#i think he'd hate having a lot of colour on himself so he just sticks with his black and white pallette most of the time

[mitsies]

❊ shootin' hoops! - childe . . ajax can't get enough of you. meanwhile, you've definetely had it with him.

ajax is 19 when he falls in love with you.

he meets you in his second year of college, in a stupid, annoying, lame sociology class which he's only in because it's a requirement to his major. why else would he be in a dank room at 8 in the morning? oh, he hates it. the class is slow-paced. his professor is even slower. an old, little man. ajax bets that he could bench his weight. and maybe a little more than that, too, without breaking a sweat.

the class sucks, and it's not even hard, and he would probably skip every single one and pass with a hundred and ten percent. and he really, really considers this course of action, too. until, he sees you in the back of the classroom. he doesn't think he's seen you before. he'd remember if he did.

wow, you look pretty. wow, you're cool. and wow, maybe he'll stick around for the lecture tomorrow after all. ajax grins to himself. and maybe he'll bench his professor, too, if you'd think that was cool. would that make him look strong, and show off his muscles? then he might really try.

after the class lets out (which takes light years, he's convinced) he makes a beeline to where you're packing up your notebook and stationary. "lame class, huh?"

you turn at his words, eyes wide as you take him in. ajax smiles with his teeth, and he can imagine all the girls and guys in the class swooning, he can practically hear their thoughts; 'oh, who's that cute guy? his dimples are so adorable! oh, wow, i should ask his number. he looks like he would be the star player of our college's basketball team! so muscular, and cool!'

and if they're all thinking that, oh, he can't even conceptualise what you must be thinking. he feels butterflies, and a little dizzy, and a lot anxious— but in a cool way, of course— when you open your mouth to respond.

"i thought it was cool, actually."

he's breathless for a second because wow, woah, oh god, your voice is just as nice— no, it's better, than he'd imagined it. and then he registers what you'd just said and it takes everything in him to stay composed as his brain short-circuits looking for something to say in response. so-long to his ingenious plan of bonding over mutual hatred of your professor. hm. he's kind of backed himself in a corner. oh, well, it seems like he'll have to rely on his massive charm to get him through to you. not a problem!

"really? you've got awful taste."

your face sours. his heart thunders— oh, you're so, so cute. he likes it when you look at him like that. actually, he likes it when you look at him in general. he likes the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you're irritated. the way you look like you've tasted something bitter makes him think— would your lips taste sour, too? like lemons, and limes? like biting into a cardamom pod?

before he can think about it too much, you speak again, and he's entranced— again. "just my thoughts."

"well clearly, you don't think much."

you blink at him. your eyelashes frame your eyes so nicely, too. he wonders if there's a colour that encapsulates the shade of them. ajax thinks that your eyes are like the rest of you— indescribable. and then you scoff, and walk away with your bag slung over a shoulder, and he can't wait to see you tomorrow.

three weeks go by. ajax doesn't think he could be more in love.

he's showed up to sociology every single day, just for the sake of seeing you. lighting up like a match the second you show up in the doorframe, and going out in a similar fashion once you're gone. he relishes every single second in your company. he carves every half-smile and every grimace, and every time you purse your lips in confusion and every time you nod along to the professor when you understand. oh, he's in love. and it's bad. it's so bad.

"don't tell me you're actually doing the extra credit work," he says, staring at open laptop on your desk. it's work time, and while ajax could hypothetically leave, you're staying, so he's staying too.

you glance up at him. lord knows how you've put up with him for so long. he's annoying, he's bothersome, he does not leave you alone, not for a second. the only time he sees you is sociology so he's got to make the most of it. "i've got nothing better to do, ajax."

oh, he loves, loves, loves it when he says your name. it might be his favourite sound in the world. "you could leave. it's a free class."

you raise a brow— "you could leave too."

"i could. but what'd you do without me?"

you laugh the littlest bit, and he feels a dozen times lighter. maybe your laugh is actually his favourite sound, he can't decide. "probably be a lot more productive."

he likes what you have. he likes this friendship-ish kind of thing. he likes that you only hate him sometimes, and that you can stand to be around him other times. that's not to say he's satisfied. oh, not even close. 3 weeks were enough for ajax to imagine it— a lifetime. he imagines holding your hand at graduation. and he imagines movie nights turned sleepovers, and he imagines what colours you'd choose for the bedsheets of your first house together. he imagines lists of names. he imagines forever. but this is a good start. you're 50-50 now, he's just got to work on that hundred percent.

and, in his opinion, 3 weeks is a long, long time. that's 7 whole days of 24 whole hours. and only god knows how many minutes are in those hours. way too many, he thinks. he's smart enough to know that good things take time, but he doesn't think that he can be only your classmate-sometimes-friend for any longer. he wants more. needs it.

you speak before he can reply, "you really have nothing to be working on?"

he probably does. a lot of business homework, something math related undoubtedly. but that wouldn't take him too long. so he opens his mouth to say as much when he remembers— he likely wouldn't have time later tonight. oh, but he's already not been doing his work— would it be embarrassing to start now? would you think he's stupid? he's so cool, and he'd hate if you didn't agree. in any other situation, he'd pop open his notebooks and get to work. but you make him all conscious, and nervous, and hot in the face. and how long has it been since you asked? he should probably respond. you stare expectantly and he feels warm all over, maybe almost as hot as he looks. (you'd agree. right? you would.)

"maybe just a few small things," he grins at you, "but i can squeeze them in before my game tonight."

you hum in response. "i forgot there was one tonight. against our rivals, right?"

his heart warms— you remembered who it was against. you might've forgotten about it in general, but you remembered it. that must be a good sign. oh, he's got this in the bag.

"yeah. at 7."

you smile at him. he thinks he might die right there. "well, good luck. i'm sure you'll do great."

he beams at the compliment, heart thundering like a caged bird between his ribs. compliments always meant more from you. he could probably definitely recall every single one you've ever spoken to him, if he tried. (and probably even if he didn't.)

ajax doesn't miss a beat, this time. "i'd probably do a lot better if you were there cheering me on."

he doesn't miss it. he doesn't miss the way your mouth twists a little bit in surprise, because this was really not what you were expecting. and he definitely, doesn't miss the way your eyes slide over to your hands, and your fingers which are suddenly all too fidgety. he's embarrassed you. his boyish grin grows tenfold. "don't tell me i've got you going shy on me."

you roll your eyes in mock annoyance, and he knows you well enough at this point to know you're trying to hide your bashfulness. "oh, you wish."

"you're right. i do."

you freeze. he doesn't think he could hide his joy at your embarrassment even if he wanted to, even if he tried. it's hard for ajax to pinpoint his favourite one of your feelings— he thinks you're cute all the time. he thinks it's funny when you're disgusted, or annoyed. he thinks you're adorable when you're happy, and especially so when you're sleepy. but he's beginning to suspect that he's especially fond of you when you're flustered like this.

the professor speaks. ajax's mood is instantly a little more sour because god, even the man's voice is slow and boring. the free class was officially dismissed, and students were free to go. under any other circumstances, ajax would be happy about this. but he really does have to go. he wishes you could come with him. he wishes you could come with him everywhere, really.

"are you serious?"

your question catches him off guard. you're looking at him again, with those pretty eyes, and you have a familiar expression on— it's one he recognises as confusion. you're confused. he softens, more than he thought possible. it takes everything in him to resist pressing a kiss to the apple of your cheek, the crease of your furrowed brows, the corner of your lip where an unconscious pout makes itself known. and he realises he might've been unclear with his advances. so he meets your eyes and says, "of course i am. i'm serious about you if you are about me, yeah?"

it's some kind of consent, or acknowledgment. that what you both have can and probably will evolve. you're smart enough to know that he knows, and he's smart enough to know that you know. and you nod softly, and smile like flower petals, and he decides he'll never get over you. he'll never need another.

"i'll see if i can go tonight. but if not, i'll text you."

he thinks he's the happiest person alive. he could kiss you right then, right there, but your wrinkly old dustbag of a professor is still in the room and he won't entertain the geezer. "i'll see you."

he doesn't see you until the final quarter of the game, but you've been there the whole time.

his team is winning, of course, because they have him, but he's been out of it all game. any moment he can, he's scanning the stands with a watchful eye. it's one of the biggest games of the season. he knows he should be laser-focused, but he's not and it's all your fault. there must be hundreds of faces pressed together and he can't seem to find yours. until he does.

you're closer to the ground than he thought you'd be. hiding in plain sight. and when he sees you, he swears he might start floating. there are flowers in his chest, blooming an ache deep inside. something so disgustingly sweet, so addictingly sickening is awoken at the sight of you in his team's colour. he thinks you'd look beautiful in his spare jersey. he smiles, and it's all teeth. a vicious kind of adrenaline fills him as the next play is called to begin. he thinks he'll give it to you after he wins.

and wins he does. with flying colours, really— the other team didn't really stand a chance to begin with, not as soon as he saw you there cheering him on. his teammates flock to him like sheep, piling on him and shouting things he can't really hear over the general public's applause of the home team's victory. and everything is happening; his coach is slapping his back, his teammate is dragging him somewhere, someone's handing him water, people are screaming his name, yelling about his winning shot, and all he hears is his breathing, and all he sees is you, standing with your hands clasped and lips pressed together in a smile. all he sees is you, so you're the first person he runs to.

since you're in the first stand to the bottom, it's easy for him to clear the guard rail and get to your side. someone in the background shouts his name. he doesn't care. the people who were previously next to you are shoved aside— he doesn't care at all. he's right there with you.

"you came," his breath comes raspy, dry. "you came to see me."

you shrug nervously, "i guess i did."

so he kisses you. ajax is 19 when he falls in love, for the first and last time. ajax is 19 when he kisses you, and he's young, and he's stupid, and he will never regret this, not ever, not when you kiss him back almost instantly, pulling him close by his jersey. it feels so right, it feels too real to be true. he's got to be dreaming. any second now, he expects his daft old professor's voice to scold him for falling asleep during a lecture. but the voice never comes, and you really do taste like lemons and spice, and he hears phone cameras clicking and cheering grow tenfold and he doesn't care because he gets to kiss you.

at some point, you break away. your face is red-hot and he can feel the warm blood flooding your cheeks with how close your faces remain. he ikes it when your lips are swollen because of his. he likes it when your eyes are fixed on him. he likes you. he thinks he was doomed to like you from the start.

when the background finally fades back in, he sees his teammates cheering and ooh-ing like stupid junior high boys. you seem a little disoriented, so he laughs and pulls you away from the stands, helping you climb down the safety rail with a hand in yours and another on the small of your back.

ajax hates his sociology class. he hates the lectures, his professor, the subject— but something good came of it. because he really loves you. with your cardamom tongue and smile lines, and the crease of your eyebrows when you're annoyed, and all of it, and more. he loves you the most. more than anything.

flowers chosen: small sunflower & pink camellia . . adoration & longing for you

❊ send a request! ❊ 5k masterlist ❊ event info ❊

[cynicalmusings]

questions about modern AU cyno?

hi it is me your local menace and Cyno kisser please do not evict me from your ask inbox I promise I'm just curious

1. Do you think he would also have a big personal library? What kind of titles would he keep in there?

2. Do you think he'd have lots of "nests" around his house? (Basically cushions and things clearly intended for you to sit there and read undisturbed for hours.)

3. Coffee or tea person?

4. Where does he get the hoodies from? Does he customise them himself or does he buy them from somewhere?

5. Are you going to write any fics with Cyno in a modern setting 👀 and do any readers get to kiss him in it 😳😳😳😳

6. Other than the hoodies, what else do you think he would like to wear?

7. Does he own a pair of headphones or earbuds?

By way of apology for spamming your ask inbox, I bring you a pin I saved a while ago. Please accept 👀

why do i feel like i’ve traumatised half my followers with those impersonation asks…

i don’t think he’d have a particularly big one, but he definitely has a corner of a couple of bookshelves which are crammed full of books. they’re pretty organised, too: he has one designated bookshelf for study materials, non-fiction, academic textbooks and papers and such, and another only for fiction. i personally think he’s quite fond of detective novels, because he often empathises with the detective enjoys the unravelling of the plot as criminals get tracked down and brought to justice. he’s also a pretty smart guy, so he likes making predictions as to who he thinks the culprit is as the story unfolds.

he doesn’t have many nests, but he has one fairly big one. it’s full of black, gold and purple pillows (of course), some of them really big and fluffy, others velvety, some round, some square, some small (he also has a jackal plush), and he likes to crash there after a long day, put in some headphones, go through his playlist and read. he is capable of doing this for hours on end if he’s undisturbed.

as much as i hate to say this… he’s a coffee person. he doesn’t dislike tea, but he prefers the bitter taste of coffee, as well as the colour.

he makes most of his hoodies himself. i like to headcanon that cyno can sew and is good at embroidery, so whenever he has some free time you might catching him making a hoodie (with ears, of course), or gloves, or a scarf— he’s made a fair amount of his own clothes. maybe he even has an online shop? who knows.

i don’t have anything in particular planned at the moment, but rest assured: the answer is an almost definite yes. i just need to brainstorm up an idea for it (and it goes without saying that some readers get to kiss him in it.)

as i’ve mentioned before, he generally sticks to a smart-casual style: he’s quite fond of sleek stuff like trench coats and thin turtlenecks, ankle-high (and occasionally taller) boots, long trousers, etc. he accessorises quite a lot with jewellery, too.

without a doubt. he has black and gold wireless noise-cancelling headphones as well as earbuds, but usually uses the headphones without listening to music: he just wears them in public so people don’t bother him. anyone who knows cyno knows that he only actually listens to music when he has his earbuds in.

do not apologise for spamming my inbox because answering this was very enjoyable! the pin is also much appreciated.

[hanazou]

matching onesies with him.

Books : Dazai | Chuuya | Oda

Shelf : Mixed

Genre : Fluff, domestic

Note : I did this of my own accord because I am, in fact, a softie

Dazai Osamu

This clingy crackhead.

Dazai will be the first to come up with the idea. It's actually a random one and he asked it so spontaneously, he doesn't expect you to actually say yes.

"Sure, why not?" You agreed.

He's both surprised and elated, and he didn't hide this reaction at all.

"Oh, darling!" He wrapped a hug around your neck. "You always revive my heart with your love!"

You both will be enthusiastic about picking the onesies and agree to surf the net instead of looking from shop to shop since Dazai is under the supervision of a certain angry Kunikida

It almost feels like babysitting. Not that you hate it right? Should you get an identical pair with different sizes? Or complementary ones?

Dazai will call the customer service to ask if they have black crow onesies since crows represent death in some cultures. The response is obviously no and it's obvious that the customer service was confused.

"That's a shame," Dazai whined disappointedly, shoulders dropping. "Wouldn't it be both cute and poetic if we had a double suicide while wearing matching crow onesie? Two achievements in one!"

At that point you wouldn't even be surprised anymore. You will just take the phone away from him to apologise and thank the customer service. You have to convince Dazai that you won't find a onesie of that kind

"Wait, don't tell me," You stared at him. "The reason you want to get onesies is just to wear a matching crow pair?"

"Is it?" He grinned mischievously. "Maybe you're right, maybe you're wrong, but I just want to match with you."

Other ADA members will wonder what you and Dazai were doing, Kunikida the most. He isn't exactly curious, more like suspicious. What's that good-for-nothing Dazai up to now?

Eventually you find a pair of identical ones. Kind of rare designs too! Guess what?

Crabs! In red! The little eyes on the hood!

It will take less than a week for the onesies to arrive in a small box. When it does Dazai will pull out a cutter so energetically Atsushi will think he's going to pull a suicide attempt with it

"AAH! Dazai-san! No!"

Nothing will happen aside from Dazai stabbing the box (while making sure he doesn't cut the onesies inside. he's good with blades, ex Port Mafia and all)

The crab pincers for your hands are soft like mittens and so smooth???? Imagine sweaterpaws but with crab pincer mittens (!!)

It will take everything in you to stop Dazai from wearing it that instant since a client Fukuzawa talked about will be coming. You will need Atsushi's help to take it off him but let's not talk about it

Both of Dazai's legs are already in the onesie too..

It seems like Kyouka wants one. Yosano and Naomi will tell Atsushi to buy the girl one and match with her

When Dazai and you go home together, he will be so excited to wear the onesies immediately. Dazai will be light on his feet.

And when you finally put yours on? Pictures. Dazai will take lots of pictures of you. You're a piece of art and he wants pictures so he can recall the image anytime

"Oh, dearest~ How is it possible for you to be so cute?" He began his dramatic poses, a hand over his head while spinning like a ballet dancer.

You both will take a lot of couple pictures.

"Love, you are so adorable I want to eat you!"

"Is it me who's cute or the crab?" You teased back.

When Dazai makes a troubled expression to answer your question, you will have to pinch him 💢

If you can cook crab soup, wouldn't it be funny to make and eat one with Dazai while wearing crab onesies? He will be so clingy when you do it, like an old school married couple; when you cook, he'll be bugging you while hugging from behind. It feels cozy, don't blame him

You have to be keen with your eyes so you won't miss Dazai secretly pouring ajinomoto to the soup. Get him a healthier diet, I'm begging you.

"Look, the crab is red like us." He pointed at the soup. "And like your face when I do this." He took advantage of you turning your head to peck your cheek.

He will also pinch your nose with his pincer mitten. "Boop!" It's a challenge. Boop his nose back.

You think he's already as clingy as he can be, huh? Wrong. You are absolutely wrong. If he previously sticks around you like a magnet, this time he's glued to you.

Even in the shared living space, he won't let you go. Is it the softness of the onesie under his touch, the warmth, or your cuteness? Well, it's all of them. What then?

Snuggles.

You both cuddle together in the futon until falling asleep together. You feel twice as warm.

He's the big spoon, let him feel the smoothness of the onesie while feeling your heat. And for once, the double suicide joke stopped for the rest of day. That's how much this impacts him, and you're proud of him.

Nakahara Chuuya

Matching with Chuuhuahua in a onesie? You lucky fella.

You have to be the one initiating it with Chuuya. Baby boy will be like "Eeh?" at first. He's not against it at all but more like, confused. The request is out of the blue

"Come on, why not?" You tilt your head. "It will feel so soft to cuddle with?"

That's it, that's the spell for him to agree

Mans is a Port Mafia executive, you can't go out from shop to shop in a mall to get your onesie with his schedule, so you have to settle with online shopping with this guy too

Only when he has time to spare from beating up people

You will sit together on a couch at the headquarters once Chuuya and you don't have missions. It's a good chance to relax and unwind together too

Chuuya knows best where to find clothes, including onesies. There are so many options! Dinosaurs, frogs, bears, Sanrio characters, Doraemon, Pikachu, Line characters, pandas, unicorns, penguins!! (I should stop fantasizing Chuuya in each of them)

Chuuya will act cool and chill about it at first, but he actually got invested in choosing and thankfully he isn't a crackhead unlike a certain someone

He has a good fashion sense I don't accept criticism, and this side of him will jump out while both of you scroll the catalogue. He nails both street wear and mafia outfits daily, so you can bet he'd pick the best onesies for you both

"This one doesn't suit you," He moved to the next option. "These are the only colours available? Pass.", "What's with the unnecessarily long tail?", "Oh maybe this? Wait, I don't like the stripes."

Of course, he will listen to your opinion too but since you feel he's better at this, you just either nod or shake your head with him

You have to be careful with your words when picking the size (this is much more valid if you're taller) or he'll go "I'm not that short!"

Kouyou and Mori (+ Elise) will catch you both on the couch together while browsing, comfy and all, and Kouyou asked what you two were doing. Chuuya's face will be as red as wine.

When you want to explain, his gloved hand will cover your mouth and he frantically shakes his head, screaming "Don't!" silently.

But alas, while you want to tell him there's nothing to be embarrassed of, Kouyou will take the phone from your hand with a curious grin and a "What's this~?"

Chuuya will just accept fate at that point, growling to himself and all

Kouyou and Mori won't expect to see a catalogue of onesies, apparently. The "Huh," on their faces are hilarious, and Mori will be instantly inspired to get a full set for his Elise-chan, much to her distaste.

While Mori and Elise are going at it, Kouyou will actually share her opinions. Chuuya will crawl out from his burrow of embarrassment and listen to her with you.

"Rather than identical ones, these would be much better. They have variety." Kouyou said. And you both will agree. You both have been eyeing a specific pair anyway

You both will decide to get complementary ones! Chuuya's will be a brown teddy and yours a white bunny! (Try googling Line's Brown and Cony, they're cute you won't regret it) Kouyou will totally agree with the decision.

When the package arrives, both of you will open it together. Chuuya's eyes for clothes are never wrong, the quality is immaculate. So warm and smooth, not a seam out of place.

Imagine the blush on Chuuya's face when you put on the white bunny onesie. The bunny ears on the hood! The fluffiness! His flustered face!

He will be slightly hesitant to put his own on, but when he does, you swear you can die from the cuteness. Want to see more cuteness? Tease him about it, and maybe he'll tickle you down until you're too breathless to tease him.

Chuuya doesn't want to say it explicitly but it does feel really comfortable, it's suitable for winters too.

As usual, Chuuya will be the big spoon. You will melt into his warmth and the smoothness of his onesie, and you can tell he's enjoying it too, from the way he'll drag his hand all over you to feel the smooth fabric

"It's a good thing we listened to ane-san's suggestion, hm?" You asked. "I didn't exactly like the matching penguin pairs."

"Yeah, this isn't bad at all." Chuuya admitted, snuggling his chin into the crook of your neck. "You're so warm."

Oda Sakunosuke

First off I'm Odasaku's lover before I'm anything else.

When the weather gets cold, it's your idea to get onesies for the kids. They could use some cute onesies to sleep in.

Unlike Dazai and Chuuya, Odasaku will have time to spare to go shopping with you. Being the handyman of Port Mafia has its good sides, after all.

The atmosphere is identical to a date! You both meet up at evening after work, have a simple dinner first, then start the shopping. Shopping for the kids' onesies with him makes you feel like a parent doesn't it?

Odasaku and you will make sure not to pick flimsy, thin, or rough ones. Only the best for the kids. Both of you put your keen eyes to use, examining every considered piece

Odasaku and you will definitely discuss whether to get five identical or different ones. After considering that the kids have different personalities, choosing different pieces will sound more ideal. You both will grant them the liberty of picking themselves.

"We just have to make sure they don't fight over it." Odasaku said.

Lion, dinosaur, piglet, panda, and penguin. That's what you both will choose!

Odasaku is a man who doesn't wear his emotions on his sleeves, so you relied on his eyes when it comes to him. You will see love and sincerity. He picks each piece with careful consideration.

The store clerk will throw an unexpected (yet clichéd shoujo) question at you both. "You picked such good choices. We have sets for adults too, why not match with your children?"

Odasaku and you will widen your eyes. First of all, parents? And match? Both of you stare at each other in confusion. Should you get two get a pair for yourselves?

"Why not?" Odasaku eventually said.

Odasaku's will be a brown dog and yours a white cat (remember that one official art of Odasaku with puppy ears? <3)

Odasaku and you will immediately visit the kids and give them their onesies. Their excitement in picking one for their own made you smile, and you can see the joy in Odasaku's eyes when the kids thanked him and you. He doesn't smile, but you don't need him to just to know he's glad his children love your pick. The way he pats their heads already speaks volumes of love.

Thankfully no kid wrestled to get what they want. You were especially concerned Kousuke will compete with someone

Odasaku will bring a secondhand polaroid he once bought at Yokohama's flea market to take pictures of the kids. You will herd the children to gather for the picture while Odasaku looked for the right angle in the other side of the room.

"Why don't you stay there for the picture too?" Odasaku asked you, half of his face behind the camera.

You kneel behind the kids and put your hands on Sakura and Yuu's shoulders, the ones who stood on the far left and right. That much is enough to warm Odasaku's heart, but when you too, smile for the camera, he freezes for a while to take the sight with his eyes

The picture comes out nicely. You will end up convincing Odasaku to take more but with him in it, together, all seven of you. You would need the curry diner owner's help to take the picture

"Sakunosuke, smile, will you?" You held his shoulder while you both kneeled behind the kids for the picture. He would be a little stunned

He smiles, but it was faint. Nevertheless, you recognise the content in his eyes in the photo, and it's enough.

When it's just the two of you in the living quarters, you will have to remind Odasaku that he too, bought a onesie. He will gladly put it on him since you look so eager, he's curious how it feels too

Your heart stops when he put on the hood with the puppy ears. You will have to fight back the urge to attack him with cuddles right there and then when his confused and innocent face matches the onesie so much!

"You're adorable," You smiled half teasingly, taking in the look of confused Odasaku who looked down at his onesie. The weight of the material felt right, it's like a cozy blanket.

"Try to put yours on," He says. When you did, his heart also missed a beat. The kitten ears on your head! The pure snowy white on you!

Odasaku is a bear hugger and when he hugs you, his embrace will feel tighter than usual. It's no surprise, he likes you and cats, and the way you interacted with the kids that day played tricks on his heart. You hug him back and ruffle his head while he mumbles his thank-you's at you

That night's sleep will be filled with nothing but cuddles of love and adoration. Yes, Odasaku is the big spoon, but you will also hold his arms tighter around you as you both drift into the night, chatting about life.

[willow-salix]

The Shirt

This little thing is for @misssquidtracy and @soniabigcheese and was supposed to be a ficlet (tell that to the 2.5k that came out). It came about after a throw away comment to Sonia last night and then John ‘helpfully’ dropped the whole thing in my head fully formed. Enjoy!

Thanks to the awesome @myladykayo​ for the gorgeous shot of this dude!

"I don't need any new clothes, I told you that."

"And I didn't listen. Come on, John, you haven't bought anything new since college."

"And I'm happy with that, all of my clothes are perfectly serviceable," John continued to argue as Gordon towed him into yet another shop. 

As always they drew attention, Gordon because of his loud voice and, according to him, his swimmers body that the women loved. Gordon had always loved to be the center of attention, he'd reveled in it back in his Olympic days, proud of the knowledge that his promotional pictures had graced many a teenagers phone backgrounds and lock screens. 

John, on the other hand, had no idea what people saw in him and why they still watched him even when he was with his brothers. He knew his hair always drew looks and over the years he'd heard more than a few people whispering something about checking if he was a natural redhead, although he'd never wanted to stick around to listen too closely and had gotten out of there sharpish. He'd much rather just be left alone to fade into the background where his introverted wallflower tendencies could be appeased. 

"Well, I need new clothes and you can't leave a man to shop on his own, it's just not done," Gordon continued. 

"I'm pretty sure there's no such rule."

"I'm making it a rule, it's part of the bro code now," Gordon shot back, flicking through yet another rack of eye-wateringly bright shirts that even Hawaii would have disowned. 

"I reject your rule."

"You can't, I'm your baby brother, you have to be nice to me, that's in the bro code too."

"I demand to see written proof of this rule book that you seem to keep pulling things from whenever it suits you."

Gordon glanced at his brother, seeing his lips twitch as he fought valiantly to keep any display of amusement firmly at bay. John didn't often get the chance to hang out with his younger brother but he always enjoyed it, not that he'd ever admit that out loud, that would only encourage Gordon to up his annoyance level by at least five points. 

"Ha! You smiled, I'm off the hook!" 

"I did no such thing."

"You did, I saw it! The robot had a feeling- ow!" Gordon ducked out of the way, avoiding another cuff around the back of the head from his, far too lanky for his own good, brother who apparently had the reach of an orangutan. 

"I'm not a robot, you little jerk. Stand still so I can hit you properly." And there went the warm fuzzy feelings. Back to reminding himself just why said hang outs didn't happen more often. 

"Yeah, right! Like that's gonna happen." Gordon shimmied backwards through the rack of shirts that made the sun look dull and out the other side to freedom. "Too much time in space has made you slow, bro!" 

"What? HOW DARE YOU!" Without thinking John dived around the side of the rack, stretching out to grab at his grinning brother. "I'll show you who's slow!" 

"I am lightning, I am the wind!" Gordon dodged aside with perfect ease, avoiding the grasping fingers of his brother. 

"Full of wind, more like! Stand still!" How was the squid so fast? 

"Come on, old man, keep up!" 

John made another grab at the back of Gordon's shirt but the little shit wiggled out of his grasp like an eel. 

"Ha! Victory is mine!"

"I wouldn't be too sure about th-" WHUMP! John spluttered, screeching to a stop as he got a face full of fabric, evidently thrown by Gordon who'd decided that weapons were now in play. 

He flailed, tripping over the leg of a clothing rack as he stumbled blindly. He made a grab for the first solid feeling thing he could find, although his judgement of solid was woefully inadequate. He landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs, both his own and plastic, as the mannequin he'd inadvertently grabbed fell with him. 

"Gordon," he gasped, winded from his tumble, but the sound of his brother's hysterical laughter was all that he received by way of an answer. 

He yanked the material off his head, a shirt of some description by the looks of it, and staggered to his feet, dragging his dance partner up with him. 

He managed to get her upright and back on her stand after a great deal of huffing and many swear words muttered under his breath as Gordon continued to howl like a hyena, hanging onto a mirror to stop his own downward descent. 

Yanking her skirt back up where he'd accidentally yanked it down, John finally got the mannequin back in place and decently covered up. 

"Gordon stop laughing!" he ordered as he bent to pick up the shirt that had assaulted him before angrily turning to face his brother. 

"What a clumsy idiot," he heard someone whisper a few rows over, stopping him in his tracks. "Keep out of the way, he'll take us down with him next."

John ducked his head, his cheeks as red as his hair, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He hated being the center of attention and now, he risked a peek to confirm his suspicions, yep, now the whole store was looking at him. Great, just perfect. 

"I'm never coming shopping with you again," he hissed in Gordon's direction. 

"Too right. Did you see the shirt he's holding?" the woman's friend whispered back. "Anyone that picks out something like that should be avoided at all costs."

"He's looking, quick, pretend you haven't seen him!" Both women quickly looked away, suddenly extremely interested in a nearby coat. 

What were they talking about? John glanced down at the pile of fabric still clutched in his clenched fist. It was definitely a shirt of some description, beigey-brown in colour, but not just one shade, oh no, this monstrosity had at least four other shades of brown thrown in for good measure, all coming together in wavy lines of what-was-this-designer-thinking to form some kind of texan nightmare, complete with gaudy gold piping. It truly was hideous, quite honestly the most disgusting thing he'd ever laid eyes on and he'd trained with astronauts who didn't have control of their digestive systems yet. 

He looked around desperately to find somewhere to hide it away from his sight, ignoring Gordon who was taking deep breaths in an effort to calm down. 

There! He spotted a convenient looking pile of sweatpants on a shelf and moved over to stuff the offending article back into the depth of hell from whence it had crawled when a single, solitary thought tickled at the back of his brain. 

He paused, thinking, his brain hamster now awake and racing at top speed around its wheel. He glanced from the shirt to the women who had spoken before, then back down to the shirt. 

"I'm going to try this on," he announced to his stunned brother, marching past him to the changing rooms. 

He quickly stripped off his T-shirt, the one that declared that he was a communications engineer not a magician, and pulled on the horror shirt. Surprisingly enough it was actually made of quite a soft material, something his overly sensitive, due to time spent in low gravity, skin really appreciated. 

He pulled it closed and buttoned it up, rolling his shoulders to allow it to settle into place. It was remarkably comfortable, actually long enough in the body. He stretched out his arms, pleased to see that the cuffs didn't immediately hike up to his elbows. All good so far, but only one thing would assure its purchase…

He pushed open the changing room door and stepped outside. The effect was immediate as two men, three women and a toddler that had been independently milling around near the entrance took one look at him and, as one, turned as quickly as they could in the opposite direction. 

Grinning to himself he tugged the tag off the sleeve, grabbed his T-shirt from the changing room and headed to the counter. 

"I'll wear it out," he informed the cashier, loving the way he not so subtly averted his eyes, unable to look at him. "And I'll take as many as you have in stock in this size and the next one up too." The cashier rushed to do his bidding, desperate to save what remained of his eyesight. 

"See, I told you coming shopping with me was a good idea," Gordon grinned as they made their way back to the parking lot, their arms filled with bags. 

"I will admit that it had its advantages," John answered as they strode easily through the crowd that parted like the red sea, unwilling to risk being contaminated by their fashion flu. 

John breathed a sigh of relief, feeling like he could relax for the first time since they'd gotten there three hours before. 

"That shirt is magical," Gordon declared, watching in astounded awe as eyes all around them shifted to avoid looking in his brother's direction. "It's like a people repellent in clothing form, it's….it's…" he groped around for the right words. 

"It's perfect," John declared, lovingly stroking a sleeve like one would a beloved pet. And it truly was. It was like people had a filter, an ugly shirt firewall in their heads that made them avoid it at all costs.

He couldn't remember a time that he hadn't been stared at since the year he'd turned seventeen and hit his second growth spurt. In that year he'd shot up six inches, his lanky frame had filled out a little, his weedy arms turning into tightly packed muscles and he'd developed abs and a voice that had deepened a few octaves. Then, for some reason, his anxious aura with its go away vibes had become nothing but a challenge for most people, acting as a kind of siren call for them to latch on to him and decide that he needed to be included, chatted to and made the center of attention. 

Now it was like he was practically invisible and it felt amazing. Even with the neon orange shirt Gordon was wearing, people were mostly ignoring him. 

"I'm never taking this thing off again."

       ***

"Why am I always the one doing the laundry for you lazy arses?" Selene bitched as she dragged a massive basket of assorted Tracy clobber into the lounge where the assorted Tracys owners sat around in various states of lazy. 

"Because you love us?" Gordon answered, grinning cheekily. 

"Nope, that can't be it," Selene retorted, sitting down on the steps of the seating area to begin the mammoth task that was sorting and folding. She dragged out one of Virgil's plaids and folded it into some semblance of order and dropped it on the floor to start his pile. 

"Let me help," John offered, moving to sit beside her and take some of the pile from her lap. 

"Thanks, gorgeous."

"Whipped," Scott teased, reaching for his coffee cup. "Hey, Sel, if you're the only one doing the laundry as you claim, how comes you haven't managed to wreck John's ugly shirts?"

"Why would I?" she shrugged, balling up a pair of Scott's socks. 

"Because I know you. Any excuse to shop, right?" 

The socks made a handy projectile as she threw them at his head. 

"Thanks!" Scott grinned, effortlessly plucking them from midair. "Seriously though, look at it."

Selene looked at the shirt that was currently hiding the delightful chest of her even more delightful husband. 

"I fail to see the problem with it."

"Really?" 

"Hey, leave my shirt alone, it's perfectly serviceable, thank you."

"It's old, it has to be at least seven years since you bought them," Gordon joined in. "They probably don't even make them any more."

"They don't," John said, concentrating on folding one of Alan's T-shirts into a perfect square. "So nothing had better happen to the ones I have left."

"Now's your chance," Alan whispered to Selene. "Kill them with fire and you'll never have to see them again."

"Yeah, you know that he's got much nicer clothes in his wardrobe," Scott added. 

"I've actually grown quite fond of them," Selene answered, carefully folding one she'd plucked from the depths of the pile, smoothing it out like it was something precious. 

All three Tracys, minus one Virgil who was down in the hangars no doubt creating more washing for her to do by getting covered in grease and muck, stared at her like she'd just announced that she was going back to blonde. 

"What? How? You said that he's never looked better than when he's wearing a decent shirt, I had to give you a drool cloth at your wedding."

"All true," she shrugged, folding one of Virgil's vests to the best of her ability. 

"Yet you continue to let him walk about in, what was it you called it, his rodeo clown shirt?" Gordon asked, completely bemused. "Are we missing something here?" 

"I'm a witch," she started by way of explanation. 

"Duh," Alan snorted. 

"And I have a healthy respect for glamour magic, and that right there," she continued as if she hadn't just been rudely interrupted, pointing at the shirt that John was wearing, "is the most magical thing I've ever seen in my life." 

All three of them burst out laughing, unable to believe what they were hearing. Selene waited patiently for them to finish cackling like they had just cursed Macbeth. 

"Allowing the shirts to live is doing the world, and my arrest record, a huge favour. Now, if you'll excuse us…" she got to her feet, relieved John of the socks he was busily matching and dragged him to his feet.

"OK, OK, I'll bite," Scott continued to chuckle, wiping the tears from his eyes. "What makes you think it's so magical?"

"That should be obvious, nothing short of a miracle could hide that amount of sexiness. Why do you think I'm good with him hiding in Five when he's wearing that space suit?" She dumped the half folded pile of washing back into the hamper.

"I've decided that you lot can sort your own laundry, because I've got the sudden and overwhelming urge to see that shirt on our bedroom floor. Later, fashion rejects."

John put up zero resistance. 

"I love this shirt," he grinned, waving a cheerful goodbye to his stunned brothers as his wife yanked on his hand, towing him bodily from the lounge and on to far more pleasant things than chores. 

[arysthaeniru]

aAAA the joy of seeing an update on your current favorite fanfic is just aAAA

I always felt that kiwami 1s Nishiki was just a bit too,, I dont know how to describe it; but essentially he just felt off, granted yakuza 1 is a product of its time and therefore the plot is a bit dated and whack as all hell

The way you write Nishiki just feels so much better and realistic; in the original he just seems so uncaring towards Kiryu? which just feels kinda OOC? You'd think he still cares about Kiryu despite it all, especially when you take Yakuza 0 into consideration; and i feel like you portray Nishiki much more accurately

I never thought much about Yumi, because honestly, in the original she was kinda just, there? You actually made her a very interesting person! like I'm actually invested in her in your story! (side note you ever think about her clone who got tortued and died? yeah who WAS that???? thats never brought up is it??)

Theres so much more to talk about but in short; This is the best fix it/rewrite of a game plot I have read to date and it brings me joy in my current stressful school life. and no I will not stop praising it or the author, because this work has made me very happy. ;)

I just have a gift for picking favorites that end up dying,,aand another favorite of mine is Mine

imo theres a lack of soft, reassuring Minedai, i just feel like he'd need a reminder that people love him as a person and not just for the money he can provide, even if its obvious

I'd love to see how you'd write them, but I understand if theres more interesting/appealing drabble requests!

- Carp

CARP, thank you for this <3 this is so sweet!!!!! I’m so happy you enjoy my Nishiki! I had fun playing with what Yakuza 0/the Kiwami additions gave us about Nishiki’s personality and outlook on the world, and trying to reconcile that with the plot that Yakuza 1 initially had. Ultimately, I fell on the side that you did: even if Nishiki’s ambition took him down a monstrous path, I don’t think he’s the sort of person who neglects to pay back his debts. And he’s aware of the huge debt he owes Kiryu. Not to mention, their bonds of trust and love vanishing completely because of jealousy felt unreal to me. Their relationship becoming twisted or strange? Yes, but vanishing entirely felt unsatsifying to me. 

And Yumi!! I had so much fun excavating her character from the clues we get of her in canon. I worry sometimes, that she’s unrecognizable, because you know, I’ve given her a college education, and a whole bunch of interests beyond hostessing alone, but people seem to like it and like her, which is great!! I hate fridging women characters, so keeping her and Reina alive was important to me, hahaha. (RE: fake!Mizuki, there’s this substory in Kiwami that actually addresses who she was, BUT IT’S EVEN MORE HORRIFYING. So that’s why Yumi in my fic is the one captured and tortured by Nishiki’s men, because the thought of this poor innocent woman getting dragged into the mess was just untenable to me.)  

Anyway, thank you for your support and kind words, and I hope you’ll continue to read and that my fic can continue to relieve stress. I--tried to write this about Mine, but Daigo kind of stole the spotlight a little??? I hope you still like it--if not, I will try a ficlet from Mine’s perspective too. I enjoy minedai a lot, but I haven’t had room to think out their dynamic yet, so this took me a while. 

Daigo’s no stranger to being desired. He’s attractive, he knows this—his mother’s beauty lives in his veins, and he’s always had the money to look after himself. Fancy soaps to wash his face, the invisible retainers to keep his teeth straight, fancy suits and skin-tight shirts to show off his frame. For all that Kiryu insists his charisma is something that comes from the soul, Daigo knows it wouldn’t be able to draw the sort of attention he does without being attractive.

Which is to say that Daigo’s not especially thrown off by the intensity of Mine’s gaze. It’s happened before, and it’ll happen again. The thing that surprises him is how much he relishes in being seen by Mine.

Maybe it’s because Mine’s an island in a stormy sea, one of the only yakuza his age who’s sensible and level-headed enough to make it big. Maybe it’s because Mine’s gaze is always so reserved, polite, never overly lusty or overstaying its welcome, and Daigo has so rarely been desired so quietly. Or maybe it’s because Majima and Kashiwagi so clearly disapprove of him—Daigo’s always been something of a rebel, and he hasn’t shaken that off, even now he’s in his thirties and is the arbiter of rules for the Tojo Clan.

Daigo can’t quite put a pin on why he’s so comfortable with Mine’s yearning looks, but he’s never been one to hold back when he wants to indulge in something good. Not exactly a hedonist, not by yakuza standards, but Daigo has never kept himself from enjoying life, in the name of some dubious ‘honour.’

Which is why, in an after-hours meeting with Mine, as they eat cheap takeout sushi together, Daigo takes his chance. A momentary slip, the slightest hint of wasabi left at the corners of Mine’s lips and Daigo swoops in, rubs a thumb over the corner of Mine’s lips. Mine stutters to a stop, mid-sentence through a rundown of the real-estate that the Hakuho Clan’s been purchasing up, and stares at Daigo, eyes bewildered.

“Sixth Chairman?” he asks, his voice still remarkably composed.

“Wasabi.” Daigo says, nonchalantly, as if it’s nothing, and sticks his thumb into his mouth, slowly licking it off with a lingering lave of his tongue. He feels a sharp stab of satisfaction as Mine’s eyes turn darker, and his gaze follows Daigo’s hand down.  

Daigo straightens up, languidly, and cracks his neck, casually. At this point in the day, he’s untucked his shirt, and he knows that a slight strip of his stomach will be visible when he stretches out his arms towards the ceiling. And as predictably as clockwork, Mine’s gaze darts downwards, to that pale expanse, to catch that brief second of skin. Daigo can’t help but feel warm. Something about being watched by Mine is exhilarating.

“Smoke?” offers Daigo, but as usual, Mine refuses, with a polite shake of his head.

Daigo knows from hearsay that Mine’s something a health-freak, so he’s not entirely surprised. It’s already too late for Daigo to preserve his health—he knows that his liver’s already been pretty ruined from long nights of binge-drinking as a youth, and this job’s too stressful to withhold from vices like smoking and drinking, without an optimal end-goal. So he walks over to the window, cracks it open a little, and lights up.

The breath of nicotine curls over his body, a tender caress, and Daigo feels his shoulders drop, as the relaxation hits. He pulls off his cufflinks, tosses them into his pockets and rolls up his sleeves. He takes it slow, runs his fingers over his skin a little more than strictly necessary. Surreptitiously checking the reflection in the window, Daigo watches Mine watch him, and smirks at how intense that gaze is, how Mine’s mouth has opened, and Daigo can just see the soft pink of his tongue.

“Dojima’s just fine, you know. When it’s just us two.” Daigo says, turning over his shoulder. He smiles, one of those charming smiles that had always gotten him whatever he wanted as a child, “We’re same-aged friends, after all.”

“Dojima-san.” Mine acknowledges, after a brief pause.

Daigo turns around, to properly look at Mine and lifts an eyebrow. “Dojima. Or Daigo, preferably. Dojima-san’s always my father in my head.”

Mine nods, face impassive. Daigo can’t read him like this. Maybe that’s why he likes when Mine stares at him, filled with longing. At least then, Daigo feels like he knows him. In moments like these, his implacable gazes might as well be a brick wall. “Right. Your Father was also in the Tojo Clan.”

Daigo smiles, wryly, and blows out a puff of smoke. “One of the most horrible men I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting—and I had to call him Father. But damn if he wasn’t good at the job.” He sighs and stubs the cigarette out against the ashtray. “...sometimes feel like I’m competing with his dead spirit. Everybody’s looking at me and wondering if this is what my Father would do. Or what Kiryu-san would do.”

“You’re doing better than any of them.” Mine says, immediately, with a vicious ferocity that Daigo wasn’t expecting. He can’t quite stop his eyebrows rising in surprise, and Mine straightens upwards, looking self-conscious immediately. Daigo regrets his instinctual reaction, immediately. “That is to say, Dojima, that I think that you’ve pulled this Clan into somewhere far more respectable. From what I’ve heard of your Father, he didn’t have the temperament to do proper business on this level—too insistent on formal obeisance and unable to be flexible as the times require. And Kiryu-san might be very honourable, but we are yakuza. There are certain things you have to do as a Chairman, that he couldn’t bring himself to do. But you are practical and do what is necessary, while also not overstepping into excessive violence. You are uniquely suited for this job, Dojima.”

...he’s taken aback a little, he can’t deny it. Daigo wonders if his cheeks are colouring, wonders if his obvious shock is offputting, wonders if this is how Mine feels every time Daigo teases him lightly about his obvious attraction. A startling warmth spreads through his chest, and Daigo can’t stop the slight smile that touches his face. Has anybody ever said something so unreservedly kind and measured about Daigo before?

Maybe this is the difference between everybody else’s gazes on him, and Mine’s gaze. It’s based on something more than desire alone. Respect.

Daigo runs a hand over his slicked-back hair and ruffles it free, with a rueful smile, a smile that he couldn’t take away from his face, even if he tried. “I appreciate that. You know I couldn’t do it without you, right?”

He’d never really believed himself capable of attraction to a man like Mine. All of his previous childhood crushes had been on bright, cheerful conversational, pure-hearted people. Daigo had always figured they would balance out his sardonic cynicism. He’d never thought someone as reserved and principled as Mine would ever make his heart flutter. But then, there was something about that deep hunger and passion that Daigo craved. Perhaps it was because he was no longer the gloomy punk of his youth. Maybe his tastes have changed towards tall, dark and handsome. Maybe Mine’s just that special.

“Dojima—” Mine says, clearly trying to refute it, but Daigo cuts him off.

“I mean it. Everybody in this fucking Clan wants me to do something or be somebody else. Kashiwagi-san wants me to be my mother. Majima-san wants me to be Kiryu-san. Everybody else expects my Father. But not you. You deal with me honestly, and with candour, and never hold any expectations against me except success. I appreciate your faith in me.” Daigo takes a couple of steps forward, until his shoes almost brush up against Mine’s own. He leans down over Mine’s chair. “I could not do this without your backing and help. Truly. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone like you in my life. A true friend.”

Mine tilts his chin up to meet Daigo’s gaze, a hungry devotion in his eyes, and Daigo, for a moment, wonders if this is wrong. If he should hold back, like Kiryu would. But Daigo is Daigo, and Mine clearly wants him anyway, so he leans down and kisses him.

Mine’s mouth is velvety smooth and wet and hot and it is oh-so satisfying a feeling to put his hand against Mine’s broad neck and feel his warmth up against Daigo. He pulls back, with a satisfied sigh, and feels the burn of wasabi across his lips, a final parting kick.

[lacriemony]

Try to tame a dragon, would you?

Pt.3

The next day, they had worked on it a little more, this time sharing words. They had also agreed to eat lunch together, just to make use of the time and to work on the case a little more.

And so, it is why the two were sited face to face in an indian snack/restaurant in muggle London. Draco stared at the crowd in silence while Harry observed him.

The prat had changed. His snarky, disdainful attitude had almost completely disappeared, making him somewhat of a decent human being. Harry was surprised; he didn't actually hate being around the ferret that much anymore. It was even fun, sometimes, when they both trashed whoever had written the papers required for the case. Most of the time was spent in silence, or sharing thoughts and ideas on the works they were doing. Harry didn't mind.

His eyes fell to Draco's fingers. They were distractedly touching his forearm, caressing the skin over the jacket he was wearing. Harry guessed what was hidden, scarring Draco's skin forever.

With a sigh, he decided to spark up a conversation. "How's your mother?" he asked. She had saved him from certain death and for that, he couldn't hate her. She had been released and was now there and abouts with her life, happily, Harry hoped.

Draco's eyes jerked back at Harry and a spark of surprise hinted them. "She's...she's fine. Why do you care?"

"She saved me, remember? Plus, sitting in silence is boring. What have you been up to until we met again?" he continued, unaware of Draco's uneasyness. He watched Draco's shoulders lift and fall back down in a shrug.

"Not much. Went to live in Paris for a while, studied a little. Then back to London, then to Romania and else. Studied dragons mostly, with Charlie Weasley. The only red head I'll ever tolerate." he finished with a small smile. Harry seemed a little surprised to see his old nemesis smile so gently. His own lips curled upwards and he nodded, encouraging Draco to continue. The young man took the invitation with joy. "I learned a lot through him. I found a growing passion for dragons. They're so great, don't you think?" he asked, his eyes tinkering with interest.

Images of the Triwizard Tournament flashed before Harry's eyes. "I mean...I was nearly killed by one at 16..." he started, shrugging. "But yeah, they're pretty cool."

Draco's reaction was surprising. A wide smile appeared on his face for a blink moment, before his cheeks took a gentle crimson colour and he dropped his eyes back to his menu. It made Harry chuckle and melt, just a little though.

.

Harry sat, in his apartment, against the sofa. His eyes wandered over the burning logs of wood in the chimney.

He was hungry but his body refused to cooperate. A glass of wine in his hand, he balanced it between fingers, unaware of the world around him. Him and Malfoy had been working together for weeks now. They had sparked somewhat of a friendship, just enough to spend decent time together.

The Golden boy enjoyed watching Draco light up at the sight of dragons, or animals, in general. He seemed to carefree and soft that Harry found himself wanting to wrap his arms around the blonde. Even more so when they walked past pet stores. Draco would stick his face up to the puppies, nose against the glass and his voice would go up a couple of picthes. And then, when he would realise where he was -and who he was with- he'd blush and stand straight and proud. It made Harry shake with laughter, everytime.

Tilting his head towards the ceiling, he sighed. Feeling his body slowly fall into slumber, he welcomed it gratefully and closed his eyes, just slightly. The world became a blur and he relaxed.

A rumble made him flinch, then a burst of smoke and the loud thud of a body falling. He stood, wand in hand and looked through the smoke and ashes.

A figure was on the ground, coughing. Harry pointed his wand at it, ready to attack when a voice, gentle but raspy, flew to his ears. "Potter?", it asked. Harry flinched once more and rushed towards the nearly motionless body. It was Malfoy.

"Malfoy? What are you doing here?" Harry brought his hand up to Draco. He shivered at the touch of the other man's warm skin.

"My apartment...trashed...had to get out...before hurt.." managed to whisper Draco before he fell inconscious. With a worried glance, Harry shook his partner's shoulders in an attempt to wake him up, but it didn't work. So, he brought his arm under Draco's back, the other at the curve if his knees and he effortlessly lifted the limp body to his room.

Harry took off Malfoy's shoes after proping him over the blankets of his bed. The moon was shining brightly, its rays gently reflecting on Draco's dewy skin. It seemed to glow. Harry wondered if he wasn't part veela, for he was gorgeous. Biting his lip, he allowed his fingers to brush a silver lock out of Malfoy's face. Surprised of his movement, he retrieved his hand and laid down next to the other man, at a healthy distance. He'd get more information later on.

.

His eyes fluttered open as the sun gently lapped his skin. Green eyes looked around, confusedly. It was now bright, the room was bathed in a golden halo of warmth.

With a groan, Harry turned to his side and fell face to face with a sleeping Draco. He hadn't been able to quite see him in the dark, but now, he could see the small scratch above his brow. His lips were curled upwards and his whole body rested, peacefully, with an air of contentment. He was truly gorgeous and Harry felt his heart palpitate.

"Observing me, Potter?" asked Draco's sleepy voice. His eyes hooded, he looked down at Harry with a smirk.

Harry felt his cheeks ignite and he shrugged. "Nah. I'm gonna make coffee." he said, in an attempt to leave the room -and to hide his growing erection-. Draco nodded and allowed his eyelids to fall back, relaxing once more.

A little later, he was presented with a cup of warm coffee. Siting up, he held it in his palms, the gentle smell flowing to his nose. Harry sat next to him, a little awkwardly.

"So hum, what was yesterday about?" asked Harry. He felt Draco's body tense and watched his eyes take a darker shade. Harry frowned, little worried. The only couple of words he had managed to get out of his partner weren't so useful, so he asked again.

Draco took a deep and long sip of coffee. His adams apple moved along with the movement as he swallowed and Harry found himself wondering what it would look like if the other man was swallowing something else than coffee. The stiffness in his pants told him that it would certainly be hot, very very hot. Dismissing these thoughts, he looked down at the bed sheets. "When I got home yesterday, my wards were off. The living room was absolutely trashed and I could heart laughter coming from one of the guest bedrooms. I freaked out and just had the time to protect my pets in a closed off room before they found me. I couldn't really see them, and suddenly, memories came back vividly and I couldn't do anything about it. I froze. It was horrible. I got in the chimney, threw the powder in and I must have thought of you then, I found myself coughing my lungs out in your apartment."

Harry's frown deepened. This kind of stuff happened a lot in the Ministry. He had to let the other Aurors know and they had to perform some tests and charms to ensure of the safety in the apartment further and to find out who had been able to enter such a protected place. Nodding thoughtfully, he let a smile appear on his face. "It's okay. You can stay here for as long as you want. It's big enough. I'll sleep on the couch." he said, without really realising so. Then, with a smile, he walked to the kitchen, leaving a blushing Draco alone in his room.

After a couple of minutes, Draco walked out, hands firmly gripping the warm mug. He found the kitchen without much bother and leaned against the door frame. The radio was on, flying about in the room. A muggle hit was playing and Dracp snickered. It reminded him of Paris, somehow. Harry hadn't seen him yet and he was wiggling his hips, swaying them to the rythm, a spatula in hand. Draco observed with an amused glare and sipped his coffee. The bacon was sizzling in the pan and the eggs were cooked, in a plate. Draco figured he'd help so he placed the mug on the table and walked to Harry. "Where are the plates?" he asked.

Harry stopped his dancing and blushed. Recoverring from the slight surprise, he pointed to a cupboard and then a drawer. Draco got two plates, two knives, two forks. Two of everything. He then placed them face to face on the small table and leaned against this one. "You've got some dancing skills scarhead." he teased, a smirk curling his lips.

Harry shook his head and pouted. "Oh shut up."

[pilawforhire-archived]

Making sure Law is asleep - on the sofa, an open book under his limp hand - Ace grabs a lipstick he'd found on his way home and starts painting pink hearts on Law's cheeks. Were it the other way around, Law would have plenty of canvas on Ace's torso but alas, Law would not be shirtless as often as his roomie and Ace had only so much space to colour. He kept his hearts as small as the tip of the lipstick allowed.

His pulse pounded in his ears, so loud that for a second, Ace wondered if a poltergeist was hammering on their walls or an intruder had invaded their home. But Ace was a determined fellow. With a goal in mind, nothing would stop him, not even some vengeful spirit consumed by wrath. Thus, his vision tinted by a pair of swimming goggles, several beads of sweat streaming down his back under the large yellow raincoat, Ace tiptoed toward the living area in his diving fins that went flap-flap-flap. He pretended he was an underwater undercover agent, surveilling the great Roo in his afternoon slumber. Luckily for Ace, Law had passed out in a deep sleep after staying up too long and exhausting himself comatose.

Anyone familiar with Ace should know: boredom and Ace was often a disastrous recipe for quality mischief. In Ace’s defence, however, Law was presenting himself a temptable target for a harmless, innocent prank. Much like a huge, enticing puddle that beckoned one to jump in. You knew it could be dangerous but you only had one life to live! Just look at Law, sprawled out on the sofa, his head tilted so far back his neck was completely exposed. His mouth was wide open and he even snored audibly. If Ace loved Law less, he would have dumped bread into that temptable mouth that always protested so stubbornly and strongly, expressing his vehement hatred, for the ‘doughy gluten abomination’ – Law’s words.

Lipstick clutched in hand like a dagger, Ace crouched hidden behind the couch. Stealthily, with the Jaws’ theme song playing in his head, Ace rose to his feet, inch by inch by inch until the top of his head peeked out just slightly. Ace peered down at Law, and he whispered in Law’s ear, “Wakey wakey, Roo…” When Law did not budge, Ace’s smile widened with glee. “Oh, Roo. I’m gonna make you pretty.” Ace began to doodle multiple pink hearts all over Law’s face. As the number increased and Law’s cheeks were decorated with heart after heart, Ace’s heart beat faster and faster. He felt like he was on a rollercoaster climbing slowly to the top. At any moment, the plunge would happen. Law would wake and scream. Except --- Ace had no idea if he should be delighted or disappointed --- Law only stirred a little before he went back to sleep, dead like a log. Uninterrupted by the enemy, underwater undercover agent Ace concluded his mission with a hundred percent success rate stamped across his report. Beaming proudly, Ace slunk away to wait for the epic finale starring Trafarroo D. Roo.

Sleeping Beauty Law woke an hour later. He yawned loudly and stretched out satisfyingly on the sofa before he eased himself to sit upright. Blearily, he glanced around but Ace was nowhere to be seen. Law rubbed his eyes and licked his lips. A glimpse at the clock and a rumbling of his stomach suggested dinner time was close. Law dragged himself to the kitchen and dug through the cupboards and the fridge. He opened and shut the fridge door three times repeatedly until he gave up and wandered in search of Ace.

Law called out. “Hey, let’s go for d---” He didn’t have to go far. Ace bounced toward Law happily. They nearly collided before Law staggered a step back. “…Dinner…” Law continued. He eyed Ace’s expression suspiciously.

Ace had a weird look on his face. His lips were tightly pressed together. They did a little dance as Ace stared brightly at Law. Law hated being paranoid but he couldn’t help feeling like Ace was trying his hardest to suppress his laughter. Slightly unnerved, Law combed his fingers through his hair over and over until he was certain no misbehaving tuft was sticking out. Then he forced himself to drop the matter. Ace could be overly excited about the smallest things: candy, free toys, food, cartoons… The better question was, could there be anything that didn’t excite Ace?

Ace shielded his mouth with his hand. Pulling his best poker face, he said, “Wha---Roo? How was your nap? You were out a long while. I was worried I’d have to kiss you awake!”

“…It was good,” Law said flatly. There was rarely an intonation in his voice unless he was screaming bloody murder. “We’re leaving now, I’m hungry.” Law turned halfway, when Ace hastily jumped in front of him.

“Wa---Roo, don’t you think---”

“What?” Law raised an eyebrow.

“You should probably go pee? You just woke. Honestly, don’t come wailing about a bursting bladder lat---”

“I think I’m fine.” Law frowned, trying to sidestep Ace. “When have I ever complain---”

“Fine, it’s your loss!” Ace huffed, crossing his arms. So much for trying to do the good thing and warn Law about his facial graffiti. It was not his intention to embarrass Law in public. If Law allowed himself to step out the house looking like a deranged lovesick maniac, the police would be all over him in a heartbeat! “Roo, there’s someth---” The door slammed, cutting off Ace’s second attempt. Without wasting another second, Ace ran out after Law.

“Dude, I was talking! Rood!” Ace exclaimed, jogging up to Law. He gave Law’s side a playful punch. “So where are we going? In such a hurry?”

“Round the corner… Maybe the Thai place.” Law checked his watch. It was still early; the dinner crowd would not be for another hour or so, but that didn’t mean they should dally. When he needed to eat, denying himself could lead to perpetual grouchiness worse than the usual. However, a strange occurrence had Law slowing his brisk pace. As they strode down the street, Law’s hand held loosely in Ace’s, passers-by dodged them left and right like they were the plague. Law got the sense they were trapped in some nightmare, wherein one awoke and the entire human race had been invaded by aliens. Aliens controlled the minds of the humans and he and Ace were the last to be ‘infected’. Unless --- Law jerked his head toward Ace. Law swallowed hard.

Ace stared back at Law guiltily. Still, he feigned nonchalance. “What, Roo? You change your mind about going to pee? Also, did you know you have somethi---” The rest of Ace’s words were drowned out by a fleet of Harley Davidsons roaring down the road.

“No, I’m fine.” Law gave Ace one last look and convinced himself of what a ridiculous notion that was, aliens! Perhaps the mothers yanking their children away were homophobes; the elderly whispering among themselves were jealous of young love. Honestly, it was not unusual for him to garner critical glances.

The walk was a short one past several blocks. Law ignored the giggles from cliques of teenage girls and the snickers from groups of adolescent guys. Meanwhile, Ace tried --- by God, did he try --- to tell Law about the hearts drawn on his face. However, every attempt had been intercepted by some higher forces of nature or whatever. Law had probably offended some otherworldly being just by being himself and this was his retribution. Ace tried one last time.

“Roo, why don’t you stand there and I’ll take a pic of you in your handsome clothes.”

“No, don’t wanna.”

“Just stand there. It’ll only take a second!”

“I think we’ve attracted enough unhealthy attention for one evening,” Law said, as a pasty-faced goth stared at him disgustedly. Law chalked it up to his sunny yellow pullover being intensely offensive to the latter and Ace facepalmed and shut up about the matter. The damage was done… If Law found out about the hearts right there and then, after his walk of shame, he would be livid. And if Law was hungry too? The deadliest combination ever! Forget all the catastrophic nuclear reactions. If Law was going to find out about the hearts, it was best he did so on a full, satiated stomach.

The greeter received them aloofly at the Thai restaurant. After Law and the greeter exchanged sharp looks, the greeter showed Ace and Law to a table by the window and left them with menus before disappearing to tend to other customers. By then, the aroma of spicy Tom Yum soup wafted over to their table and Law was completely indifferent to the nervous looks of their waitress who took their orders as quickly as possible and scurried away. Ace felt a twinge of guilt for leaving Law like that but hey, ignorance was bliss. Their conversation went simply.

“We should try not to get thrown out---”

“Or banned,” Ace chimed in.

“Or banned before we’re halfway done with the meal.”

“I think we can manage that.”

“We’re running out of places nearby that would admit us…”

“Hey, how long do you think they’ll take to make all that food?”

“The same amount of time it takes to cook for a birthday party---not long, I hope.”

“You brought your wallet, right? You made me leave before I could grab anything---Rood.”

“Too bad, you’ll just have to work here, pay off our debts.”

Ace kicked Law lightly under the table.

“Remember what happened the last time? It started very innocently with a kick---” Law stood up abruptly. “Uh I---I’ll be right back.” He hurried toward the toilets before Ace could stop him.

Ace, watching Law disappear into the Gents, could only gulp and mutter, “Uh-oh.” Ace waved frantically to the waitress. “Hey, do you think you can serve me everything in the next five minutes before my R---friend gets back?” He couldn’t count on Law to remain calm. Sure, sometimes, Law could be entirely unfazed by things that would otherwise disconcert a person. Law could watch videos of people dying in the most gruesome ways without batting an eyelash. However, something so embarrassing would most certainly cause Law’s tightly wounded nerves to unravel. Ace glanced around a little nervously. There was a lot of glass surrounding their table. Before Law returned, he should probably leave, except that the food smelled delicious and his mouth was starting to water.

Law, struck by a sudden call of nature, shouldered past some of the wait staff and went into the Gents. He picked the urinal at the furthest end and relieved himself with a soft sigh. Another customer winked at him when he passed him by on the way to the sinks but Law shot the other customer a cold look and proceeded to wash his hands without paying the guy any mind. Law pumped some mint-scented antibacterial handsoap and lathered his tattooed fingers, taking his own sweet time before he rinsed off under the automatic tap. He scrubbed between his fingers; he gave his palms a nice massage. One of life’s greatest pleasures, often overlooked, was washing one’s hands under warm water. It could be rather soothing, oddly enough. Finally, the last step, Law shook his hands into the sink to dry off any residue water. Slowly, Law raised his gaze up. He glanced at the mirror. Law paused.

Hang on one second. The mirror --- hmm, someone had drawn hearts all over it. What an inconsiderate ass--- Ha-Hang on. The mirror---! Law took one step to the left. He took one step to the right. Oh fuck.

N-No wonder. Law cupped his face with both hands in sudden horror. His face paled. Law gaped. His reflection in the mirror would frame nicely as a painting in the Louvre. Tourists and art critics would be all gaga over it. Law felt his blood run cold. He started to wipe his cheek when he halted.

Only Ace could have drawn the hearts on his face. Had that been why everyone had avoided him? Had that been the reason for all the laughs behind his back? What an unforgivable prank! How dare Ace humiliate him like this? Law clutched the sink till his knuckles turned white. He glared at his reflection when a thought flitted through his mind.

Law’s face softened a tinge. Between them, rarely did the words ‘I love you’ get said. Was that the reason behind Ace’s mischief? Had he drawn the hearts as his way of saying ‘I love you, Roo’? Law started to rub off the lipstick again when he paused. Whatever Ace’s reason… whether Ace had meant it as an affectionate gesture… Laughs had already been had. Instead of walking out ashamed, without the doodled hearts, he would wear them with pride! For fuck’s sake. Corazon would have been proud, wouldn’t he? Nah, the man was dead. But whatever, if he could bear the weird judgmental looks from the tattoo artist, surely he could walk out with the hearts on his face and pretend all was normal. Law nodded to himself. He cocked his head to the side at the other customer staring at him from across the toilet. Law said, with an edge of a warning in his tone, “Whatcha looking at?”

The customer bolted into one of the cubicles and Law marched back to Ace confidently. So he had a dozen over hearts drawn with lipstick all over his face but he refused to let that destroy him. As long as no one got photographic evidence, any rumours would only be dismissed as such.

Ace was shovelling food into his mouth by the time Law joined him back at the table. Law slid into his seat with Ace staring at him, waiting for an outburst that never came. Ace had expected the toilet to explode with Law’s screeching. Had Law not seen the mirror at all? Otherwise, why had Law not wiped off the lipstick? Regardless, Ace said nothing else except, “Oh, Roo!! Better hurry or I’ll eat it all.”

“Hands off! You already ordered plenty for yourself,” Law whined.

“And so?”

“So leav--- Hey, did you… Did you steal my prawns?!”

“Wha---” Ace scarfed down spoonfuls of rice. The legs of the prawn dangled from his lips before he quickly sucked them into his mouth. Ace added, with his mouth full, “Huh? No, maybe they didn’t give you any prawns? Maybe the cook forgot?”

Law waved at the waitress irritably. “Hey, there’s no prawns in this. I counted none when the menu specifically stated seafood Tom Yum.”

The waitress ran off and pretended she was busy watering a fake plant.

“Rood,” Law muttered.

“Rood,” Ace agreed.

That night, fresh out of the shower, dressed in his heart-print pyjamas that matched Ace’s own, Law snuggled under the bedcovers beside Ace. He laid his head on Ace’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Law mumbled, without any other explanation, “Next time, just send me a card.”

@pxrtgasdace