Sweet Fanfic Child O' Mine

I'm Yaoi-yaoieverywhere or Yaoi_yaoieverywhere depending on if you found my fandom blog or my Ao3 Commissions Open! Pay me @ paypal.me/Phne Feel free to engage me, Recommend a Beta, Suggest a new idea, or tell me why such-and-such needs fixing in chapter [X] or whatever.

[ficswithpricks]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

DID YOU KNOW, I MADE A BIRTHDAY GIFT FIC LAST NIGHT WHEN I SHOULD HAVE BEEN SLEEPING @octopluss BECAUSE I DID

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BIG GUY DON’T LET YOUR DREAMS BE DREAMS

[pearsfears]

christmas gift set 🎁 for @ficswithpricks and @octopluss ♥

[ficswithpricks]

Lungs for Flowerpots

Unbeta’d Hanahaki stuff for your Unbeta’d Hanahaki needs

(Read on Ao3)

Hanahaki is a sickness of unrequited love and growing flowers. A rare enough disease to carry mystery, some speculate it only comes when one longs for a soulmate. What other need would such a visible show of longing be needed for...? Especially when unrequited love over time brings death by suffocating on flower petals caught in the lungs if you’re stubborn enough to hold onto it.

Okuyasu has always thought it a selfish disease. Then he has to deal with that on his own and fear stealing his tongue. Only then does he realize it is almost a mercy.

As Okuyasu realizes what love feels like, he spits out a slobber covered white petal. White Heather, he finds out too soon. It means protection and that wishes will come true in time. The flowers themselves are like tiny, noiseless bells in his palm. There is red under that pristine white in what the books call a pedicel. They feel like a waxy leaf curled underneath the petals.

It is all he has even seen in Josuke, wrapped up in the tiniest flower he'd seen. He lets it drop to the counter as his mind blanks.

Stray Cat's nose twitches at the first whole flower Okuyasu coughs out. Watches it tumble to the counter without a noise and sways a leaf- arm- limb against it, letting it roll between each leafy limb and purring.

[How hard is it to remember that this could kill him when Stray Cat plays with it like that?]

It's not like Okuyasu's never seen someone spit out petals and stalks before. When his mother had died, his father had started spitting flora out all the time but it just seemed to make him even more angry.

As his father grew shrunken and deformed, the flowers withered away into brown, brittle things. Then one day he stopped spitting them up at all. Okuyasu remember that day well, because that had been the day Keicho had told him their dad needed to die.

"That man doesn't love mom anymore." Keicho's voice tightened in a way that means he's speaking through a throat that wants to choke him. "I don't care if it's because he forgot, or no longer loves, or didn't think she was worth dying for. A being that doesn't love just brings suffering to everyone else."

Okuyasu remembers denying it, but he hadn't cried. His voice was shaky and hollow and childish. He denied it not because he knew Keicho was wrong... but because he was scared.

His memories of his mother are gone or faded to sensation. To him, she was a warm hand at his shoulder, a voice that soothed with words he didn't hear, a kiss on the cheek. The one thing he did remember her saying clearly was something contradictory.

"Nijimura's have big chests for big lungs and bigger hearts." Those words echo quietly as a hand rubs his back as he sobs. She smelled sweet like vanilla bean and flower petals. "They need room to grow flowers for their beloved. When I was in school, there were so many stories about Hanahaki because it was so rare a condition. Surgery can take it away, but the feelings buried in the roots are gone as well.

"They said it happened only to soulmates. They say it only happens to the unfortunate. They say it happens to you can give them a token when you have nothing else to your name. They say the meanings can serve as a warning or a sign to go on. They say tanuki plant them inside us when we need a time limit." She laughed high like a flute. "I say it's our bodies' way of showing how they are on the inside."

"If you love 'em though," Little Okuyasu had said, feet swinging and careless rhythm again his mother's calves now that he had calmed down somewhat. "Why wouldn't you already known how they are inside?"

"The insides of us are soft and squishy." Fingers smooth down his hair, his thin eyebrows, down the slope of his noses before she kisses it and he shrieks with giggles. "Like a new puppy. Insides need care, and careless people wander around every day. Sometimes the armor they use on the outside hides the soft parts so well you can't tell if they're a good type of soft."

"All softs are good though mama!" An indulgent chuckle.

"Even those softness of a rotting peach?" Little Okuyasu wrinkles his nose at that thought. "No, not all soft things are good. Or compatible, more so."

"What does Come-pat-eh-bill mean?"

"If someone is compatible, they fit like a puzzle piece. But some pieces look like they fit when they don't, right?"

"Sometimes!" Little Okuyasu had bobbed his head so hard his mom had clasped his head gently between her hands to stop him.

"Right. And Nijimura's have big lungs, just in case other isn't compatible, so they have more time to let the feelings fade naturally." Her hand stills over his tiny chest. "Or, every once in a while, they love more than one person at the same time."

"Doesn't that hurt more?" Her hand had clutched at the fabric of his shirt.

"Yes." Her breath didn't shudder. Nor did a tear fall from her eyes. Yet, her voice was a flood of grief. "But only if there isn't any understanding. People get hurt if things aren't shared."

"Like Love?" And now he knows how he'd misinterpreted her words but the way her hand had loosened and she'd hiccuped just once made him wonder if it was the right answer anyway.

"Sometimes that's all, sweetie. How smart of you!" Her voice cooing too quietly. "Do you know what jealousy is?"

"Uhm, uh, when the other kids talk to Keicho and he won't talk to me?"

"Very much like that. Sometimes people can't help but be jealous even when they know no one is at fault. Other times, the worst times.... They're jealous because people forgot to share." He never does find out why she'd had that talk with him. Why she'd been mournful of something he'd never know. There's a story that was never told. "So if you love people so much Hanahaki takes hold, you need to share that."

"How?" Little Oku had demanded, turning to face her. It was the only memory he had where he saw her face as it was in life. Moving. Gentle. Adoring.

"Well! It depends on the flower, really, but when you have enough to make a sachet..." And the memory drifts off from there. What he'd give to remember her advice. How to deal with the Heather in his lungs. He would ask Keicho if he were still around. He asks his father, but he doesn't seem to remember either.

Okuyasu goes to school and only then does he start to notice the flower petals in hidden places. The bathroom stalls, the janitor's closet, the corners of the roof. There are more than a single kind, but there are so few. He finds them because sometimes he thinks of Josuke and feels a tickle at the back of his throat that won't go away until he coughs and coughs.

It's not really like he's trying desperately to hide it. It's kind of like when you've got to throw up- you don't try to do it on your friends' shoes if you can help it.

"Oku," Josuke calls him with obvious concern, and his heart is squeezed gently, and his lungs feel the roots shift in response. "You shouldn't come to school if you're sick. Go play video games at home or something."

"It's just a cough, Josuke!" Honestly, in a way that is all that's going on. He can deal with heather taking up space until he sorts out things with Josuke the normal way. It would be so much easier if Josuke fell for him, drying up the stems in his throat. Because then he'd know he's got a chance. So he keeps coming to school. He lets himself brush fingers and sit too close. Okuyasu isn't suave by any means, but he's persistent.

It only takes a week for him to realize Heather isn't the only plant he's been coughing up. The delphinium petals are deep purple against the white. Mind churning over the one fact everyone agrees on- each person only gets one flower at a time- thoughts racing over people it could be, until he thinks of green eyes and glass cutting cheekbones and hacks out a whole bundle of blossoms.

This, he thinks, is something almost too terrifying to share. Okuyasu has big lungs- but with two plants growing inside the risk grows. Hanahaki can kill people if it grows too big. Does he have enough room for two plants to grow inside until one or both die off?

Okuyasu looks up Delphiniums in the library when he should be in history. The flower has too many meanings that swim in his head, but he likes the version from European flower language when he thinks of Rohan. Reaching for your goals. Striving to achieve it all. Rohan has always put everything towards what he wants and Okuyasu admires that.

Though, if he's honest, the idea of Rohan being represented by Delphinium worries Okuyasu. The flower murmurs tauntingly that Rohan will give everything to one person and guard it jealously. Okuyasu can't deal with that thought.

The idea that striving for it all meant striving for everything he wanted doesn't cross Okuyasu's worried mind.

Why did he grow to love Rohan so much anyway? He barely sees the older Mangaka except when shopping or passing by his house with Josuke. Josuke claims that they do it because Rohan would get into trouble and not tell anyone so they have to check on him, but Okuyasu sees the interest in his eyes, the patience that grows as Josuke and Rohan throw taunts back and forth.

It is odd that Rohan somehow managed to shop at the same store Okuyasu does on almost the exact same dates and times. Not that Okuyasu minds the way Rohan has grown to talk politely to him. The apology that comes months late about nearly making Okuyasu kill himself is a surprise that Okuyasu can't help but accept, unsure why Rohan felt it was needed so late. It's not like friends haven't tried to kill him before.

What's even stranger is how when Rohan asks one day to turn his pages, Okuyasu doesn't run the other way screaming. His head tilts at the question of course but there's no resistance in him. The permission makes Rohan's eyes brighten like Okuyasu has offered him something interesting.

He opens Okuyasu's back and follows him around the store as he reads. He can feel when the pages turn with warm fingers and impatient huffs of breath when he turns to pick things up. Fingers draw under lines of text, and if he could, he'd shiver back into the touch.

Ah.

When Rohan shuts him without a murmur of thanks, his eyes are far away. Okuyasu watches him check out quickly and leave before Okuyasu's even halfway done with the groceries. There is a chance Rohan didn't like what he saw of Okuyasu. Still there is also a chance he is intrigued. That Okuyasu's sharing has done what his mother told him it would.

It is only after the day has nearly ended that Okuyasu sits bolt upright on the couch and shrieks because the realization that Rohan might have read that he likes men, or Josuke, or Rohan, or all three hits him like a truck. He is soft inside too. Rational fear stretches at the too soft worries.

Having faith that Rohan will at least not be an absolute prick about the whole thing is all Okuyasu can do now. There are decent parts of Rohan. Harder to see than the arrogance and smirks of course but it is still there. When Okuyasu had fallen in love, somewhere, he'd decided to trust the decent parts over the harsh outside.

Someone has to know these feelings he can't keep inside. For now, Straw Cat yawns in the dusk's waning light, and listens to Okuyasu with more patience than usual. Okuyasu likes to think it's because Stray Cat understands his tone to some degree.

In the morning Okuyasu wakes to a futon surrounded by wet flowers. His lungs feel too small. His heart is squeezed too tight. His mouth is dry and for once he wants to stay home from school and lay there until he feels less like crying at the drop of a hat.

Dragging himself to his feet, he wobbles towards the phone. Stray cat is caterwauling for water and attention over his hoarse voice on the phone. The lady on the other end of the phone pauses for a moment as she listens to him over the noise.

"I know what Hanahaki sounds like, young man. Staying at home won't help you." Her words are heavy with experience. Okuyasu nods weakly even though she can't see it. "Is there anyone I should let know?" It's the most round about way of asking who he likes, and it's so surprising he coughs out a laugh, letting dozens of blossoms still attached to their stems fall from his lips.

"We're in the same class." He very carefully does not tell her anything like a name, or a gender. "It's just one day, ya gotta understand that. I've gotta... I've gotta make something out of all this."

"It doesn't take that long to make a bouquet." It's a throw away remark, but it brings back thoughts he had known were lost. It wasn't exactly a bouquet he needed to make.

"Yeah, yeah, I've gotta-" And he coughs out stems fulls of blossoms again, "-gotta do it my way. I'll be back tomorrow." Now though he has a fully day to remember how to make two sachets out of the flowers and whatever he's got around the house.

His mother had carried a sachet in her pocket as long as Okuyasu had known her. It's why she'd always smelled so sweet, the soft rustling when she put hands in her pockets. It had been made out of his father's Hanahaki and a few other things. Hers had been made out of soft blue fabric with peonies printed on the worn fabric.

First thing to do was to leave the flowers to dry in the sun. Okuyasu usually hates opening the curtains but today it's simply too important to groan over. In a way he's lucky he woke up to so many fresh blooms to lay out. unfortunately most of them are slightly damp. Going over each one with a towel takes a decent chunk of time. Stray Cat watches with wide eyes as he cleans them.

"Please don't knock them off?" Straw Cat mrrows testily, leafy paws lowering until it touched the window sill. "C'mon buddy, give me a break. It's tradition. I think it is anyway."

The sewing basket wasn't something Okuyasu was unfamiliar with by though. He'd learned how to modify uniforms and patch clothes up a long, long time ago. The hardest part of the whole process is sorting through the spice cabinet and picking out the fabrics. The one he remembers was made of worn cotton and off-white thread.

Josuke's fabric is a silk scrap that Okuyasu didn't know they had, a bold purple that barely has enough fabric left for even the small bag. Rohan gets what Okuyasu is pretty sure is white colored velvet that Keicho had bought to repair a toy years and years ago. He sews both of them shut with the same shiny gold thread he'd used on his own uniform.

He's a little upset Delphiniums don't have much of a scent. They were good fillers, but not much else. Heather on the other hand was light at first, but as the day went on it grew heavy enough to smell more than simple filler.

Both sachets at stuffed halfway with rice before Okuyasu reached for the dried petals from both flowers (a little hope involved). Josuke's was also filled with vanilla beans and lavender. Rohan's had ginger and clove. Okuyasu sewed the bags shut slowly, turning his handiwork over in his palms. It seems so small a thing to give either of them.

The sun had only barely started to drift from the highest point of the sky when Okuyasu hears two firm knocks at the door. Well, he says firm, but because of the poor condition of the house they sounded a fair bit more like pounding at the door. It startles a cough out of him- and with it, another few petals.

The front door's peephole doesn't work (and Okuyasu hadn't known peepholes could break before he'd moved here) so Okuyasu mostly relies on good faith and The Hand when he opens the front door. He doesn't know who he'd thought might be at the door, but Josuke and Rohan standing shoulder to shoulder and glaring at nothing at opposite sides of his door isn't it.

[ficswithpricks]

JosuHan Week: Day 2

Ya’ll don’t get 1 because I FAILED It’s still on my Ao3 tho

Presenting: Say It Ain't So

Misunderstandings and denial sure do take you far, huh? [Confession + First Time]

They just keep putting it off. Days and pressing close and weeks and concerned and months and food pass them by, together, but not. Rohan is growing so, so tired of waiting for a confession that never comes.

"Friends don't kiss so hard, don't leave red where lips sucked skin like a promise."

It was too easy to act instead of say how they felt. They had started out with fists, then Josuke following him around to try and repair what had never been, and then... And then...

Rohan finds himself straddling Josuke with both hands fisted in his shirt collar, frustration in his heart about how Josuke just wouldn't give up and let him be, when his ass feels something rising. The snarl slides off his face as he realizes when it is and watches the delightful look of panic on Josuke's face.

Obviously now Rohan has to do The Worst Idea He's Ever Had. So he raises and eye brow and leans back to press into Josuke's boner and nearly falls forward when Josuke bucks. To this day he can't figure out if it was a very forward advance or a "get Rohan off of me" buck.

Catching himself before he can slam his forehead into Josuke's, Rohan stares into Josuke's darkening eyes. Lust and fear and just a hint of hope. Such an interesting look. Hidden motives coming to light and yet still shying away.

Their faces are too close for Josuke to see the shark like grin on Rohan's face before he goes in for a kiss. So easily distracted by Rohan sucking his bottom lip. His eyes don't close but he doesn't see anything, too absorbed in a chance. Rohan takes his own chance to rearrange their legs, sliding his knees in between Josuke's spreading thighs.

Josuke was so pretty when Rohan took control. Responsive little noises and rocking his hips into Rohan's, barely able to keep still was Rohan worked to peel his pants off. Surely, Rohan had thought, a confession would slip out soon enough.

Yet here they were, months later, Josuke stubbornly refusing to admit anything but taking all he could get without it.

"Why won't you admit you love me?" Rohan finally asks one morning as they wake up together again. Josuke blinked at him with sleepy confusion.

"Even if I do, you don't love me." To this, Rohan's eyes widened and his nostrils flared.

"Excuse me?!" What exactly had he been doing if not reciprocating this whole time?

"Rohan, wait, what did I say- Rohan! Stop hitting me! What did I do-"

[ficswithpricks]

Something Like That

Rohan walks around town just like in canon, just more tired, and with an umbrella at all times. Sometimes people catch glinting fangs but brush it off. Josuke and Okuyasu are werewolves who want to break the stereotype that werewolves and vampires can't get along. Too bad the only vampire in town is Rohan.

They learn what it means to care about each other's opinions... And what it brings.

A short look into this world, very compressed. Dunno if I'll expand.

(Read on Ao3)

Ask all you like, Rohan will never answer why he let Josuke and Okuyasu invade his life. Couldn't perhaps was the better word... But he's never say. And it's all got to do with history.

Werecreatures and vampires have been diametrically opposed through the eons of History. They fought in the shadows of war time and scowled across the table in peace meetings. Not a secret to humanity or praised for being better or worse. Stereotyped of course by others and themselves.

Josuke wore his status as a werewolf like any other piece of clothing. Even as the son of the area's Alpha, Tomoko, he didn't seem to view it as much. Maybe a little prideful of it at times but most days it's just there. He grows fur and his ears change and he gets a tail and walks on four legs once a month. That's about it really.

Okuyasu fidgets with his own newly acquired status as a werewolf. He's not quite sure where he fits in with no family to follow and no role to claim. But Josuke offered and he didn't refuse.

Rohan wrapped his vampire life away. He stayed up during the day, carried an umbrella with him everywhere, took care to conceal his fangs. Pretended he was human too so they wouldn't change their behavior. Stare at him for his wealth and fame but never his species. Envy his immortality and gag at the need for blood.

You don't ask to be turned into a vampire. It just happens and sometimes they don't even get to stay alive long enough to explain anyway. [Reimi my dear, a ghost that lingered, still couldn't find Rohan when he needed her most.] Reasons or how to live now or why it's important they stay true. Werewolves have it a bit easier that way- despite the tales, they had much more control over who turned.

Vampires turn people spontaneously- some instinct in their brain spotting a death and saying "that one will do". Or at least... That's generally what happens. What people expect and learn to live with. Some hope for it. Some don't believe it's possible. One in a dozen million.

Josuke and Okuyasu had initiated the damn plan to make Rohan like them. To make a vampire like werewolves and look past the pages of history and change things. Maybe Josuke didn't know how to go about it alone and Okuyasu wanted to know more about the supernatural world he'd been led to.

In any case, they'd still busted into Rohan's house when he was up and yawning at noon, strong arming him back to bed. He'd been too tired to do much. Even the insults and panic were too quiet. Trying to stay awake during the day was exhausting him but he was too stubborn to follow normal sleep patterns on his own.

They'd stayed with him and linked burly arms across him so he couldn't get up before falling asleep themselves. Rohan was left to puzzle over why for a brief moment before the sleep he'd been avoiding snatched him back. It was just too hard to resist in the warmth around him.

[Vampires ran cold. Not ice cold, but almost that sickly chill some got during bad fevers. Clammy palms and cold cheeks. Rohan slept with five blankets in the winter and still felt cold. But now?]

It became routine for them to come over on days off to make him sleep during the day. The first time they'd come over on a full moon, Rohan had tried to force them out, thoughts of mindless beasts in his house somehow even less appealing. But they'd whined and promised they'd be good and Rohan wondered how they thought they could promise that?

Their fur was even warmer than they usually were. Except their cold wet noses. They curled up next to him on the couch, huffing at him and woofing at each other. They weren't full of energy like he thought they might be. They even slept against his side on the cough, giant heads pressing against his hips, making their way to rest in his lap. He found himself wondering if they'd spend the next full moon at his house.

Dread curls over the content in his belly. Oh no. Oh no oh no, he was not supposed to get attached. He wasn't supposed to let them win him over.

It'd been months now and it was finally winter break. Kira was long gone as a threat. Josuke had healed and Okuyasu had stopped crying about it. Rohan tended to go out less now. Too cold. Still, life goes on and he has to meet with his editor to deliver another set of manuscripts.

"Wonderful work as always, Kishibe-sensei." His editor smiles at him as he carefully inspects the pages given to him. They both have time today and Rohan doesn't mind the compliment and constructive critiques his editor is keen to offer. "I must say, you look healthier recently. Are you finally taking care of yourself?"

"I was always taking care of myself." Rohan says immediately, but pauses the consider. Pulls his hands out of his warm pockets and wonders. "I suppose... Someone else is helping me out a bit." Two someones really.

"Good for you." The smile offered is genuine, and Rohan finds himself smiling just slightly back. "Don't let them slip away. It'll be good for you to have someone to depend on."

Slip away?

Rohan watches his editor depart after a few more pleasantries with the words stewing in his mind. Slip away. He hadn't thought too much about what might happen if the boys left. College wasn't too far away. They weren't vampires so they didn't have the same kind of immortality. They'd age and grow without him.

Sliding his hands back into his pockets he conceals his shaking fists. Then... Then he remembers what he is. What he can do.

"Vampires are spontaneous when they turn people. They prefer the dying, the nameless." But that isn't always true. Vampires have found partners- best friends, lovers, rivals- and offered up the change. It's a rare part of history that's always been of note. Fascinating.

There hasn't been a reported case of a vampire wanting to turn two werewolves. There's a letter somewhere that's been analyzed to hell and back where a vampire had offered the change to a werewolf through a letter. Tattered and faded it still existed. Existed because the werewolf had kept it with her until her death. (No one knows if she accepted. Or if the vampire had followed through.)

A sweet liquid drips down his fangs and he has to swallow several times to get rid of it. Oh no. The urge to find and pursue until sleep and to slide in, to just give, and give it now, has sudden strength.

Maybe there hadn't been offers because they'd just decided to give. Give and take whatever reaction they got, so long as the other lived. Rohan was not quite that selfless. But he was close.

A story makes its way behind his lips. A way to frame this so they couldn't view it as his fault. That will make them accept it and stay with him too. He could tell the truth... But omission is so much less of a burden.

All he needs is one question.

"How did you turn?" Okuyasu finally asks three days later before one of their naps, and Rohan snatches that chance with both hands.

"Reimi turned me when I was... Younger." And now he has both boys attention. "At first I didn't know I'd been turned. I was asleep for the most part and she threw me out the window right after."

"Wouldn't the craving for blood make it obvious?"

"Uh, no." Science had proven vampires most drank blood because of a deficiency of several things in blood- Iron being the easiest to name. Some diets held thirst at bay better than others. There had been a recent invention of synthetic blood that was made out of clams and other things that did basically the same thing. And it tasted better somehow. "The fact I couldn't go out into the sun without getting burns all over me was."

"Oh." Rohan pretended he didn't notice the phantom pink and blue hand gently smoothing over his skin. "But we're you four? How come you look-" Okuyasu made an aborted gesture with his hand.

"...What, did you think there were eternal children in the world? That would be bad for several reasons." He had stopped aging very recently. Not recent enough that most noticed, but as the years dragged on, he knew it would become obvious. "Or older vampires for that matter."

"Vampires get all the good points," Josuke grumbled good naturedly, finally withdrawing Crazy Diamond. "Peak physical age, immortality, looking mostly human but with fangs."

"I can't eat garlic." To this there was only silence.

"...Shit man no wonder you won't eat Tonio's food. That sounds terrible and I'm sorry for you."

"Well at least you didn't die?" Okuyasu added hesitantly. Rohan settled back against the pillows.

"Mm. Yes, well, on the subject of death... I've recently found out some werewolves turn into vampires when they die." The boys blinked at him incredulously before look at each other.

"What like... Naturally?" Okuyasu asked incredulously. Rohan heaved a sign through his nose.

"Supposedly." It was only natural that a vampire in love would turn their werewolf beloved instead of surrendering them to death.

"Ehh? Well that's kind of cool." "Chances are probably one in a billion, not ever than. My mom's never mentioned it." Josuke said, not quite disbelieving, but certainly rejecting the idea it might happen to him. Oh if only he knew. "At least we'll have Rohan to show us the ropes, ey?"

"You take better care of me than I do, you'll never need any help." "It's different when it's not someone else." Letting his hands entwine with Okuyasu's and Josuke's, he silently agreed. Then he hid a laugh when their ears and tails popped out in excitement. Werewolves...

What Rohan didn't count on was the boys telling Koichi of this new information, and Koichi going to look it up. As the resident human of the group, he was the one who spent the most time on research.

After finding no science supporting spontaneous werewolf to vampire conversion, Koichi unearths the research about The Offer. About how rare it was for a vampire to offer to turn anyone, especially werecreatures. Of how there is only one letter in the world with an offer, carefully penned, cared for and kept by the recipient.

"There may be more offers we are unaware of that were verbal ones done in a private setting. Or, given the private nature of many vampires, perhaps some werewolves were turned without any notice in their sleep or on their death bed. Alas, it is natural to have greed for another person's life. For turning such as this would have to be an offer of life together forever. Marriage if you wish to romanticize it." Koichi shuts the book. Stares down at it's cover. Looks up to the library around him.

Koichi rushes out of the library to find some place to scream privately.

Rohan actually wants them around. Not just around around, he wants them around forever. Josuke and Okuyasu stare at each other as it dawns on them.

"I thought he was just tolerating us," Josuke says weakly. Okuyasu nods slowly. Koichi drags his hands down his face. "Y'know?"

"You're trying to tell me you think he's been tolerating you when he lets you sleep in his bed, eat his food, bathe in his house, and basically live there?" Koichi says in the most 'how dumb are my friends' tone he possibly can. "He wants to turn you!"

"We didn't know he was offering!"

"Beyond all that!" Koichi interrupts before this can go any farther. "He has Heaven's Door! He could have forced you to leave and forget everything if he wanted to." He holds his hands up when their mouths open to protest this. "Maybe not at the beginning when he was tired all the time. But he certainly could have for months now. Also I'm not sure it was an offer. It sounded like he was just going to do it."

"What if we hadn't wanted him to?" Okuyasu asks quietly. Eternal life would be giving up reunion with their loved ones in death. Or at least belaying it for many, many lifetimes.

"I don't know."

[josuhan-week-blog]

JOSUHAN WEEK - from October 16th to October 23rd

 After a very long wait, here’s Josuhan week! A whole week (+1!) to satisfy all your Josuke Higashikata/Rohan Kishibe needs! 

Everyday, from October 16th to October 23rd, there will be a couple of prompts for you to use to create whatever kind of content you like, from fanfics to fanart and much more! 

For more info, check out our blog! If anything is still unclear please be sure to ask questions! Stay tuned for more info!

[ficswithpricks]

Questions for WRITERS!

1. At what point did you discover your interest in writing?

2. Do you have a fellow writer whose work inspires you?

3. What is your favorite genre to write?

4. Have you ever written tragedy? If so, did writing it shake you up emotionally?

5. What do you think is your biggest strength in your writing?

6. What part of writing do you still need to improve at?

7. How many unfinished projects do you have at this point? Planning to finish any of them soon?

8. Ever used a dream as a base for a story? If so, was it a success, or a flop?

9. Do you plan a story from beginning to end before writing it, or do you just haphazardly start writing one and add up from there, hoping the plot goes somewhere good? If the latter, do you tend to get stuck often?

10. What are some of the most common themes/topics in your stories?

11. Is there something you could write about nonstop?

12. On the contrary; What parts of writing a story do you hate?

13. How many words can you write in a day if you are at your best?

14. Are you a fan of writing short prompts?

15. Ever written something really weird/awkward?

16. Have you ever received hate mail because of one of your stories?

17. Did a fan ever push you to continue a story/write more stories?

18. If you are not working on a project at this moment, how do you keep your writing skills from "getting rusty"? Or do you prefer to just rest?

19. What may revive your motivation after a long writing block?

20. Can music help you write? If yes, what is your favorite type of playlist to listen to while writing?

21. Are special scents an incentive to writing for you? If so, what scents?

22. Do you have any favorite stories or books, and why?

[ficswithpricks]

I'm Just Sayin' If You Really Loved Me-

A/N: HI GUYS THIS IS MY LATE BDAY GIFT TO MEEEE I CRY EVERY DAY BECAUSE MY FRIENDS LOVE ME, OKAY, AND I HOPE THEY LIKE THIS! I had to rewrite so much of it because Ao3 was bein a butt and deleted my fic. Again. BUT I'M STUBBORN

Summary: In a perfect world, Rohan would have given up on his pride before the boys left for College. Maybe he would've even just talked to them about the acrobatics his heart had taken to. He didn't. So they fell apart, and he wishes they hadn't.

"Didn't you start fights because you wanted attention?"

(Read on Ao3)

Scrubbing his face with a hand, Rohan wondered if the tiredness in his bones had always been there. It's only a month in Tokyo echoes the editor in his head. They'd even gotten him an apartment to live in during the long stay instead of a hotel room. He's tired and dreads the trip upstairs although he only brought two suitcases with him. Even though there's an elevator that he's been waiting on for a few minutes now.

He'd managed to get out of every other Tokyo based event for years now. How long had it been? Four years?

It was silly to avoid the city. Tokyo was so big anyway, the chance he'd run into the boys here was so slim. But his heart still aches at the thought. He pretends he doesn't know if it's because he doesn't want to see them or because he does.

When the elevator dings, a sharp warning to get out of the way, Rohan focuses back into the world only to see two startling familiar faces. And in the moment before Rohan gets the thought to turn around, Okuyasu's hand reaches out- for him, the skip in Rohan's heart pretends- to hold the elevator open.

"Hi," Josuke says, and it's startled, and Rohan wants to pretend the excited undertone isn't all in his head.

"...Hi." His voice is wilting in a way he can't control. The stairs are right there. An escape he doesn't want to use. That he needs to use. The boys look at each other for a moment, and a flash of disappointment is all Rohan catches. He knows there's more there that he never learned how to read and some he's forgotten through the years. Eyelid twitching, he grabs his bags.

"Let us help you with those!" Okuyasu says quickly, but Rohan's gaze is acid green. Heaven's Door almost stirs under his skin. He's not sure what he would write in the boys if that happened. So he turns and left the boys there, Okuyasu still holding the door open, and Josuke taking a single step after him.

He hates them for leaving. He hated himself for letting them when he could have put aside pride and fear aside for just the chance they'd stay. He hates himself for wanting to write love on their arms so they'd stay. He hates them because they don't seem heart broken, or awkward, or at all like they cared how he must feel.

The boys get out of the elevator as Rohan climbs the stairs, up and up until he's no longer in sight.

"Following him would only upset him more." Okuyasu says when Josuke's hands clench into fists. Glancing at Okuyasu, Josuke sighs and lets his hands fall limp again. Okuyasu lets go of the door at they walk out as the metal slides shut behind them.

"...I know." They both look back at the staircase for a moment longer. "Why does he have to be so stubborn all the time?"

"He's Rohan." The words make them both smile, a little crooked thing and they brush shoulders. "Come on, he'll be here when we get back. I'm hungry."

Rohan's temporary room is spare and filled with chilly night air. The futon he'll sleep on is already tucked away, the few dishes he's asked for are tucked away, and the fridge is empty. Fatigue lingers in his bones still though, so he drags the futon out. He closes the balcony doors, stopping the cool breeze from entering.

There's a balcony outside in the midst of purple edged dusk. It's been a while since Rohan had been able to sketch so high up... Perhaps when he woke up tomorrow? Unless his editor reneged on that promise to give him time to settle in.

Dragging the blanket over his shoulders, Rohan's thought drift. Back to Okuyasu's quick words, and Josuke's already moving towards him. They don't care... They shouldn't, is more what he's thinking. Eyelids heavy, he blinks through the mustering hope that maybe... Just maybe...

Eventually his eyes close, and in the morning Rohan will hate the thought. Deny it could be true that they were being kind because they didn't hate him, and that he was glad because he didn't really hate them as much as he should for leaving him behind.

The next morning is the first time he'd seen the orange sunrise as he woke up instead of falling asleep. Not healthy? Maybe. But health didn't really concern Rohan too much right now. If he kept busy, kept moving, kept creating, maybe he'd never think of how close the boys were. Although... Who knows. They could be on an entirely different floor, destined to never meet him again.

The thought wasn't exactly a happy one, but it was better than many others. So Rohan folded the futon back up and went to make black tea. A groan rumbles just under his ribs in protest but there's nothing to eat.

Slinking out to the balcony, Rohan buried his nose in the steam. Heat was nearly as good as caffeine in these brief moments before sleep disappeared until wakefulness.

Which was why it was understandable he didn't notice the man on the adjoining balcony until a low whistle went on long enough to get through. Giving the vague direction the noise came from a dirty look, Rohan nearly stumbled backwards at the sight.

"Hey Rohan," Okuyasu rumbled just like he used to in the mornings. Not quite gruff, but far too deep to sound soft. Warm all the way through though. "We're neighbors now, huh?"

Making an ugly noise- though more of a startled noise than a vehement denial- Rohan took a gulp of scalding tea. It was too early to process exactly what this meant. So what if he was already considering how easy it would be to just throw things from one balcony to the other? The partitions did nothing for the inner corner of this building.

"You haven't eaten yet have you." There's not question on Okuyasu's voice either, but Rohan wouldn't have answered if there was. Watching as Rohan tried to stick his nose further into his tea, Okuyasu sighed and lifted something wrapped in tin foil. "Of course you haven't, you never talk before you eat. Probably don't even have groceries yet... You want this?"

It was hard not to perk up at the idea of food. Of course the annoyance at being treated somewhat like a picky child was helping him stay quiet. The longing glance he gave the food must have been enough though. Okuyasu smiled (the sweet ones he always gave when he was fond, a goofy, huge thing that Rohan used to work for) and chucked the foil packet at him.

Heaven's Door manifested between on blink and the next to catch the food with both hands. Tiny white fingers pried the foil away as it floated back to Rohan, curious eyes focused on the actual food. His mouth watered at the smell of bacon, eggs, biscuit, and cheese. It'd been a while since he'd indulged in a more American style of breakfast.

Looking up, Okuyasu still has that stupid smile. Rohan narrowed his eyes before taking the bastardized sandwich out of Heaven's Door's grasp and starting to eat. There would be no thanks. Not yet, at the very least.

Heaven's Door waves as Rohan leaves though. Okuyasu waves back even though he knows Rohan won't see it.

Thankfully Rohan had been ushered to Tokyo for so long because he had an actual job that had to be done there. Particular overseeing aspects of the Pink Dark Boy anime he'd finally earned. Making design notes, listening to the voice actors, requesting which scenes deserved more attention than others...

But for today, he'd just go get groceries. Chewing through his free meal, Rohan tried to remember what he'd need to last the first week. Milk, and eggs, and miso, and...

The elevator is slow in this building. Or perhaps simply busy ferrying people for lower levels elsewhere. Either way, Rohan has a lot to think about.

That scene on the balcony was as if he'd dipped his foot in the pool of good memories. The ones faded with time where he had grown familiar with the boys body heat. Looked forward to when they thought of him, but wasn't quite sure what to think of them. How to express what grew under his skin.

They're barely had a few months together before the boys had moved off for college. Leaving him behind without an invite... Or an address.

Okuyasu seems... Different. Beyond that fact he'd somehow gained a few centimeters in height. A bit more settled in his skin. Rohan had never been to college but he knew that it changed people. It seemed almost like Okuyasu still cared. That was preposterous though. It'd been years.

Ignoring the fact Rohan had been carrying a torch for just as many years.

Just as the elevator dings to signal it's doors opening, a familiar pompadour careens down the hall, Josuke obviously intent on the elevator. Rohan responds to the challenge before he realizes what he's doing. Darting in to the elevator and pressing the button to close the doors just as Josuke skips over the threshold a bag of... Something slung over his shoulder.

Josuke's panting breaths are the only noise after the doors slide shut. Rohan shifts on his feet, counting the floors as they crawl by.

"How... How're you been?" The way Josuke's biting his lip is all too familiar. The ghost of what had been nudges Rohan again with temptation of soft warmth and happy smiles pressed into his skin.

And even this, the simple question of how Rohan's been, is jolting. He misses this. He's always missed this. He didn't realize after a while that it still lingered, name fading in history to a simple ache that he lived with but the desire has a name again. It makes him want to run.

"Busy." And it has been by his own design. "And... And you?"

"I've been learning about mechanics," Josuke says like it's something to brush off. His eyes are focused on Rohan though, barely slits as he smiled when Rohan jumped a bit. "Repairing cars and motorcycles, mostly. Ah..."

Silence carries heavy in the adams apple of Rohan's throat. Josuke's smile faded a bit as he looks away after the moments stretch too long. No one catches the strained apology in Rohan's eyes.

"Sorry. You probably don't want to talk to me, huh?"

No. Yes. Of course he can't decide- it's been years now. The elevator dings, finally, the first floor shuddering into existence as the elevator settles. He needs to say something. Scathing? Begging? Reassurance?

But nothing comes out of his prideful throat and Josuke goes a different direction than Rohan planned entirely. He almost misses his window to step out because of how lost he feels.

Thoughts of the past trail in his wake. His basket ends up full of the makings for foods the boys used to like. Things far recipes far more complex that Rohan's recent diet of egg and rice, grilled salmon, instant ramen, and take out food. He can't bring himself to put it back on the shelf.

The bags are heavy in his hands. By the time he makes it back to the apartment building he's too tired to cook, too tired to walk up the stairs. So he waits for the elevator again.

It's empty this time, and Rohan feels an absence. Looking behind him once, seeing no one there, he walks into the elevator.

There's faint noise beyond the door of the boy's apartment. Not laughter or yelling, but still just loud enough to make Rohan's shoulders sag. He rounds the corner like he hadn't just paused to see if they were at home. That they were still there.

He puts things away, gets some juice to drink, and heads out to the balcony. He'll make dinner later. The chill outside just seems... Appealing some how. Grabbing a pencil and his most recent sketchbook he heads outside.

All through his life the one thing that grounded his thoughts was drawing. At first because of the precision he hadn't attained but was working for in calluses and sore wrists. Then it had been communicating a story full of feelings he'd never quite gotten the hang of expressing to others. And now... Because of sheer volume.

Keeping months ahead of Pink Dark Boy. Practice, practice, practice- until he fears carpal tunnel would creep up his wrists and stiffen his hands. It had happened before. A few times, really, but the memory of warmth curling the pain away was reemerging. So instead he drew the buildings, the lights, the figures across the way.

Something yanks him back, away from the railing he'd unconsciously curled over to watch the streets below. Whirling around with the beginning of a snarl on his lips, Rohan couldn't help blinking dumbly at the concerned looking Stands behind him.

The Hand's head bowed almost apologetically familiar hands rubbed together worryingly. Crazy Diamond was still touching him, though hand decided to instead brush a thumb over Rohan's wrists. And then they were gone.

Grip tightening on his pen, Rohan debated on turning back around. On seeing them leaning over their own railing to catch a glimpse of if he was okay. Indecision boiled under his skin.

Josuke and Okuyasu were far from avoiding him. Why? They had left him. (He had let them.)

Looking down at his sketchbook almost made him drop it. There were figure sketches- but of the boys. No one else wore those out of date balls of pomade and hairspray anymore. And those were Okuyasu's scars, and Josuke's star. The sketches eyes watched the viewer tauntingly with hands linked...

And there was no way the boys had known. Right? Right.

He spares a glance at the craning necks and concerned eyes before grumbling and marching to his futon. He could eat something substantial in the morning. For now he needed to... Reset whatever was going wrong with his brain.

(If they had left him then, even if maybe they wanted him now... They had left. Rohan had always been Rohan. Even if they thought he hadn't been worth staying for. If he was worth something now, he'd certainly been worth staying for then.)

Rohan wakes up to the loudest alarm of his life. AKA: His Editor barging in through the door and shaking him awake. Groaning at the sudden torrent of light as his long suffering editor ripped the curtains open, Rohan attempted to bury his face in his pillow. Only to have his blanket yanked away and the cold air make him curse.

"Hurry up! The interview is in an hour, and you've got to get there in time for the makeup chair." When Rohan finally sat up in acknowledgement, a takeout cup of coffee was pressed into his hands. "Yes I know you hate straight coffee. I got you that latte thing you like, with the extra vanilla syrup and such."

Rohan was often bemused at how much energy his new editor had. Well. He called the man new, but it was more his old one had moved up in the job and no long had time to take the train to Morioh so often. This energetic fellow got better results that his predecessor and as such had become Rohan's exclusive wrangler.

The productivity hadn't really correlated to his editor, but it was better they think that rather than "Rohan got dumped and never gets over it" is a good way to get months of content out of Rohan. They didn't really need to motivate him in any case.

Rohan changed into the clothes dropped in his lap between yawns. How late had he stayed up to draw last night? He hadn't even thought to check the clock. It could have been an hour ago for all he knew...

Pushed out the door with coffee in one hand and a piece of toast in the other, Rohan barely notices Josuke and Okuyasu. Barely, but he does. His sleep bleary mind doesn't quite process the hissed whispers as they look between at his Editor and him. He's too busy putting one foot in front of the other while his editor pushes him forward.

Interviews are boring, and long, and full of questions Rohan has to deflect. To say he has no lover is to be asked what he'd look for in one, and how many he'd had before, and how long before he planned to make time for romance with his busy life. One interviewer had tried to imply he had a lover over somewhere in Europe due to the frequency of his vacations... Needless to say Rohan refused to be interviewed there again.

The day passed like dripping molasses in winter. This interviewer seems to still have some idea of what privacy is, although he doesn't mind toeing the line. Dull enough Rohan doesn't need to think too hard about the questions.

The apartment is cold when he gets back. Stomach rumbling at how long ago lunch had been. He could afford not to draw more Pink Dark Boy, but something in him won't settle until he does. He gets out his sketchpad instead of going to the kitchen.

A firm knock startled him enough to make him look up at the door. All too glad all he'd been doing was reviewing and revising plot, Rohan unfolds himself. Yanking the door open to find no one there is suspicious in it's own way... But, look down, he sees a plate of food and a note with familiar handwriting.

'You looked busy though when aren't you so we made some extra food. We remember that you get too tired busy to cook sometimes. You still like Okuyasu's yakitori right?'

Peeling back the tin foil covering the food, Rohan took a moment to stare. Almost like he hadn't quite believed they'd really left him food. It was still steaming warmth too. Looking at the corner, just to make sure they weren't watching, Rohan let out a small smile.

Things settled into a routine much like that. Rohan would wake up to one or both of the boys on the balcony. Sometimes they talked... But mostly Rohan sketched and pretended he wasn't watching them. That they weren't glancing at him. Then he'd go to whatever his editor needed him for- which he'd suddenly realized made the boys act somewhat upset- and get back home to food on his doorstep.

Little changes were all that happened. Sometimes Rohan had to let them borrow laundry detergent (which they'd almost lost because he'd chosen to throw it from his balcony to theirs instead of go to their door like a normal person) and they'd throw paper airplanes filled with little notes. When they'd be gone, or if they had a question they didn't want to forget...

It's only when he stepped out at night that things started to change drastically...

He's been alone at first. Lacking, in a way, but good enough for sketching. Then... Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Josuke slide the glass door open. Okuyasu followed him out. This time... They were openly staring at him.

"What?" It's curt but not nearly as cold as he'd first been with them. The boys look at each other (and he should really stop calling them The Boys in his head. They weren't his anymore, nor were they boys any longer. The past two weeks had proven that rather succinctly since they'd been taking care of Rohan more than Rohan had in a long while.)

"Ah..." Josuke said, lips sliding between his teeth. Okuyasu gulped in the same nervous way. "So uh, who's. Who's the guy who keeps coming over to your house?"

"My editor." Rohan looks up from his sketchbook completely to side eye them. "Why?"

"And he's just your-" Okuyasu says before cutting off when Josuke elbowed him sharply. Rohan's eyes narrow at the implication.

"Just my editor. What else could he be?" The boys released twin sighs of relief that make Rohan's eyebrow tick.

"It's not important. So uh, what're you doing here?" Okuyasu deflected quickly.

"You haven't been to Tokyo in... Years." Ever since they moved here. It was clear they knew that, and had known for a while.

"Work finally demanded an appearance." Or thirty. Being ferried to interviews and conferences and autograph events had been an exhausting venture. Never again would he let it pile up. Then again... "You two should be graduating soon enough. Unless you failed?"

"We didn't fail!" Ah, Josuke had taken the bait. Only for Okuyasu to lean into him and Josuke to shut up instantly. Rohan narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah, we'll be graduating around in two weeks." Two weeks... Rohan would be leaving in two weeks. It was interesting timing, if nothing else.

"Hmm... What was that about my editor, anyway?"

"Well, uh..." Okuyasu cleared his throat, eyes drifting upward.

"We thought maybe he was your boyfriend." Josuke said while Okuyasu made a choking noise. Rohan's eyebrows quickly got on their way to meet his hairline.

"You thought Iruka- the editor who's too peppy and pushy to be human- was my boyfriend?"

"It was a logical thought process! He picks you up every morning, and you let him push you around-"

"Because it's work, you idiot. I didn't let you two push me around-"

"Okay, stop." Okuyasu's voice is sharp enough to make the other two quickly shut their mouths. "He's not your boyfriend, and that's all that matters."

"That matters?" Why the fuck does it matter to them? They'd left him back then. The boys both opened their mouths, but Rohan cut them off. "You know what- I don't care. You're both out of my life."

"You call this out of your life?" Josuke said incredulously, hand waving at the little distance between their balconies and all the things they'd done in the past two weeks. Rohan so desperately wanted to say yes. That these little things hadn't added up at all, and he'd still held a grudge. Because it would be easy to be petty. To lie.

"I call you two leaving for college and not telling me anything 'out of my life'." He said instead, leaning against the barely-worth-it partition.

"Were we ever in it then?" Josuke's words cut straight into Rohan, and he feels his teeth grind. Of course they'd been in it. "Because you never seem to want us there! You didn't tell us much at all, and when we asked you to join us-"

"Josuke, that's not fair," Okuyasu insisted, "We knew that it would take a while for him to get comfortable with us when we asked."

"We gave him four months! He knew we would have to go to college eventually, that it was sooner than later. He could have asked us to stay!"

"And I loved you." Rohan mutters, unable to move as silent settled in at the words. Shoes thump slowly closer, and Rohan determinedly doesn't give in to the urge to look at them. "I loved you too much to keep you there, unhappy." People he loves didn't stay.

"Have you asked?"

"...Of course I did for a while. But it never helped." Parents with places to be, a ghost of a girl, the memory of a first love. "What does it matter? It's been years now."

"We would have." The words are quiet, but oh so close. Rohan shuts his eyes, and pretends they're right in front of him.o

"And what? What, you'd both have stayed in Morioh, and missed everything you'd found here." They seemed so happy here. From people he didn't know, and places he wasn't fond of. A wet laugh was sitting in his throat, choking his next words. "At least you're happy together here."

A hand slams down on the railing next to him, and Rohan nearly jumps. Nearly. The hand is Okuyasu's.

"We would've been happier with you!"

"How? What in the world could I have done but hold both of you back-"

"God, how thick can you be?" Josuke grumbled, and Rohan hissed, finally stepping into sight. Only to see Okuyasu visibly crying- quietly, unlike Rohan had even seen- and Josuke looked so upset. "Of course you were awful sometimes. You refused to talk to us when you were drawing. You forgot to eat. You bitched at us for putting feet on the furniture. Things had to be done your way. You would force me into arguments! But you would let us watch you, and eat when we fed you, and never kicked us out. And come to think of it... you let us change you anyway."

"It wouldn't have been holding us back to go to college closer to home," Okuyasu's voice was a rumbling promise. "Besides, didn't you start fights because you wanted attention?" Okuyasu asked after a terse moment.

"That's not fair," Rohan's hoarse voice managed. "I haven't started fights since I got here."

"You haven't had to." And Okuyasu was right. Every free moment he'd had that wasn't drawing or sleeping or eating- had been taken by them already. Those quiet talks on the balcony in the morning. "Our attention has been yours since we knew you were coming."

And Okuyasu was leaning over the railing, face near enough to breathe the same air. Rohan took a deep, shuddering breath. Let himself lean back in to lips chapped by the cold. Let himself remember each clumsy kiss, every hot press of lips, every word they'd mumbled into each others mouths.

Okuyasu backed off, apparently because Josuke had been nudging him away, and pressed in close enough to take Rohan's lips before he'd realized the change. Not that it was hard to figure out after fuller lips parted against his and teeth decided to grab Rohan's bottom lip instead. When they parted, Rohan breathing heavily into the cold night air, Josuke's teeth were still closed Rohan's bottom lip.

"Can you come through the front door or should Okuyasu use The Hand?"

"Jesus christ, I am not using The Hand to get him over here faster-"

They'd all been idiots. Even now, they were being a little stupid. At least this time Rohan would be happy about it.

The next morning came with Rohan feeling much better about life. Honestly he'd been this close to jumping out of bed and heading back to his apartment for his sketchbook- but the boys had iron grips and whined when he so much as tried to turn over.

It was only when they heard Iruka opening Rohan's door and going "ROHAN WHERE ARE YOU?!" That the boys let him go. Unfortunately Rohan was struck by the sudden urge to never leave the cramped bed ever again.

Then his phone started buzzing. Groaning quietly, Rohan took the phone when it was passed to him and sat up.

"Hello?"

"Kishibe Rohan where the hell are you?"

"Next door."

"Next door- With the lady who's obviously hiding a dozen or so cats?"

"No, next door with the two college boys." He couldn't keep the smugness out of his tone. Okuyasu made an odd squawking noise and Josuke literally squeaked. "I'll be... where did I need to go today?"

"If you can just get to the subway I'll get you there. No more than half an hour from now or you'll be late." There was an edge to that tone. Rohan rolled his eyes. He was too blissed out to care.

"I understand... Now get out of my apartment. The manuscript is on the kitchen counter."

"Manuscript? Rohan, you're already months ahead of schedule-"

"You want coffee stained pages?"

"Fine. Now hurry up!"

In the end, Iruka made half of a plan to use Rohan's new beaus to have him visit Tokyo more often. Unfortunately it became obvious they were graduating soon and moving to Rohan's home town once they were done. Iruka sighed, but managed to convince Rohan to come back at least once every six months.

[pearsfears]

🎉 🎉 it’s @ficswithpricks‘ birthday 🎉 🎉

[ficswithpricks]

<3 <3 <3

Sc ream s again, it’s so beautiful,,

[ficswithpricks]

Happy happy birthday, to you!

Ohhh thank you so much <3 <3 <3

[ficswithpricks]

Hey guys!! Not a fic yet, but I’m 100% sure I’ll be posting one by tomorrow which is my birthday~ (I like dropping hints its gonna be my birthday)

Yeah, Just a notice that a fic will be up and that I’m sorry for the longer than usual wait. I wasn’t able to finish any fic I’d started primarily because I was sleeping in short burst on the couch which wasn’t conducive to writing. Also because I’m an easily distracted mess~ But that’s where I get ideas lol.

[ficswithpricks]

Through the Mangaka’s Eyes

An artist can make still moments beautiful in ways a camera can never touch. Because of their style? Because of their interest? Because of their love?

Rohan watches Josuke and Okuyasu fall in love and records the parts that make his chest feel too tight, his pupils grow wide with interest, grasps his pencil because what he wants to touch isn't allowed. Not now. Not yet?

(Ao3)

[I wrote this last night before going to bed at 3 and it’s 3k words. Uhhh. It’s not even long enough really??]

Rohan watches Josuke and Okuyasu fall in love and records the parts that make his chest feel too tight, his pupils grow wide with interest, grasps his pencil because what he wants to touch isn't allowed. They think he's a safe space. They rely on him and he wonders when he'd let them think that.

Tries not to think back to rolling his eyes when they were still stumbling around and he'd idly remark about how clumsy they were at dancing around the relationship that wasn't quite formed. In a way he drew a line he would not cross. Made his reclusive ways inviting to a taboo he'd never been made to think of as such.

Rohan pays attention to get those little lines to indicate shaking, the sweat, the way Okuyasu is staring, how Josuke tried to Look Cool but looks like he's in the middle of panicking the first time they kiss in front of him. Maybe it was their first kiss. Rohan doesn't know. He pretends it is, just because of how much it looked like one.

He uses these moments for the romance his audience has been demanding and wonders if he should feel shame for tracing what should have been a private moment and using it in his manga. The shame isn't there. Not yet at the very least.

There's too much to remember so he knows he'll forget these moments. Forget the angle of Okuyasu's hand and and the curve of Josuke's grin. He counts their kisses in front of him in graphite's dips and curves. He slides it between headboard and mattress before he goes to bed at night and only drags in out when the boys deign to visit. Sometimes he draws kisses he hasn't seen, the ones grabbed quickly in empty halls, and arm slung around shoulders to pull the other in.

They never ask about why he has no less than three sketchbooks out when they visit. One has cramped writing that's only half legible, one has character designs and cityscapes and textures, and the final one has their faces smiling. Never quite at Rohan. Like he's not there.

It's an artists dream to watch people interact like they're not there watching. These two however wring his stomach out like a dish towel with every forgotten glance. Rohan doesn't know how to stop them.

(Is he supposed to try and join in?)

He folds himself against the front of the couch when they turn on movies. Props his knees like a barrier and settles his pile of sketchpads against it. Lets his eyes close as the stories only just begin and breathes. Then, when he's absolutely certain the boys are enthralled by the movie, he'll look over his shoulder. Today Josuke's head in on top of Okuyasu's and their bodies are pressed so tight they can't move their arms.

Okuyasu whispers a question a little too loud and Josuke groans at him. Okuyasu grins before turning his head and pressing a kiss to Josuke's jaw. It should be awkward. It is- but it's fascinating too. The way Josuke grumbles at him but reciprocates as well as he can with a quick brush of lips against the top of Okuyasu's head.

Rohan looks away to ghost a pencil over paper for the outline of their kisses. It's amazing how easily the lean in to each other more and more with every kiss. The flowers turning towards the sun and opening at sunlight's touch. Sappy, terrible thoughts.

Okuyasu's leg nudges against his side and it takes all of Rohan's stubborn pride to not pull his sketchbook close and hide it. Because they aren't looking. They never look at his work unless he shoves it in front of them. Looking up with what he hopes is a disgruntled glare, he meets Okuyasu's sheepish gaze and a hand movement that is vaguely apologetic. They drag him up between them and he wonders why.

"That's bad on your back." Josuke says casually like it explains everything. Rohan wrinkles his nose and tries to scoot forwards only for arms to link in front of him and gently shove him back until he's squished between the two boys again.

It's too hot for this, he thinks uncharitably as he feels nervous sweat on the palms of his hands. They shouldn't be doing this because they're dating each other. It's doing terrible things to his heart rate just sitting between them. Even if between them feels comfortable in the way only friendly human bodies can, warm muscle pleasant and pliant.

One of the boys shifts an arm behind him on the couch. Fingers press against the back of his neck. Another arm goes up and attempts to bury itself in Rohan's short hair. He should snap at them, shouldn't he?

He lets it go.

(Rohan doesn't like letting things go. But it's not letting go when it's not even yours, is it?)

They lounge around his bedroom like it's theirs. Josuke leans over the edge of the bed to kiss Okuyasu when he's in the middle of looking at something. Rohan vaguely recognizes it as one of the many complimentary issues of Shounen Jump he'd been sent. All of them have Pink Dark Boy in their pages. He doesn't know why he thinks about that so hard.

Josuke's mom is out of town for a wedding and Okuyasu has followed him all the way here. The sky is a bruised sort of purple, the kind of color before a very stubborn sun finally sets. The way the light slips down Josuke to Okuyasu makes Rohan wonder where he put his damn copic markers.

Sometimes he looks up to see them an inch away from being nose to nose and just staring with flushed faces. Mentally he curses them because no one should have the right to look so Shoujo outside of Sailor Moon. They look best like that when the sunset is orange and turning red fast.

The sun is often high in the sky when they refuse to stop holding hands. They don't look at each other. They sometimes look at him curiously. But their hands stay linked. Something in him relaxes when he realizes they aren't ignoring him.

The first time they ask to sleep over Rohan snorts.

"There's only one bed." He fails to mention that the couch folds out to a half decent bed. Maybe good enough to hold both their weight as they slept. Though certainly a bit too noisy for their tastes.

It's not actually a no. Still, Rohan glares at them when it's 10 PM and they haven't done anything before strip off their jackets. It's the principle of the thing.

When they crawl into bed he draws a line somewhere between a third of the bed and a little more and says it's his. If they roll over into it, he's not responsible for his actions. They roll their eyes and agree because-

Rohan doesn't know. Confusion haunts his every move with them because they keep trying to draw him in like they think he belongs there. He wants to believe but he knows better than that.

With all the lights off and his breathing slowing down, Rohan decides that this might be his only chance. So he lets out a quiet noise and rolls over until his nose is pressed against Okuyasu's back. He knows it's Okuyasu's because he fell asleep in the middle. He feels the deep, slow breaths, and falls asleep.

(A one time indulgence quickly becomes a second.)

The next morning he wakes up on his side of the bed with Josuke gently shaking his awake. Rohan has to squint for a moment to realize the yawning hairball is actually bedhead on Josuke. The only thing he can see is Josuke's lips yawning and then smiling at him.

"Bathroom's free." And then Josuke wanders off. Rohan stares after him, wondering Josuke is going to bother fixing his pompadour today or not.

Okuyasu passes him on his way to the bathroom and carefully bumps into him. If Rohan were more awake he'd be able to tell how intentional it was, but for now, he just keeps trudging forward. Eugh, he needs to wash his face.

He walks out of the bathroom still only half awake with a simple breakfast of rice and egg and streaming hot tea. He notices he's sitting between the boys again. Easing down into his chair, he cups the mug of tea with both palms and lets the warmth seep into his skin. His nose hovers in the steam and soaks it up.

He listens to the boys chatter as he wakes up and wonders if they would let him get used to this. Over the next few weeks he finds that they will and so much more. They draw in closer to him, start asking things about him that he hasn't heard since eleventh grade and his last friend wanted to know more about him before he left. About him and his art.

It's too nice. It's too nice to wake up with either of the boys smiling at him dozily and telling him he can use the bathroom. It's too nice to have them steer him towards the couch and sit around him like bookends. It's too nice when they lean over and ask about him work, chin on top of his head, the other chin on his shoulder and a hand reaching out and brushing against his hand before pointing at anything. It's too nice to have them talk to him until he falls asleep, only to wake up in his bed and have them wake him again.

It's too nice. He can't- he won't let them go. Even if he's selfish and deluded, he wants to pretend it means something.

(Even if it only means something to him.)

He doesn't realize how close until he wakes up one day at what must be 5 AM squished between the two boys. How had they gone from opposite ends of the bed to Rohan pressed carefully between the two? Not to mention theirs limbs.

There's hands and arms and legs everywhere. A hand on Rohan's chest, a different hand on his ass, a leg sliding between his legs painfully close to his crotch, an arm wedged under his head... And he's pretty sure there are two problems poking at him. Not to mention his own unconscious reaction to the soft touches. Rohan wonders what the chances of sneaking out unnoticed are.

"Man, are you absolutely sure he hasn't noticed?" Okuyasu's voice is a quiet whine. Well, there go any chances of leaving without being noticed.

"I honestly don't think so." Josuke's voice sounds groggy from sleep. "He doesn't blush or flinch away or- well, do anything really. He just kind of accepts whatever we do to him."

"How can he be so dense?" Rohan felt his eyebrow twitch at that. If they were talking about him... "Like three days ago we made out with him squished in between us and he just kept drawing."

"Okay, but he looked kinda cute while he was focusing on whatever he was drawing."

"Damn... You're right, but damn." The hand on his ass gives a gentle squeeze and it's all Rohan can do to hold back the knee to the groin for that one. God dammit, that was his ass, not Josuke's!

"Hmmm." The leg between Rohan's thighs works its way upwards to brush against his morning arousal. A soft noise slips past his lips. The leg freezes and Rohan holds back a whine for more. Swallowing, he tried to even his breaths. The leg cautiously worked itself back up and Rohan let the noise escape again. "Oku, did he just-?"

"He totally did," Okuyasu swore breathlessly, and the hand on his ass grabbed another handful. "That was a really good noise. Do you think he makes that noise when he's awake?"

"With the right touch, probably." The hand on his chest sneaks under his shirt. The cool air on his stomach makes him shiver. He feels Josuke's heat grind against him for a moment before backing off. Then Okuyasu pushes his hips forward right into Rohan's arousal. He only dares to let his breath hitch slightly.

When Josuke's hips ease forward again Rohan starts to realize what's going on. They're grinding against each other, but with him in the middle. It's the laziest grinding session he's ever been part of. He wills his legs not to tremble or stutter forwards or backwards. The thought that maybe they've done this before flickers across is mind. It's a sucrose torture session that's probably just beginning.

When Okuyasu gives a particularly hard thrust against his groin in when Rohan gives up all pretenses and lets out a deep moan and finds his hips jumping forward. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, the first thing he noticed is the panicked look Okuyasu is sporting.

"Okuyasu?" Josuke sounds lazily content now, grinding smoothly against Rohan's ass.

"I think he's awake!" Okuyasu hisses and it's enough to make Josuke stop in his tracks. Rohan blinks quietly for a few moments, just to let the boys stew in guilt and anticipation for a bit longer.

"Are you sure?" Josuke finally asks, and Rohan can feel his hips move a little closer.

"Oh I'm awake Josuke." All movement ceases again. Rohan takes a deep breath. "Did it occur to either of you that you should ask me directly?"

"About what?"

"About whatever it is you're trying to communicate while grinding against me while I'm supposedly asleep and sandwiched between the two of you?" Rohan's eyebrow really is twitching now. He can feel the boys shift backwards. "Oh fuck this. Just say what you two want or I'll just leave."

"We want to date you!" Okuyasu blurts out frantically. He's pushing himself up and guiding Rohan's body to sit against the headboard. Josuke pushes himself up too, eyes suddenly unable to look at him.

"Date me." Rohan's eyes slide between the two of them. "You both want to date me?"

"We talked about it for a while before we started anything." Josuke says here. His eyes drift up to meet Rohan's. "We're sure about this."

It's... It's a surprise. The kind that leaves Rohan quiet for a big, until it really hits him. Later on he'll pretend this didn't happen but truth be told he started crying. Okuyasu and Josuke reel back at his first hitched breath, only to scoot close when a tear falls. And another. And two more. And they just keep coming.

The boys surge forward, hands awkwardly patting his back and hasty reassuring phrases unheard over Rohan's own relieved tears. He's thought they'd decided two was enough like so much of the world. He was stupid to think he knew what they were thinking.

"You know it's not a joke, right?" Rohan nods once at this, a hand coming up to scrub the tears that were still coming away. "Because we really do like you."

"It's ride or die, okay." And Rohan can't help but laugh when Josuke saying that, because hell, the sexual implications in that. The laughs come in very short bursts as he tries to catch his breath between the shaky crying and the spasms of laughter.

He punches Josuke in the shoulder anyway. It's a weak punch, even for him, but it's something.

"Y'know it's just-" Rohan hiccups with laughter here, tears slowing down. "-That I've been thinking I didn't have a chance for-" Another burst of laughter and some sharp breaths. "-for the longest time and you just. Wake me up with your dicks pressed against me and say it like it's nothing?"

"How could you think we didn't want you? We've been including you for three solid months!"

"Maybe this is what 'love is blind' means."

"Uh, not quite."

The banter is enough to calm Rohan down completely and he reaches a dry hand between the headboard and the mattress to pull out his sketchbook. It's edges are a little battered with how much he's been carrying it around and hiding it, but it's still in good condition.

"Here." He lays it down before them. "This is what I've been seeing for the past six or so months."

The boys look between him and the sketchpad warily. They've seen it before of course but they never bothered to look while he drew in this particularly sketchpad. Josuke opens it slowly and they all look down at a page littered with sketches of the boys kissing. The first page was the beginning- full of hesitant kisses and shaky determination.

"We look... Pretty?" Okuyasu hesitates over the word. Not because they aren't but rather because it looks so different from Pink Dark Boy. The lines are thinner and the shadows are lighter. There's more detail in the lips and the eyes look real. And they do look pretty- as pretty as Rohan has always seen them.

"Did I look that dumb?" Josuke says, pointing to the picture that Rohan had quietly labeled their first kiss. "All shaky and nervous like that?"

"Yeah, but it was worse from the front." Okuyasu said, narrowly dodging Josuke's punch to his arm. "What?!"

"I was trying, jackass!" But Josuke turns the page instead of trying to hit Okuyasu again. They look at the pages like they're made of gold. It makes something warm settle in Rohan's stomach now that they're finally see this.

"Why aren't you here?" Okuyasu finally says after a while. They're a dozen pages in. Josuke furrows his brows at that.

"Yeah, I know you were with us for at least half the couch pictures." Not kissing them of course, but he was still close. "Why aren't you here?"

"Why do you think?" Rohan says with a snippy tone.

"...We should buy more mirrors." Rohan dragged his eyes heavenward and asked if whoever the fuck was up there was seeing this shit.

"You really should start putting yourself in too, now that we're dating." Okuyasu's voice is almost gravely earnest. That's the only reason Rohan looks at him consideringly.

"I suppose you might be right."

[ficswithpricks]

Gelato Sweat

The summer heat reaches through every crevice of Venice, and you can either lie on the floor and hope it leaves or go get some gelato to sweat out with those you love.

(Read on Ao3)

@pearsfears PEARS. PEARS YOUR BIRTHDAY COMES LATER FOR ME SO I HAD TO WRITE THIS WHILE YOU WERE ASLEEP THE DAY BEFORE SO IT’D BE THERE WHEN YOU WOKE UP. I'm kidding. Mostly- I’M SORRY IT’S A A LITTLE LATE

HEY PEOPLE GO WISH HER HAPPY BIRTHDAY EVEN IF YOU DON’T READ THE FIC SHE'S SO AMAZING SHE DESERVES ALL THE GIFTS

This fic is more Mista->Gio than Gio->Mista by the way! I was gonna write smut but it. Didn't. Happen. Another time? Heck yeah because this is so short what the fuC

Giorno found himself roaming Italy for the sake of his gang. For the sake of his still living dream. Venice was a rather common excursion and the blur of tourist faces and masks and swishing river water was becoming familiar as Naples.

Mista followed his boss as he had long before that title had belonged to Giorno. Life now was comparatively tame when he thought of the beginning. Stands were never quite as common in Italy as they had been then. The years had drawn on, Giorno growing taller and somehow even more confident.

He looked beautiful. Always had, if Guido was ready to admit such things, but it was different being around all the time and finding how unfailing it was. Giorno never quite gave up on the convoluted hairstyle of his youth but Mista had seen it a variety of different ways. A boss did what a boss had to, no matter their state of dress or hair. As rare as any state of disarray tended to be.

Which was why Giorno's recent streak of exhaustion was worrying. It was so easy to see Giorno as something ethereal and eternal as Springtime. It was part of why he did so well in his job. So when he started to run down it was... Startling.

The young members of Passione would edge around those days and the old would fidget in their own ways when they saw their Don. They were good at keeping their whispers quiet but Sex Pistols had done their fair share of sneaking over the years. Mista? Mista took one look at Giorno pressing his cheek against the cool wood of his desk and knew what to do.

"Get up, Don." Giorno made a small, dangerous noise in his throat. "Don't give me that Giorno." When Mista actually walked behind the desk and gently shook him Giorno finally eased a single eyelid open. The blue inside was like ice. "What? You keep insisting can't eat at your desk." Giorno's small noise turned petulant. It was too hot to get up and eat just yet. He wouldn't make such a stupid rule when- "Yeah you did. So come with me if you want gelato."

"Chocolate?" Was out of Giorno's mouth before Mista could try and shake him again. Mista stared at him like he was crazy and an implied 'of course' drifting through the humid summer heat between them. Slowly Giorno straightened up in his chair.

"There's air conditioning there too." Those are the magic words that make Giorno snap wide awake. Rising from the desk, he attempts to smooth his fussing locks.

Don's do not have favorites. What they did have was the right to a Right Hand Man. Which was a fancy way of saying the most trusted person there ever would be in the gang. Someone to help them make decisions. To help them keep it together.

They also took lovers, but that was always a secret. An open one, to be sure, but a secret anyway.

It was still something that drew the eyes of the underlings when Giorno fell in beside Mista and watched him talk as they headed outside. His hair was unbound again, a brush sliding down golden waves that brightened as they passed the open windows. Where Mista got the soft bristled hairbrush to offer Giorno was a mystery most likely called Sex Pistols. A familiar hair tie was sticking out the band of his hand, as well as three large bobby pins.

It's a different sort of religion in their wake. More Grecian in the way their gods were so much like humanity. Mista had lore built around a reputation of near death and belief in the curious eyes of underlings. Maybe he'd never realize that they saw him as they saw Giorno. As he had seen Giorno, before the days when he held on to Giorno's hairpins.

As they step out into the humid crowds Giorno reaches for the last bobby pin in his hair. After all this time he still doesn't understand how Giorno does his hair without looking in a mirror. Seeing him slide the last pin in is like seeing the last bit of marble chip fall away from David. The sweat beading on his neck like water washing off the dust. His hand still seeks Mista's when he's done with his hair.

"Watch out!" A young boy hoots when he darts between them, forcing them to raise their hands or be bowled over. A taller girl darts after him, breath full of hissed reprisals and a brief apology and she ducked under their lowering arms. Guido rolls his eyes and tugs Giorno until their arms are pressed together.

It should be too hot to bother, but the crowd demands it. And... Well, when Giorno squeezes his hand tight for a moment, he's got more than enough reason to keep him close.

The storefront is crowded but thank god it isn't because of the line. A little bell announces their arrival too quiet to be heard over the cacophony of voices inside. Combined with the pleasant chill of air rushing out to meet them Mista is tempted to just stand there in the doorway and scan the crowd for danger. Giorno has other ideas.

Feet moving as Giorno tugs him forward he doesn't know how Giorno got his wallet but there it is in his left hand. (It's technically both their money in Guido's credit card, but still.) Giorno smiles at the harried looking woman behind the counter and Guido doesn't catch what they say to each other over the noise. He side eyes the sneering woman an arms length from them.

Whatever it is brightens the woman's demeanor significantly as she walks them over to the display case, scraping an oversized portion of a chocolate-brownie-chocolate syrup looking monstrosity into a cone and stuffing a plastic spoon in. She hands it to Giorno and gets to dumping a portion of Stracciatella in a different cone and Mista takes it unthinkingly when she offers.

Of course Giorno ordered something with chocolate in it for him. Probably had three plans on how to steal it already...

Migrating over to a free corner, they both lean back and bask in the cool air. It's still crowded in the store but at least it's cool. Why didn't their temporary headquarters have air conditioning? Looking up from his ice cream, Mista chokes.

Mista is firm in his belief that if anyone else had see Giorno still his tongue into his gelato and suck out a mouthful they would've flat out dropped their spoon and stared with their mouth wide open. As it is, Mista manages to narrowly dodge that terrible fate. Truly his self control in underappreciated. Though the look Giorno gives him is a little too smug.

At least he's starting to feel like himself again. Even if 'himself' is normally a demanding little shit. Mista still kicks him softly under the table just because he can. Giorno entwines their ankles and grins into his food.

"Footsie?"

"GioGio, I swear to god-" A soft, bare foot sneaks under the cuff of Mista's pants. It's probably better not to wonder what Giorno had turned his sock into to get rid of it. A long time ago he would have blushed all the way down his neck and still let it happen. Now?

Mista manages to down all his Gelato in record time. Dons just had to have their way, but this at least Mista knows how to redirect when it's necessary. Giorno almost pouts at him when he stands up suddenly, leaving Giorno's foot to fall to the floor.

"Wait until we get home."

"Home doesn't have air conditioning." Giorno easily points out. When he stands, his shoes are back on. Probably both his socks too, but you never knew. He's still got half his gelato left. He dodges Mista's hand when he reaches for it.

"Home also doesn't have a crowd of people to deceive." Mista hated having to be quiet. Or, really, to have Giorno have to be quiet.

"Hmm." Giorno deigns to agree vaguely, taking Mista's hand again while working on his treat again. Oh, the walk home is going to be a familiar torture.

Pears, there are many wonderful things to say about you. The way you go about sharing your cats life, the cute giggles you have, the way you see the world... I am so happy you found me first, because if you hadn't I don't know where I'd be. You've drawn so much for yourself and for others, and it's hard to get a request out of you most of the time, but I'm glad I did. I, and so many others, are so happy you were born. Viel Glück zum Geburtstag! (Google might be embarrassing me rn but I don’t care)

[ficswithpricks]

tell me why that was

[ Dry summer heat with all the windows open as blatant invitations for passing breezes. An all-nighter that was so easy to pull off until daytime came. Attempts at forgiving a enemy that saved you. Forgoing pride. ]

An early summer morning with Josuke and Rohan.

A/N:THIS SHORTASS MIDNIGHT FIC (Which I’m posting closer to noon here) IS INSPIRED BY PEAR'S LOVELY ART --> https://twitter.com/pearsfears/status/752648604687409152/photo/1

If you don’t know about Pears, I HIGHLY recommend you go look at her art. It’s so beautiful...

(Read on Ao3)

Dry summer heat with all the windows open as blatant invitations for passing breezes. The sun sets so slowly as the sky blushes pink over yellow and bruises purple over summer storms that refuse to rain gray. Rohan barely registers any of the colors change over white and black pages that won't be due for weeks.

There's a popsicle propped in a mug close to the window. It's half melted, a quarter eaten. There's an oozing trail of blue over the side which the popsicle leans against. Between pages Rohan scrapes at the ice with his front teeth and slurps the goo with his lips. It takes like summers that passed by with his Grandma.

She insisted on the blue popsicles you know. Always telling Rohan that it was simple fun to have a tongue dyed poisonous blue. A reminder of color or life that was his to make real. Sticking his tongue slightly out to the side he looked at the vibrant blue. The sun is just starting to rise again.

Swallowing the last chunk with easy grace, Rohan put the stick in the mug and made sure he'd sealed his ink. And then... He fell asleep, jaw leaning against his palm.

Not that he'd meant to, of course, but there's only so long sleep will wait. An all-nighter that was so easy to pull off until daytime came.

Luckily for Rohan- oh, sorry, he might not appreciate that wording. In any case, Josuke was on his way over. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of the mangaka in days since he'd holed up in his house due to a sudden bout of inspiration whacking him so hard his brain would take a week to recover. Which it had nearly been. Thus, Josuke was heading over to make sure he was okay.

Well. That and to fulfill some missing alone time. There's only so long he could go without being in Rohan's presence. The halls of his house were almost as familiar as Josuke's own now. Bathroom was two doors to the left on the first floor, first right on the second. Kitchen hidden behind the dining room which was the first right on the first floor... Yadda yadda.

The important thing was that Josuke knew where Rohan's study and bedroom were. Because if Rohan wasn't sleeping in his room at this point he was probably holed up in his study whether he was somehow still working or crashed on the couch to beckon rest.

There had been so much to get through before this point. A house built of sand at firm, washing away with every angry tide. It kept coming back. Attempts at forgiving a enemy that saved you. Forgoing pride. Pride that had kept them stagnant in confusion and hate.

They didn't want to know.

That had given way after so much time to... Well. Understanding. Wanting to know what kept Josuke so popular, when had Rohan so good at his artform. Could Rohan stand spicy food? Did Josuke really hate turtles for a reason? Silly little questions that annoyed answers out of one another. Sand started to become concrete in each new question.

So here Josuke was now. Spare key in hand and toeing off his shoes as he leaned to look into the open doorways. Just in case.

Feet bare, he makes no noise on the floor. There were many upsides to Rohan's house, including the soft carpet that floored most rooms. It was soft under his bare feet. Ascending the stairs to the studio.

Josuke eases the door to the bedroom open and sees stiff sheets. Rohan obviously hasn't been sleeping here for a long while. Not unusual. Keeping it wide open he plods over to Rohan's workspace.

The door is half open. Enough to see Rohan slumped against a hand with steady breaths of sleep. Josuke rolls his eyes while he knows Rohan can't see him before walking over.

Rohan's eyes are shut limply and the bag under his eyes are almost as big as his eyes. Sliding a hand under Rohan's shoulderblades, Josuke looks curiously on as Rohan grumbles at him and sways. His head straightens up from his hand and he bats Josuke's hand away.

"Oi, c'mon. You need to get to bed."

"Nhh. Don't think so." Josuke stifled a laugh as Rohan groped around his desk, pushing ink bottles back into place with clumsy hands.

This was something that only happened when Rohan was really tired. The sleepwalking and talking, anyway. Josuke watched on as Rohan got to his feet and turned around. Instead of heading for the door like Josuke had thought- hoped, really- Rohan turned again to Josuke and slumped against his chest.

"Solid." Rohan mumbled into Josuke's neck before dragging him down with sheer dead weight. Josuke struggled not to fall onto Rohan as they suddenly dropped, barely managing to settle his legs under both of them and lean back enough so Rohan wasn't flat on the floor.

"How are you so stubborn even where you're asleep?" Josuke groans as Rohan shifts in his lap. His side is pressed to Josuke's check now, both hands gripping at the fabric of his uniform. His nose is wedged in the warmth of Josuke's collar bone.

There's mild discomfort where some of Rohan's points meet Josuke's flesh. Nothing so bad that Josuke is gonna kick him off though. He studies the way Rohan's got half his face hidden behind the hand clutching above his heart. He's curled almost in the fetal position around Josuke's front.

His breath is warm. It should be uncomfortable in the summer heat. But... It's Rohan. And his freezing fingers more than make up for it. What was it about clutching pens all day that made Rohan lose all warmth from his fingers?

So maybe Josuke elects to stay like this for a lot longer than he might have if it were anyone else. He's allowed after a week of absence from Rohan. Right? Right.

When Rohan was awake, he was a bit of a coward when it came to affection. Josuke initiated most things- hugs, hand holding, kisses, etc. Maybe it was because Rohan was a coward about all affection. Maybe it was because Josuke was younger and Rohan felt being in control would be wrong somehow.

When Rohan was this exhausted however... It was really nice to have this given freely. Counting Rohan's slows breaths as their lungs worked to match each other. Knowing that this sort of moment was theirs, but more so his. Rohan probably wouldn't remember this when he woke up. Josuke didn't mind reminding him.

The clock ticked each moment away, twenty minutes passing before Josuke's joints had started to protest against the awkward position. Groaning in defeat, Josuke slid and arm under Rohan's curled knees and the other behind Rohan's torso. He was so glad he'd left the bedroom door open.

Laying Rohan on top of the crisp sheets, Josuke debated fetching a blanket. Turning away however caused a hand to sneak onto his jacket and grip loosely. Turning back at the thought of Rohan being awake was enough to see Rohan's sleep soft face. Ah. Well, it was hot anyway. Josuke crawled over Rohan's curled body and settled into the sheets.

He links their hands together and pulls Rohan close with his free arm. Their foreheads touch. Josuke closes his eyes and settles into the contentment between awake and asleep.

Rohan startles awake hours later, eyes snapping open for no reason he can figure out. Staring at the eyelids that were too close for a blank second, Rohan started to realize it was just Josuke. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief out is nose, Rohan pressed close again and let sleep begin reclaiming him. There was no hurt in resting a little longer if Josuke was tired.

They would wake between lunch and dinner, stomachs yowling at them in fury. They'd eat terrible snack food together, the kind Rohan claimed were only purchased because Josuke had been eating all his damn pickles since there was nothing else quick to munch on. It would be a little uncomfortably warm where they sat pressed together. They wouldn't mind it.

[ficswithpricks]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I’m not posting this here lol

A shitfic of grand shitfic proportions. I got kudos so now I’m gonna have to sue

[ficswithpricks]

Blowfish

Love isn't always grand demonstrations and giving your lives. Those things would never come to be without the smallest, quietest moments together.

"Love is being able to sit together and just shut the fuck up sometimes. Really."

(Read on Ao3)

Josefumi's mother- Kiyomi was terrified of the sea. She thought he would be too, after nearly drowning in the tides. After her own fear almost cost him his life.

Holly meant a lot- she made sure he stayed alive. She wanted him alive. If that meant him avoiding the sea she'd let it be.

Kira... He was a teenager then, and he thought the Ocean was the place to be. As much as Holly had wanted to save Josefumi, Kira had been the one who had actually done it. He had a Stand that looked exactly like what a villain would have. Even had the whole furless cat vibe going on, with explosions! He was... He was a lot of things Josefumi didn't think he was supposed to be.

Josefumi wasn't supposed to be alive, either. Maybe they could stick together in their defiance.

Doing that though meant coming back to the sea because Kira would never stop even when Holly asked him to, just until Josefumi got bored and stopped following him everywhere. He blatantly refused. (That never happened anyway, so perhaps Kira had made the right call.)

Sitting in the middle of the docks, newly minted five year old Josefumi watched as Kira's fingers tugged at the rope attaching a boat to the dock. Not ignoring the blue waves exactly. Not as terrified as his mind wanted to be. Because Kira was here. Kira was proclaimed a Man of the Sea, regardless of how often Holly kept him on land, or how young he was. He would never let Josefumi die out here.

So strong was young Josefumi's faith in this that when Kira stepped on the boat so did he. Kira looked down on him, ten years between them, and saw the boy for what he would be. Important. Strong. Willing to follow him anywhere and everywhere for any reason.

That's a lot of power to have over a person.

Kira shrugged it off, ruffling Josefumi's seaweed thick hair and giving a tiny smile. Josefumi groaned, tiny hands futile effort to pry Kira's hands away too adorable for words. Was this part of the reason he put his hair in a pomp? Yeah probably. Kira hated having hairspray on his hands.

When Kiyomi found her son leaning over the railing of the boat, watching with wide eyes as Kira pointed out the sealife beneath, she was torn between horror and relief. Her son wasn't afraid. That... That had to be good. But how?

Soft & Wet didn't take long to show itself to Kira. Josefumi had been born with the Stand, and it was tiny at this age. Bubbles came out the side of it's head when Josefumi laughed. Which- well, Kira had managed with his stupid little song called "I like large fries, but not fried chicken" because apparently fish and beef were far better, or something.

Not the weirdest way to be introduced to a Stand, but certainly very surprising.

Kira had KQ out in a flash, eyes scanning the surroundings for a threat. Josefumi was still laughing. They were in the middle of the ocean, no other boats in sight. Hesitantly Kira turned back to the quieting boy, watching how Josefumi turned to the Stand and blinked in surprise.

"What're you doing out?" With that, Kira groaned in relief and disbelief. Of all the things he'd overlooked the obvious! Josefumi looked back at Kira and gasped in realization. "Oh! This is my friend Soft & Wet."

"...Do you know what that m- Nevermind." Killer Queen knelt down, head tilting to the side as it's pupils expanded. "This is Killer Queen. My... friend."

"I've seen 'em! They make things explode. Soft & Wet just makes bubbles." As if to demonstrate this Soft & Wet blew little bubble out of it's mouth while it patted Killer Queen on the head. "Where's your turtle?"

"Sheer Heart Attack is not a turtle." At least Kira didn't think it was.

"Really? It looks like a turtle." Josefumi was clearly skeptical. "It's got the shell and everything."

"So do tortoises." Kira pointed out.

"So... It's a tortoise?" Josefumi said slowly.

"No."

"Then it's a turtle!"

"No!"

"Then it's a tortoise-!" Josefumi was clearly getting a little frustrated and stuck on a never ending loop of turtle and tortoise.

"No! No, it's part of my Stand. Killer Queen."

"Killer Queen is a turtle? But KQ looks like a cat!"

"You know what? They're both my Stand. My friends. Okay?"

"Oh. Why didn't you say so?" Kira wanted to slap his forehead but with his luck Josefumi would repeat the action. It is partially this part of their life that made both of them learn how to outsmart other people to get what they wanted. Manipulation in a kind form for now.

And they were happy, in the unknowing way.

Years pass and they end up living together. Just for a while. Just so Josefumi could move out of his mother's house. Just so Kira didn't live alone even as independent as he wanted to be. Why Josefumi never struck him as confining was anyone's guess.

Josefumi had a crush he'd never quite made a secret but never said. Ten years between them... Well, when he realized, that was too wide a bridge to cross. Twelve and knowing Kira was lovely, especially if you were into sailor uniforms. Which Josefumi had been fond of for a very long time but only because they were so much of who Kira was.

How had Kira missed it? Because love isn't always loud. Because he was expecting Josefumi to have a crush on Holly, not him. Holly was kind and warm and important. Kira... When Josefumi started stretching to his full height, Kira was hesitant to look at him. See how- attractive. Attractive? No, no he shouldn't think that. Josefumi wasn't going to be his.

He'd forgotten how much Josefumi had been his for ten years before that. The power he held. Or had he? Was he above using that to get what he'd started to want?

Josefumi was 19 now. Trying to focus on trigonometry and Kira leaned into his side. His face wanted to burst into bright red but that had happened so many odd times that he was almost beyond that. Every time this happened, he swallowed around the lumped words of 'I love you' and debated about pushing them out. It would be messy. It would change things. It might make him have to find somewhere else to live. It might-

Kira was pretending to debate over nail polish as he watched Josefumi out of the side of his eye. Growing pink around the ears and his mouth a shaking upwards curl. He was going to get that confession today, he was sure. Leaning a bit heavier into Josefumi's side he started his plot.

(They both were worried, they both were a little scared. They both wanted a kiss more than anything right now.)

Josefumi grunted when the weight pressed into him, blinking at the nail polish bottles shoved in front of his eyes. A bright red and a vivid green. Taking the bottles with a roll over his eyes, he handed back the green one. Always making Josefumi choose his nail polish. If it hadn't been happening so long he might have wondered why.

Except he didn't expect Kira to grab his hand and start painting his nails. Straightening up immediately, Josefumi turned his head to try and meet Kira's gaze. Except Kira was too busy painting his nails to look up.

Kira's hands were soft. Not that Josefumi didn't know that. You can't hang out with someone most of your life and just not know what their hands felt like. But this- Was this hand holding? Kira was spreading his fingers apart by interlocking his own.

He swallows objection and lets it happen. Eyes locked on Kira's hands, trying to contain a shudder when Kira scrapes some extra polish gently away with a thumbnail. Tries not to think about how Kira raises his hand to blow against his drying nails to hurry things up.

Don't overthink it. So what if Kira has some sort of fascination with pretty hands? He's never said anything about Josefumi's hands before. Nor is he saying it now. He's just... Painting his nails and holding his hand. Oh god.

Kira glances up at him with eyes soften than Josefumi was ever seen. Kira has always been hard to crack, too good to know people. But he's looking at Josefumi with so much transparent it's like he's a whole different person- or Josefumi is just that special. It's just too much to resist.

"I'm sure I love you." Because I love you might bring questions of how sure he was. There we ten years between them. He'd grown up at Kira's side. He'd lived with him for two years now. They'd stolen a fruit that could cure Holly.

Kira's got that knowing smirk on. The one that mean's he's been five steps ahead and you've only just caught up. He kisses Josefumi's knuckles feather light in lieu of an answer, bright blue lipstick against Josefumi's dark tan.

"Love you too."

[ficswithpricks]

Stand in the Place Where You Live (2)

"Okay but listen: Rohan smiling halfway across the world as Josuke and Okuyasu try to talk to him at the same time through the phone" "honestly: Josuke and Okuyasu half-wrestling each other for the phone and arguing about who loves Rohan more sgahgjshdkjg"

WRITES THIS IN AN HOUR, SPELLCHECKS NOTHING

(Read on Ao3)

Rohan is a globe trotter with a home he returns to between trips to write his manga. There's no way to change this part of him, even if trying to wouldn't hurt him. He needs to see the rest of the world. To live in another land and become part of another place for who knows how long.

Josuke has always been a homebody and doesn't quite understand and Okuyasu only understands part of it. That doesn't mean they try and stop him. It would be- It would be like telling Okuyasu to stop having trouble with making decisions or asking Josuke to stop healing everyone else. It would be wrong. They know that much.

Doesn't stop them from devolving into squabbling kids when Rohan makes a call home though.

The house is quiet and a very hot sort of humid. Josuke had forgone styling his hair just for today since all he planned to do was laze the day away with Okuyasu in the house. His limp, frizzy locks contrasted with Okuyasu's neat ponytail.

Sometimes when Rohan is gone Okuyasu makes too much food, purposefully doesn't add bell peppers, or makes something neither of them normally eat. Not that Okuyasu wouldn't eat it- he would eat anything and everything put in front of him. It was just... A reminder of who wasn't there for the moment.

Which is why when the phone rings, they both bolt from their half eaten cold chicken at lightning speed.

Rohan has attempted to shoo the translator away for the phonecall but she insists on waiting outside his door. Probably listening in for whatever reason. Maybe she thinks he'll talk of upcoming chapters? Of course that's not what he's doing at all.

His eyes soften when the phone is picked up before the first ring is finished, the sounds of a scuffle reaching his ears. They haven't even said anything directly into the phone yet but already the smile starts to curl at his lips as home greets his ears.

"I got here first!" Okuyasu is insisting, faintly muffled by what Rohan assumes is a mild choke-hold.

"Only because you cheated by using The Hand!" Josuke growls, a throaty sort of thing that Rohan remembers intimately.

"You were trying to trip me anyway!"

"Well obviously I need to talk to him first!"

"You can't do that, I love him!"

"I love him more!"

"Oh yeah? Who exactly cooks for him every day? And brings him coffee when he's pulling another all nighter?"

"W-well, I do the laundry and the dishes! Plus, you should stop encouraging that, he needs to be in bed with us!"

"Boys," Rohan interjects, hoping to get their attention. The noise of a pillow smacking something loud enough for the receiver to hear is the last noise of conflict. After he's sure enough time has past for them both to have an ear pressed to the phone he continues, "Just use speakerphone."

"Oh yeah," Josuke said, the smacking noise too light to have come from Okuyasu. There was some fumbling and a very distinct crumbling noise before the click.

"...If you broke anything I will find out."

"Josuke can fix it anyway!" Okuyasu exclaimed into the receiver. Josuke growled and whacked Okuyasu.

"Idiot, now he knows we broke something. If you had just kept quiet-"

"Lying would have been worse," Okuyasu grumbled. "He's always found out before anyway."

"Okuyasu is right. Now... How are you doing?" He wanted to hear them. It hadn't really been that long- long two days, and he'd left the day before that, but it was almost lonely without them.

"We were eating lunch when you called." Which probably meant it was left half eaten somewhere. Joy. Still, he leaned to the side, phone pressed between cheek and shoulder as his gaze went hazy and the smile started to crawl higher. "Okuyasu was insisting cold chicken isn't good which is absolutely wrong."

"Why cook it if you're just gonna let it cool down?" Okuyasu grumbled but distinctly didn't disagree with the cold chicken tasting nice. "What time is it there?"

"Hmm, just before breakfast." Rohan was looking forward to all the sweets he could eat for breakfast. The Italians did breakfast the right way, with good coffee and even better pastries. "Thought I would call before I left to eat. Being seven hours behind makes figuring out when to call awkward."

"Ehh? There's that much of a difference?" This time Josuke was the one who got hit, a familiar yelp of shock communicating that. Rohan snorted quietly.

"He's in Europe, Josuke." 'Obviously' was all in his tone. Rohan got the distinct impression Josuke was sticking out his tongue.

"I know that! But time zones are hard. Plus, he went to the USA last time!" Now that had been a nightmare. Basically whenever Rohan wanted to sleep they were awake, and so on and so forth.

"Yeah yeah."

"Hey, what're you bringing back for us?" Okuyasu quieted down at this, both listening with rapt attention. Rolling his eyes, Rohan held a sigh back behind his smile. Japanese people, always expecting souvenirs, no matter how short the trip.

"Oh, I don't know. There's this one peculiar little shop that sells articulated skeletons of animals, and a glassblower that takes small commissions. I could bring back another mask..."

"Articulated skeletons?" Josuke's voice was filled with disgusted interest.

"Birds, fish, and rats mostly. They are quite something." Indeed they were. The old man who owned the shop had the oddest pair of dentures too, and probably many good stories to tell. There was also a turtle skeleton but it would be better not to mention that.

"Would you swing by the market on the last day? Tonio insists some of the spices and herbs there are better than here."

"If you want." The street markets were almost exhaustively busy but had always given a lot of good inspiration when he'd forced himself to go. This was in a way something that would benefit them all. "I'll get everything my last day here."

Rohan's stomach gurgling interrupted whatever the boys were going to say in response.

"You should go eat," Josuke said reluctantly. Oh, he probably had that wet puppy eyed stare leveled at the phone. Okuyasu grunted in sad agreement. "You can call us back. No later than tomorrow afternoon though!"

"My afternoon or yours?" Rohan snarked, holding back a laugh at the indignant sounds. "I'm kidding. I'll call you back soon. Don't run into anything stupid while I'm gone."

"That's your problem, not ours! Do you remember the Louvre-"

"Hanging up now!" Rohan said quickly, getting out a quick, "Love you too, talk to you sometime soon."

When he finally wandered out of the room, he noticed the door slightly ajar. The girl was standing beside it, and her eyes were knowing. Not as much as she thought she knew, but enough. The smile hadn't quite left his face.

"Breakfast and then the plaza, Mr. Kishibe?"

"Yes."