tell if these are positively effective.

Type of poison: Similar to Belladonna, this plant contains alkaloids, including C. maculatum, conium, and coniine. If ingested, it attacks the nervous system, and can cause fatal neuromuscular dysfunction as it will stop the movement of muscles in important organs including respiratory muscles, muscular paralysis, unconsciousness, coma, urination, depression, trembling, and weak or slow heartrate.

It is generally safe to touch poison hemlock, but it is better to be careful and safe.

Bittersweet Nightshade

(Solanum Dulcamara)

Remember I mentioned Belladonna plants have other deadly siblings? Meet her bittersweet sister. In the Middle Ages this plant was said to ward off witchcraft (because of course it was). An interesting fact about this plant is that while it is toxic to humans, there are several bird species that love feasting on the berries.

Uses: This is used for skin conditions such as acne, eczema, itchy skin, broken skin, and a few others. It is also used for inflammation and easing arthritis, along with easing respiratory issues and illnesses like bronchitis, asthma, and pneumonia.

Type of poison: This plant contains solanine and a glycoside called dulcamarine. If consumed, and if over consumed via medical prescription, this plant can cause several gastrointestinal problems, confusion, mydriasis (dilation of the pupil), paralysis, delirium, numbness, shortness of breath, low pulse/slowed heartrate, convulsion, and weakness. It is unwise to take this during pregnancy.

This plant like is sister plant, should not be touched. Its toxins can be absorbed through the skin. So no touchy!

Western Monkshood/Wolfsbane

(Aconitum Columbianum/Aconitum Napellus)

This is plant is surrounded by myth and a long history. In folk tales, it was considered to kill werewolves and normal wolves, hence one of its names. In ancient times it was occasionally used as an herbal medicine, however, it has more of a reputation as a poison for executions and assassinations.

Uses: Once upon a time, this plant was used to reduce fevers, as an anti-inflammatory, sedative, and to relieve other ailments. However, this plant is considered to be one of the most poisonous plants in Europe, so the thought of someone using this today, is very unlikely.

Type of poison: This plant contains aconitine and mesaconitine, which is a dangerous neurotoxin and cardiotoxin. Side effects of consumption include gastrointestinal issues, cardiovascular issues (weak/irregular heartbeat, slowing and stopping of the heart), difficulty breathing, asphyxiation, neurological issues, paralysis, pain, convulsions, multiple organ failure (especially of the liver and kidneys), numbness (especially of the mouth and tongue), and paraesthesia (feeling sensations in the skin for no apparent reason, like feeling cold, tingly, or clammy).

Do not touch this plant. The toxins can be absorbed through the skin, and can cause many of the same effects if consumed, and can cause numbness wherever you touched the plant.

Lily of the Valley

(Convallaria Majalis)

Such a pretty pretty flower to finish of this list! This flower has been the national flower of Finland since 1967 (my gran's home country)! It is also the national flower of Yugoslavia. This plant is very popular, and has been used in many wedding bouquets, has been in several myths, the subject of art, poetry, music, and even shows (like "Breaking Bad").

Uses: Besides it being used for its sweet fragrance, it is supposedly effective heart problems, such as irregular heartbeat and heart failure, urinary tract infections, and kidney/bladder stones (HOWEVER, THESE ARE CLAIMS OF FOLK MEDICINE, NOT FACT).

Type of poison: This plant contains convallatoxin, which is similar to digitalis. If ingested it can cause heart problems such as irregular heartbeat/slow heartbeat and collapse, gastrointestinal issues, loss of appetite, excessive urination, confusion, drowsiness, weakness, depression, headache, disorientation, and lethargy.

This plant may cause skin irritation and possibly a rash/hives if handled for too long.

________________________________

There are many other plants I have done research on, including mushrooms, but I'll stop here for now (for my sanity). I hope y'all enjoyed reading this!!!

*Bows*

Have a good day or night!!

I shall now pass out.

[tg-pilled]

Tokyo Ghoul Characters as MCR songs

This is for shits and giggles, please don't take this too serious. I originally wanted to cover Every album and compare Every song to a character from each album and then realized nobody cares that deeply so here is a brief version!

Kaneki - Famous Last Words - "Can you see my eyes are shining bright? 'Cause I'm out here on the other side of a jet black hotel mirror and I'm so weak. Is it hard understanding, I'm incomplete?"

Haise - AMBULANCE - "And we will wear our masks again, out after dark, 'cause we are up for everything it takes, and we are not the same."

Ginshi - Cancer - "But counting down the days to go, it just ain't living, and I just hope you know that if you say goodbye today, I'd ask you to be true because the hardest part of this is leaving you."

Urie - Sleep - "Don't you breathe for me, undeserving of your sympathy, 'cause there ain't no way I'm sorry for what I did."

Mutsuki - DESTROYA - "With duct-tape scars on my honey, they don't like who you are. You won't like where we'll go, brother, protect me now."

Saiko - The Kids from Yesterday - "All the cameras watch the accidents and stars you hate. They only care if you can bleed. Does the television make you feel the pills you ate or every person that you need to be?"

Arima - The Foundations of Decay - "Let the flesh submit itself to gravity. Let our bodies lay, mark our hearts with shame. Let our blood in vain, you find God in pain. Now if your convictions were a passing phase, may your ashes feed the river in the morning rays. And as the vermin crawls we lay in the foundations of decay."

Hide - The World is Ugly - "These are their hearts, but their hearts don't beat like ours. They burn 'cause they are all afraid. But mine beats twice as hard, 'cause the world is ugly, but you're beautiful to me."

Touka - The Ghost of You - "At the top of my lungs in my arms she dies, she dies. At the end of the world, or the last thing I see, you are never coming home."

Hinami - Cemetary Drive - "If you want, I'll keep on crying. Did you get what you deserve? Is this what you always want me for? I miss you."

Ayato - Thank You for the Venom - "I keep a gun in the book you gave me. Hallelujah, lock and load. Black is the kiss, the touch of the serpent son."

Nishiki - The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You - "Gaze into her killing jar, I'd sometimes stare for hours. She even poked the holes so I can breathe."

Eto - Give 'Em Hell Kid - "Some might say we are made from the sharpest things you say. We are young and we don't care. Your dreams and your hopeless hair. We never wanted it to be this way for all our lives."

Naki - The Only Hope for Me is You - "Because you're the only hope for me. And if we can't find where we belong, we'll have to make it on our own."

Takizawa - House of Wolves - "Tell me I'm an angel, take this to my grave. Tell me I'm a bad man, kick me like a stray."

Tsukiyama - Romance - There's no lyrics but the vibe is *chefs kiss*

Uta - I Never Told You What I Do for a Living - "It ain't the money and it sure as hell ain't just for the fame, it's for the bodies I claim and lose. Only go so far 'til you bury them so deep and down we go, down."

Renji - Headfirst for Halos - "And as the fragments of my skull begin to fall, fall on your tongue like pixie dust, just think happy thoughts, and we'll fly home."

Juuzou - Mama - "Well, mother, what the war did to my legs and to my tongue. You should've raised a baby girl, I should've been a better son."

Rize - Our Lady of Sorrows - "We could be perfect lovers one last night, and die like star-crossed lovers when we fight."

Akira - Skylines and Turnstiles - "We walk in single file. We light our rails and punch our time. Ride escalators colder than a cell. The broken city-sky, like butane on my skin, stolen from my eyes."

Amon - Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back - "For all of us who've seen the light, salute the dead and lead the fight. Who gives a damn if we lose the war? Let the walls come down, let the engines roar."

Feel free to add your own interpretations but these are songs that I think relate to the characters! :)

[juliacoller]

Swiss needs to calm down

Swiss ghoul x reader

Warnings: tit sucking (thats literally all this is), stripping, mattress humping, a touch of somno, touch of sub space, sub(ish)!Swiss, Swiss being far too sweet

@scrunklybunny and I can't help but talk about Swiss in every conversation and this came up today and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it

Swiss is having a rough day and really needs to just lay down with you and relax into your warmth

“Please baby, I just want you” 

Using his big doe eyes to his advantage, pleading you to come to bed with him

He first lays you down to rest your head on a pillow, watching the way your hair splays out around you, resembling some type of satanic halo

He lays his head on your chest, nuzzling his face into the scratchy material of your t-shirt 

“Please Y/N” he says, a slight whine coating his words, he rubs the fabric of your shirt between his fingers, looking up with big doe eyes and says, “take it off for me please?” 

“Of course, my darling” you say with a slight grin, he pulls away for a moment to allow you to remove your shirt, when he sees the lovely black bra that supports your breasts he grins, but also pulls at it, suggesting you also remove the fabric. 

You can’t help but giggle at his proposition, but oblige, pulling the bra from your body and throwing it somewhere on the floor next to the bed. 

Swiss gives a cheesy grin before reaching down and placing his large palms over your tits, “there my girls are” he says and causes a combination of a giggle and a snort to leave your body.

“C’mon Swiss, I thought you were relaxing” you say with a slightly sassy tone, “Oh, believe me, I am” he says before placing his mouth onto one of your nipples. 

The cheeky words you are about to utter get caught in your throat as the warmth of his mouth envelops you, his tongue immediately rubbing and teasing at the soft bud 

Your hands reach up to play with his hair, appreciating the way he leans into your chest as you become more eager, a small hum leaves his lips and causes a deep rumble to blossom throughout your chest

Swiss’ eyes are peacefully closed as he makes out with your chest, letting his saliva smear across your chest and drip down the valley in between your breasts

Swiss is sweet enough to bring one hand down to grab below one of your knees, bring your leg up to sit at an angle, mimicking the same motion with the other leg, allowing him to be caged into your hips, happy to just be on you

Swiss’s hips are below yours, weak thrusts being met with the pillowy cushion of the mattress, not exactly what he was looking for, but it is good enough to satiate the semi he is sporting

Swiss peeks his eyes open slightly to look up at you, admiring the way you stare down at him, knowing you are comfortable in his grasp, his look is inquisitive and needy, you quickly recognize that he wants you to use your voice

“Whatcha want baby?” You say sweetly, running your fingernails slightly over his scalp, evaluating the way he whines with this action 

He hesitantly pulls away to quickly murmur out “talk to me” before returning his lips back to your skin

“About anything, honey?” you ask, choking back a whine when he grazes his teeth over your nipple, you see the glint in his eyes as you speak and recognize that he just wants to hear your voice, offer him some comfort

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, been waiting for you to have some free time to be with me. I had to do so much today, had to help Sister Imperator with paperwork, do our laundry, help Mountain with the greenhouse” at the mere mention of Mountain’s name, Swiss lets a whimper reverberate through your skin, his eyes peer up at you meekly and he’s dipping into a place of relaxation. You know just how weak Swiss gets when you mention Mountain, he loves the way the earth ghoul can throw you both around while also remaining so gentlemanly and loving, the large ghoul simply makes Swiss weak. You grin down at him and massage your fingertips over his scalp, watching his eyes flutter close again and feel him purr deeply against your chest. 

Swiss is normally not one to purr often, the low rumble normally only making an appearance if he is either in submission or is incredibly relaxed. The rumble against your chest is relaxing as you continue to talk about the things you had done throughout the day, “So happy I can finally be here with you, baby, been looking forward to this all day” you finally say as you let a content sigh fall from your lips. 

Swiss lets one hand reach out to grab your other breast, kneading it in his hand and appreciating the way his palm perfectly fits over your tit, letting his fingertips dig into your skin and dip into the squish of your body

Swiss eventually switches sides and attempts to give an equal amount of attention to each nipple, grazing his teeth over your skin and reminding you of just how delicious it feels when. he digs his teeth intentionally into your skin, allowing thin strips of blood to raise from your body

Swiss keeps one hand planted on each breast, using one hand to tease the nipple that is not being occupied with his mouth, while the other squeezing the parts of your boob that he cannot fit into his mouth, even though he desperately wants to try 

Swiss cannot still his hips, although he is not thrusting into the bed, he cannot stop the small movements his body begs to make, just shaking and slowly rutting against the sheets 

Although Swiss is incredibly hard and always want to be inside of you, he doesn’t long to fuck you into the bed or shove himself so incredibly far into your body, he is content to continue sucking on your tits and shove his face into your chest

The slick that covers your chest is shining in the dimness of your room, the wetness also coats Swiss’ face and mustache, so incredibly messy just from sucking your tits

“Look so pretty for me, baby” you praise Swiss, tugging a bit on his hair and forcing his eyes to look into your own, his eyes are clouded with lust and relaxation. Swiss is floating high on his own cloud of tranquility and continues his sweet assault to your breast.

When Swiss eventually stops suckling on your breast, it’s only due to his own relaxation taking over and lulling him to sleep. You smirk down at him and continue to play with his hair and massage his scalp, reminding him that you are ever present with him.

You eventually are able to fall into the land of relaxation with Swiss and fall asleep with him resting on your chest, between your breasts and covered in his own spit.

When you do eventually wake, you find Swiss suckling on your breast once again, only popping off to say “I was bored, honey” before taking you in his mouth again

[curator-on-ao3]

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you so much for tagging me, @divinemissem13! ❤️

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 127

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 660,997

3. What fandoms do you write for? Star Treks, mostly Strange New Worlds, Lower Decks, Picard, and Voyager.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Tuvok’s Secret (G): Tuvok has a secret — and he trusts only one person onboard to keep it. (Kathryn Janeway & Tuvok)

Feet on the Ground (G): Something solid slams into Kathryn’s back. She stumbles forward, bumping Mark, who in turn careens into someone else. Kathryn turns to glare at the probably inebriated party-goer who didn’t watch where they were going. But, instead, she looks up to achingly familiar dark eyes and the curves and lines of a tattoo that Kathryn spent the last eighteen months telling herself she didn’t miss. (Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway)

The Halo Effect (M): Tom Paris and Kathryn Janeway didn’t intend to fall in love. (Kathryn Janeway/Tom Paris)

Fly Me to the Moon (E): Kathryn Janeway and Tom Paris never met each other years before Voyager. Never served on a covert mission together. Never fell in love. Never planned a future together. Nope, never happened. Because a secret like that could lead to some … complex dichotomies. (Kathryn Janeway/Tom Paris)

Bad Ensign (T): Harry Kim finds out he missed out on an important part of the Starfleet Academy experience. Hilarity and dirty jokes ensue. (ensemble, friendship fic)

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes. If someone was kind enough to leave a comment, I’m going to thank them.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I used to not know how to answer this question, but I recently got a kudos on Honey, I’m Home and while that story definitely isn’t “sit down crying” angst, I feel like maybe it qualifies? (Though In the Doorway might also fit under that criteria? Both stories are Kathryn Janeway/Tom Paris, but they only get together in one of them.)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Either Feet on the Ground or Youthful Exuberance (Some Kind of Love). Feet on the Ground has Janeway and Chakotay finding their way together after their Delta Quadrant trauma (note: Chakotay is afraid to leave the Sol system for fear of getting pulled into the Delta Quadrant again — Prodigy!Chakotay didn’t exist yet when I wrote that but, from what I’ve heard, he could possibly relate). Youthful Exuberance lets our heroes, Christopher Pike and Una Chin-Riley, have all manner of ups and downs, but the tags promise a 100 percent happy ending and I was determined to deliver.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not that I’m aware of, usually.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yes. Vanilla because I find that interesting to write. (I’ll read all sorts of stuff.)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I write crossovers within the Trekverse. The two craziest allowed Tuvok and Geordi LaForge to have tea together (Asunder [T] Kathryn Janeway/Tom Paris) and Shannon O’Donnell Janeway to tell Benny Russell how much his writing has meant to her (Meeting of the Minds [G] Shannon O’Donnell Janeway & Benny Russell, Kathryn Janeway & Benjamin Sisko).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Other than by ChatGPT, not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes, In the Doorway was translated into Russian.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes, and am doing so again.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? NCC 1701

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? There’s one I technically finished about Tom Paris and Owen Paris in the aftermath of Owen’s beta canon torture by the Cardassians. But it’s really dark and I don’t know if I’ll ever edit or post it.

16. What are your writing strengths? Adaptability (to prompts), brevity, details.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I’m having trouble lately with voice and lack of vocabulary variety.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? If necessary, a beta fluent in the language can be very helpful.

19. First fandom you wrote for? I consider that to be Voyager, but recently reflected on an even earlier fandom for me.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? My most recent fic always holds a place in my heart, so Disarmed (Mirror Una Chin-Riley/Mirror Christopher Pike) is special to me, and also was an interesting mental stretch because I’d never before written sex that the characters think is good but I think isn’t good. But my all-time favorite? Youthful Exuberance (Some Kind of Love). It’s my novel length love letter to Chris and Una, and it means a lot to me.

Tagging: Tumblr has been doing this fun thing lately where I don’t see posts from people I follow. So, if you actually see this, please consider yourself tagged with no pressure. Also, in addition to the wonderful people tagged by @divinemissem13, I’m tagging @grissomesque @fiadorable @emilie786 @genius2mania @lorcaswhisky @enterprise-come-in @marymoss1971 @sun-lit-roses @kejsarinna @iamstartraveller776 @isagrimorie @emonydeborah and the fantastic folks I’m not thinking of right now because I have tag anxiety.

[giuliettagaltieri]

Masterlist

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

 K. Bakugō • E. Jaeger • M. O’Hara • S. Gojō • N. Zen’in

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Gojō Satoru

♡ A River of Honey

Synopsis: Navigating through life with your husband and son who both seemed to have developed an appetite for something only you can provide.

Word Count: 1142

♡ Where the Blue Roses Grow

Series Synopsis: Snippets from the life of Gojō Satoru and yours.  Where the two of you journey on a path that was predetermined for you, with hearts bruised and unforeseen emotions blossoming.

Chapter Count: 9

Miguel O’Hara

♡ Project: Galatea

Synopsis: Allowing you sentience made things more complicated between you and Miguel.  But Peter Parker from Earth-199999 decides to take on an unfinished impossible project of his late mentor, and possibly bring you and Miguel back together.

Word Count: 6218 

♡ Project: Pandora

Synopsis: You are experiencing things for the first time and you can’t wait to explore what the multiverse has to offer, but for now, you’ll start with a messy college dorm room.

Word Count: 2174 

♡ Project: Eros

Synopsis: It does not feel the same without your wings and halo and you turn to science to help you gain them back.  But despite your angelic appearance, you find yourself allured by the weakness and carnality of the flesh.

Word Count: 5435

Eren Jaeger

♡ Sparkly Pink Skirt

Synopsis: When you are head over heels for Eren since high school, he finds it difficult to take in when you start to avoid him.

Word Count: 2586 

♡ Be Careful Not to Spill

Synopsis: Eren does not agree with the euthanasia plan and he will show them, with a little help from you.

Word Count: 2149

♡ Home is Where You Are

Synopsis: As Eren’s past comes to pay him a visit, you come to realize that love can come in all shapes.

Word Count: 1526

♡ Just Kiss Her Already

Synopsis: Craving for academic validation, you find an unexpected challenger who might have hurt your feelings, just a bit.

Word Count: 1724

♡ Kruger and Vixen

Synopsis: Having a love-hate relationship is fun until Eren messes it up, driving you away.

Word Count: 7077

♡ Number One Fan 

Synopsis: You have always been there to cheer him on, if only he would look at you the same way you look at him.  But whho are you compared to the all too perfect Mikasa?

Word Count: 5496

♡ Cherry Flavored Kisses

Synopsis: The life as Eren Jaeger’s girl fascinated you, but it was nothing compared to the fascination you feel for the man, himself.  He could be nice if he wanted.  But nothing is as bittersweet as a love unrequited.

Word Count: 5862

♡ Doctor’s Order

Synopsis: You could not make your crush on Dr. Eren Jaeger any more obvious.  And even though you can tolerate his usual cold demeanor, you also know when to draw the line.  1 of 3.

Word Count: 1792

♡ Progress Notes

Synopsis: You are having fun, trying new things and meeting other people while Eren disproves the saying, “Out of sight, out of mind.”  2 of 3.

Word Count: 1370

♡ Care Plan

Synopsis: You’re back from your trip and a certain surgeon finds it difficult to not be in the receiving end of your undivided attention.  3 of 3.

Word Count: 1269

♡ Road Rage & Malibu Barbie

Synopsis: You may look like a barbie doll who got lost on her way back to her dreamhouse but Eren never fails to break your front quite often than you like

Word Count: 2292

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ At Daybreak

Synopsis: Yesterday's rejection made an awkward morning more awkward.  Mix in a ghost and a cookie jar, this morning is bound to be interesting.  Who knew that the Bakugou Katsuki knows how to tease girls?

Word count: 1401

♡ Hero Too

Synopsis: Being a hero means so much more than just the career that Bakugou chose and you wanted to prove that to him and a series of unfortunate events might just let that happen, because dammit! You’re a hero too!

Word Count: 3,553

♡ Still Jealous

Synopsis: Bakugou tries his best to be a good boyfriend when you get hit with a jealousy quirk.  And when cuddles don't work, leave it to Bakugou to come up with other ways to help.

Words: 712

♡ You call Bakugou “pretty”

♡ Manga omake

Naoya Zen’in

Coming This Summer

[seatsaverheartbreaker]

The BatFam as Reputation Tracks

In anticipation of the re-recording of Taylor’s best (controversial opinion I know) album, here’s my take on which Reputation track would the bird/bat/cat anthems.

…Ready For It? - Stephanie Brown

A dramatic start to the album.

“Are you ready for it?” In Taylor’s smug tone is so Stephanie Brown coded.

“No one has to know, in the middle of the night, in my dreams, you should see the things we do” you can’t convince me that Steph doesn’t love kicking ass and being a badass hero, to the point of dreaming about her alter ego.

“Are you ready for it? Oh are you ready for it? Let the games begin, let the games begin.” Is such a cocky way for Steph to hype herself up to go out on patrol and cause some chaotic messes within Gotham.

I Did Something Bad - Damian Wayne

Okay seems obvious, being an ex assassin and all but hear me out.

“I don’t regret it one bit because he had it coming” feels like something Damian would absolutely use against Bruce to validate making a hard decision within the field, but also as an excuse for threatening to stab Tim for touching his sword.

“You gotta leave before you get left. I can feeling the flames on my skin, he says ‘don’t throw away a good thing’” feels like an instance where Damian’s abandonment issues and insecurities and self-doubt would kick in and he’d try to run away from the Manor. Dick would catch him trying to sneak out, leant back against the living room’s door with a raised brow and a brotherly expression. Of course Dick would tell him not to throw away his chance at a real family, one that loves him, and would help him seek the redemption Damian wanted.

“They say I did something bad, then why’s it feel so good?” Could refer to later when Damian starts to settle within the family, rethinking the ways he had been taught by Talia to see attachments as weakness. How could they be something bad if they brought him joy and love.

Don’t Blame Me - Bruce Wayne

The OG drama queen to the family has to get a dramatic song. This whole song represents the alter ego of Batman as a whole and you can’t convince me otherwise

“Don’t blame me, love made me crazy” his love for his parents, and his loss of them, made him just crazy enough to start dressing up as a bat and beating up bad guys.

“Just play things for me to use” could refer to his playboy behaviours but it could also refer to his cat and mouse game he plays with his villains too.

“My name is whatever you decide, and I’m just gonna call you mine” applies both to his relationship with Selina Kyle, but also his relationship to Gotham as a whole. He’s fine to be called whatever they want to, but that was his city and he will continue to protect it.

“Echoes of your name inside my mind. Halo, hiding my obsession” Bruce hides behind the Batman mantle, using the inherit goodness of it to further his obsession with the Joker and his need for revenge.

Delicate - Selina Kyle

Something about this song literally gives slinky catsuit vibes, I can’t describe why. A secret relationship due to reputations and alter ego? Sounds familiar.

“My reputation’s never been worse, so you must like me for me” Bruce saw more than just the cat burglar Selina started out as, seeing past her actions.

“We can’t make any promises, now can we babe. But you can make me a drink” is so Bruce and Selina coded it’s almost insane. They couldn’t exactly take their relationship very far due to their polar opposite alter egos’ morals. But Bruce could make her a drink.

“Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs. Stay here, honey, I don’t want to share. ‘Cause I like you” Bruce was a playboy, Selina knew that. But she really did like the billionaire underneath it all. And she wasn’t the type to share her play toys anyways.

Look What You Made Me Do - Jason Todd

I know it was obvious but I could really see Jason listening to this song as his pre-hype for patrol, loving the drama of it deep down. Every verse in this applies to his life in one way or another, with “look what you made me do” being aimed at The Joker and the criminal and Bruce.

“I don’t like your little games, don’t like your tilted stage, the role you made me play of the fool…” would be spat with pure venom at the thought of the Joker and what he did to turn Jason into the Red Hood.

“I got a list of names and yours is in red, underlined. I check it once then I check it twice.” You can’t tell me that Jason doesn’t have his own list that he ticks off as he tackles the criminal underground. It would totally be the same shade of red as his helmet too, the drama queen.

“The world moves on, another day, another drama but not for me. Not for me. All I think about is karma and the world moves on, but one thing’s for sure; baby, I got mine but you’ll all get yours” is such a Red Hood verse. While everyone got over Jason’s death, moved onwards after the second Robin, Jason was still back there buried, resurrected, left feeling an immense amount of anger and resentment. Towards Bruce for replacing him. To The Joker for murdering him. To everyone who had wronged him at one point or another. But it was okay, because he was going to help them get the karma they deserved what they did. They would all get what was coming for them.

Dancing with Our Hands Tied - Cassandra Cain

Okay this one was so hard. Besides the obvious of Cass being a dancer [I literally can’t remember if this is cannon honestly], I think this song represents her background and her need to prove herself.

“Dancing with our hands tied” could refer to her pulling punches due to her background of being raised an assassin, trying not to go too far when she first became Batgirl.

“I’m a mess but I’m a mess that you wanted” Bruce saw her potential and aided her to do the good she wanted to do. He took her into his family voluntarily even though she had made mistakes within her past, and was raised to do bad.

“People started talking, putting us through our paces, I knew there was no one in the world who could take it, I had a bad feeling” could refer to people viewing her purely as a weapon versus Bruce’s idea that she could be more. It surely raised some self doubt within Cass that maybe she couldn’t be more than what she was born to be, maybe she would always be someone who hurt people.

There’s a quiet powerfulness to this song that I think represents Cass.

Dress - Dick Grayson

Arguably one of Taylor’s horniest songs, which seems suiting for Playboy 2.0. There’s an underlining romance to it which I feel represents Golden Boy, and is totally related to his relationship with Babs.

“Our secret moments in a crowded room, they’ve got no ideas about me and you” Bruce and Dick would attend galas and charity events and Wayne Enterprise events and nobody would know that the pair were vigilantes.

“My hands are shaking from holding back from you.” Is such a Dick Grayson move. You can’t tell me this man wouldn’t have the shakiest hands when it gets down to it.

“Everyone thinks that they know us, but they know nothing about…” His alter ego was secret, his relationship was secret. Everyone thought they knew Golden Boy Dick Grayson but they didn’t know past the flash suits and the charismatic smile. The scars, the trauma, the things hidden behind steady hands in public and shaky hands in private.

“Flashback to my mistakes, my rebounds, my earthquakes, even in my worst lies, you saw the truth in me” applies not only to Barbara, and Bruce, and his whole family really, but also to the city that loved Nightwing so much.

This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things - Tim Drake

I love this little gremlin, but you can’t tell me he doesn’t blast this after someone diverts from his plans while on missions. His plan or the pettiness that may ensue. Riddled with resentment (unconscious I’m sure) and pettiness, and it kinda feels like it was written while on a coffee high???

“So why’d you have to rain on my parade? I’m shaking my head and locking the gates” he would absolutely sulk in his room afterwards, finding Jason crashing into the mission a headache and a half since the Red Hood didn’t follow instructions.

“This is why we can’t have nice things” is such a mumbled response to anything to do with his family. Dick broke the chandelier trying to show off some acrobatic trick? Jason put bullet holes in all of Bruce’s suits? Damian and Titus let Batcow out to run awry within the Manor? Stephanie hacked his twitter? This is why we can’t have nice things.

“Here’s to my baby, he ain’t reading what they call me lately” is a huge shoutout to Bernard who ignored the articles on Red Robin being caught napping on the high rise of Wayne Enterprise.

Call It What You Want - Barbara Gordon

This song is all about coming back from the lowest point.

“My castle crumble overnight, I brought a knife to a gun fight” offft this song could be so representative of Babs after what occurred with the Joker. She went from Batgirl to being a victim again, a hard thing to settle into.

“All my flowers grew back as thorns, windows boarded up after the storm, he built a fire just to keep me warm” Dick was by her side through it all, waiting in the hospital at her bedside for her to wake up. And he stayed by her side, helping light hope within her again.

“I recall late November, holding my breath, slowly I said you don’t need to save me” The fire itself turning into her becoming Oracle, taking back her power and continuing to fight for what she knew was right.

New Year’s Day - Alfred Pennyworth

This song feels very sentimental to me. It reminds me of the love Alfred showed and held for the whole Batfam, even when they weren’t at their best and made mistakes. It reminds Alfred of his memories of all of them growing up, the moments that were sparkling and filled with joy.

“But I stay when you’re lost, and I’m scared that you’re turning away” Dick would still relay on Alfred for advice, showing up with his chipper grin and a store bought cake as if he had to repay Alfred for raising him. As if he needed to repay such a thing. And Alfred would give him full attention, weighing in as a father would to his second ward.

“I want your midnights” And Alfred never minded patching up Bruce after midnight, never questioned Cass taking up the kitchen table to eat cereal early into the morning.

“You squeezed my hand three times in the back of the taxi” Cass would still reach for Alfred’s hand when he dropped her at her dance recitals, squeezing tightly with her smile before leaving him to join the audience.

“Hold onto the memories and I will hold onto you.” Jason would miraculously show up in the Wayne Manor library one night, caught by Alfred who would sit with him into the early hours of the morning. Even in the silence, Alfred didn’t want Jason left wondering if he had a place within that house. He always did, no matter his mistakes.

“Please don’t ever become a stranger who laugh I could recognise anywhere.” Was something Alfred never wanted to happen to his family. While they might not all live within the Manor, he still encouraged them to return home. He loved that family more than he could put into words.

Special Mention

Getaway Car - Harley Quinn

This song is Harley’s emancipation anthem and you can’t convince me otherwise.

“I wanted to leave him, I needed a reason” The Batman gave her that reason, seeing how their cat and mouse game represented love to the Joker more than Harley’s affections ever did.

“Think about the place where you first met me.” Has a whole new meaning now.

“It was the great escape, the prison break. The light of freedom on my face, but you weren't thinkin' and I was just drinkin'. While he was runnin' after us, I was screamin', "Go, go, go!" But the three of us, honey, it’s a sideshow and the circus ain’t a love story” side eye. What was that about the Bats obsession with the Joker? Harley always saw it, she just didn’t know how deep it really went. Until he abandoned her to drown within their getaway car, being rescued by The Bat himself.

“Ridin' in a getaway car. I was cryin' in a getaway car. I was dyin' in a getaway car. Said goodbye in a getaway car.” Her love and affections for The Joker was her Getaway Car and she had finally said goodbye to it. She betrayed him to the Bat and switched sides, not quite a hero but no longer a villain.