Summary: So it turns out Zhongli is Morax, La Signora is the worst and the last two years of Childe’s life in Liyue were a lie. That’s all fine - really, it is! - except Childe wakes up one morning with a mouthful of flowers and a raging allergy to anything even remotely Zhongli-related.
Just what his battered pride needed - an ever-present reminder that his love is unrequited. Go figure.
Hanahaki AU, except the disease isn’t fatal, just annoying.
Preview:
“So,” Lumine starts conversationally, leaning over to peer in Childe’s cup, where several yellow and orange chrysanthemum petals innocently lay, “why exactly are you throwing up flowers?”
“It adds a nice floral note to my tea,” Childe answers pleasantly. He sniffles with as much dignity as he can muster, after nearly hacking his lungs up in front of Lumine and Paimon. “You should try it sometime. I recommend chamomile.”
Summary: After the Interdarshan Championship, Kaveh began to notice little things. Like when Alhaitham would pay off his tab at Lambad's with minimal complaint, or when Alhaitham would leave a plate of snacks out for him after a night of hard work. He had struggled since their fall-out several years ago with thanking Alhaitham for anything, but it wouldn't hurt to start making an effort, right?
The trials and tribulations of Kaveh learning to thank Alhaitham for the little things.
Preview:
When Kaveh, with his fists clenched and his voice low, thanked Alhaitham for the first time in many years, he saw it in Alhaitham’s eyes - the momentary slip of his usual haughty expression, the surprise that gave way to, just for a moment, a hint of warmth (almost as if Kaveh’s gratitude meant something to him), before the usual aloof expression of his shuttered right back into place. And then, of course, with the usual ill grace that Kaveh had come to expect, Alhaitham had said: “They say that earnest thanks should be given thrice, so … once more, please.”
Which, predictably, quickly devolved into bickering (“Alhaitham, you are such a sore recipient of appreciation!” “So you won’t say it again. How stingy. Surprising, for someone who is so prone to spending on frivolous nonsense.” “I told you already, I bought those keychains for a good cause -”), which left Kaveh stewing and Alhaitham in such good spirits that he may as well have been jumping for glee, based on the stupid little smirk he was carrying around all evening. It was almost enough for Kaveh to swear off thanking Alhaitham ever again.
Summary: Family gatherings are, in Daiki’s expert opinion, the absolute worst. Why anyone in his extended family cares enough to ask probing questions about his love life is completely beyond him - after all, he’s only twenty-one and happily single, at that. But as it stands, the next family dinner is in under two weeks, so he’d better find himself a boyfriend, and fast.
Warnings: Aomine being a shitter
Chapter 5 Preview:
He’d been productive, at the very least. He’d met up with Kuroko one more time to solidify their backstory, and the texts continued (“I want a dog, but my roommate’s terrified of them. Do you think he’ll get used to dogs if I throw him into the dog park and leave him there?” Kuroko had sent one night. Daiki dutifully noted in his mental collection of "Tetsu Facts" that he had a soft spot for animals and a definite sadistic streak). But no matter how many times he told himself that ‘Daiki, you’ve prepared for this like you’ve never prepared for any exam before,’ he couldn’t help feeling more than a little jittery.
I hate you and your sleep patterns but it's okay (it's really not)
Summary: All Kageyama wants is to get some sleep, but Hinata is proving to be difficult (though who’s surprised, really).
Prompt: Person A is a very “active” sleeper, and their current sleeping position is hindering Person B’s sleep (flailing limbs, stealing covers, etc). Person B, however, does not want to wake Person A, so they do not disturb them and suffer silently (more or less).
AO3 Link
Kageyama was suffering.
In retrospect, he probably should have expected that Hinata would be a violently aggressive sleeper, given his track record of being awfully reminiscent of an untrained hyperactive puppy. Which, as Kageyama may be willing to begrudgingly admit at the current ungodly hour of 3AM, can sort of maybe kind of be cute during regular waking hours, but this - this was nothing short of horrifying.
His sleeping habits were nothing of the ‘awkwardly sprawling limbs’ and ‘snuffly cooing snores’ variety; rather, Hinata was brutal. When Kageyama finally caved in to Hinata’s persistent (see: relentless and borderline obsessive) begging that they sleep in one bed, this wasn’t what he signed up for. At least, he certainly did not expect to be kicked roughly in his ribcage, clung to like a leech to skin until his arm went numb, and be damn near smothered by his own pillow.
(He had tried to fight back, he did, but when Kageyama bravely attempted to wrestle the covers back to his side, Hinata - mid-coma - apparently adopted a ‘if I can’t have them, you can’t have them either’ attitude. Kageyama, then, had to watch in deep despair as the covers slipped out of reach and disappeared under the bed, never to be seen again.)
Alas, hindsight is 20/20, so there was no use regretting all his life decisions now. Plus, when Kageyama shifted, ready to roughly shake the other awake and let the hell of his vexed berating rain upon him, he found that he couldn’t quite do it.
He sighed. Maybe he’d let Hinata just sleep for now.
Good thing I’m feeling so benevolent today, Kageyama thought mutinously, casting one last glance at Hinata before slowly lowering himself back down. He owes me a hell of a favour for this.
If he was going to be honest to himself, the main reason he couldn’t bring himself to do it was because - god - Hinata just looked so - happy - in his sleep, what with the way his cheek smushed against Kageyama’s chest and the corners of his lips were upturned just oh so slightly. Dumbass, Kageyama couldn’t help but think fondly. Hinata had drool threatening to slip out the corner of his mouth too - which should’ve been pretty disgusting, really, but Kageyama could forgive him this time.
(Except he wasn’t going to be honest with himself. Frankly, it’d probably take him three beers, a good shot of Grey Goose, and a shot of Bacardi 151 for good measure to get him to admit it.)
And so Kageyama lay there, listening to nothing but the soft snuffles of Hinata breathing and the tick tick tick of their clock. He (rather dryly) supposed that this, at least, was somewhat relaxing.
Until Hinata reached up and slammed his arm against Kageyama’s mouth.
“Fuck!” Kageyama yelped - as best he could anyways, from under Hinata’s arm. Son of a bitch, that hurt. Oh no, that was the last fucking straw, Hinata’s happiness and all be damned - “Alright, that’s it -”
Hinata dragged his arm down so it rested between them, and he hooked his legs neatly around Kageyama’s. Kageyama paused, eyeing the wild head of hair suspiciously. That sort of mobility had to require some form of consciousness. He has got to be awake, at this point.
Well, if he was awake, all the better. Full tirade prepared and ready from an hour earlier, Kageyama started, “Do you even realize how late it is -”
He was interrupted rudely by a soft giggle and a nudge of Hinata’s nose against his collarbones. “Yama yama-kuuuun,” Hinata cooed breathily, before burying his face into Kageyama’s chest.
Oh.
Oh my god.
“What, no, don’t call me that, you dumbass -” Kageyama managed, attempting to wrangle his arm out from under Hinata. He received nothing in response but Hinata’s soft, deep breathing. He stared incredulously down at Hinata’s definitely sleeping profile. Incredible. Absolutely incredible. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Now more heavily entangled in the mess of limbs that was Hinata Shouyou than ever, Kageyama couldn’t help but wonder if he’d get any sleep at all that night. Probably not, realistically speaking.
Ah well. Hinata definitely seemed comfortable, so he might as well settle in too. He rested his chin on top of the mess of wild bedhead, wrinkling his nose as the soft strands tickled the tip of his nose before sighing deeply. He’d make Hinata sleep on the couch by himself tomorrow, but for now, he’d let them stay as is.
(And if he spent all of the next morning in a state of delirious irritability - well, that’s a story for another time.)
Summary: It’s always easier to admit to weaknesses under the influence of the moonlight. It’s all too easy, to ramble through the silence of the night, words soft and lingering in the hazy summer air.
Based on this post (tl;dr - AU in which everyone has a tattoo, and when you fall in love with someone, their tattoo appears on your body. i did change the premise slightly to fit the tat idea rip)
A/N: Warnings for depression symbolism! This was very much a cathartic write for me, pls excuse this word vomit ;u;
“I hate my tattoo,” he says.
Kuroko glances up. Aomine’s looking away from him, the back of his head resting against the metal pole of his bed frame.
He’s not smiling, not scowling, not - anything. It’s strange - it’s so, so strange - to see his face, an ever-changing kaleidoscope that mirrored the beat of what has always been a swirling, messy maelstrom of emotions, to lack such expression. He want to look casual, unaffected - maybe he wants to believe that he’s unaffected. Maybe he doesn’t actually feel anything.
It’s unnerving, Kuroko thinks, that he isn’t able to tell. Aomine’s frame is tense where Kuroko is tucked against him. (He’s a bow that’s pulled taught; his string pulled so far, so tight that Kuroko’s afraid that just a little more, and he’ll - just - snap.)
It’s strange, Kuroko thinks again, to see him so vulnerable.
His eyes are hooded as he lifts his left arm above him, turning it so the inky birds that trailed down his forearm gleamed under the light. “Look,” Aomine continues, nudging Kuroko gently with his shoulder, “they look like hate me too. See?”
Kuroko breathes - he’d forgotten, momentarily. He looks.
The birds are the same as ever. The same elegant path, the same beautiful lines. He doesn’t see, and he says as much.
“Really?” Kuroko receives an incredulous look, before the dark expanse of skin is shoved in front of him. Kuroko supposes the birds do look a little ragged, a little worn upon closer inspection.
They’re beautiful - they’re a beautiful mess, like they always have been. He can’t see where the tattoo starts, but he knows that they’re there, an ever-present storm of beating wings and inky claws that mark their start over Aomine’s ribcage, and continue to twist and fly, low and angled, over his dark skin. Beneath the fabric that hides them away - shame, Kuroko recognizes - they meld and blend into each other, into the fray, into his skin - until one breaks free over his shoulder - then two, on his bicep - then three, then four, then five. They’re all wild ink and stark contours; they’re a little rough along the edges. But it’s okay, Kuroko thinks, because they’re alive and free.
“They’re ugly,” Aomine says, dropping his arm so that it lay limply beside him. He laughs, low, bitter, loathingly. “I feel sorry for the day they show up on someone’s body.” He closes his eyes, and adds mirthlessly, “if the day even comes. But it’s okay!“ It’s painfully obvious that he’s looking for things to say. Anything to fill the stifling silence, probably. He unfurls his palm to reveal a familiar mark. “I’m glad that I have your tattoo, at least.”
He does have Kuroko’s tattoo. He’s had it for months.
Kuroko watches as Aomine traces the tattoo - a heartbeat that travels the length of his heart line - absentmindedly. The smooth movement tells Kuroko it’s one that’s long since been memorized, like a fond memory of a song that your mother would hum, or the sound of your father’s voice when he laughs his bellied, hearty laugh. A nervous tic, perhaps. Maybe a drowning comfort.
They’ve fallen into silence now. He should say something, he knows; he wants - needs - to say something. But he can’t. His throat is dry, the words are stuck, scratching and painful against his windpipe. He suspects he couldn’t voice the things he wants to say, even if he could. He doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t know how. He has to say something.
He has to.
He wrenches his sleeve up instead, and lays his own newly marked wrist next to Aomine’s.
Aomine falls silent from his bemused protests, brow furrowed, uncomprehending. He reaches out with hesitant - reverent - fingers to trace the path of the birds as they glide, in a twisting dance, into a stark contrast of dark binding ink on Kuroko’s delicate complexion.
Summary: Family gatherings are, in Daiki’s expert opinion, the absolute worst. Why anyone in his extended family cares enough to ask probing questions about his love life is completely beyond him - after all, he’s only twenty-one and happily single, at that. But as it stands, the next family dinner is in under two weeks, so he’d better find himself a boyfriend, and fast.
Warnings: Aomine being a shitter
Chapter 1 Preview:
“You got yourself into this one, you have to admit,” his childhood not-much-of-a-friend sniffed. Daiki swore he could hear the tell-tale swish of her thick head of hair being flicked imperiously over a shoulder. “I dunno, just buy someone off Craigslist or something. Or even better, suck it up like the grown man you are and just own up to your lies.”
