That is a wonderful compliment and message you have given me there. Thank you for that, and of course it is enough. Your excitement about my writing is so nice to hear! Have a great day.
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Can you write a fluffy iwaoi?? Please?? I cry every time i read your fics. They’re so lovely but so sad…
Drabble may contain traces of flowers, hair clips and braiding.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about cutting it off.”
“What?” Hajime’s fingers still their gentle movement through Tooru’s hair, and he frowns without wanting to. They’re cuddling on Hajime’s bed, just another evening after exhausting training, and Tooru has his long limbs stretched across the blanket, rolled onto his side so he can read comfortably in his textbook. Hajime doesn’t like to admit it, but recently, he’s been hurrying to finish his homework before Tooru.
Because now Hajime’s chest is pressed smoothly against Tooru’s back, one arm serving as a pillow for Tooru’s head, resting motionlessly underneath his neck – and Hajime carefully runs his fingers through the soft strands of Tooru’s hair.
“Why would you cut it off?” The thought is a bit sad. Hajime closes his eyes and shifts, nuzzling Tooru’s neck where his pulse beats, the warmth and dark scent of his skin sparking a low hum in Hajime’s chest. “I like how long it is,” he says. “It feels nice.” He hesitates for a moment. Should he? Yeah. “It suits you.”
Tooru’s chuckle echoes all the way into Hajime’s chest. The textbook’s pages rustle when Tooru shuts it and turns in Hajime’s embrace. “Is that so?” His eyes are crinkled around a smile, something sheepish glinting in his brown iris. “But it keeps getting in the way. It’s annoying.”
Hajime answers much too fast. “I could braid it.” Goddamnit. He can’t keep his mouth shut around Tooru. Before his boyfriend can make another comment, Hajime scrambles to get off the bed and stomps towards the door. “Be right back! Sit upright and brush it, okay?” He doesn’t wait for Tooru’s reply. The bathroom is the kingdom of his two sisters, four and eighteen years old, and Hajime quickly finds what he’s been searching for.
“You want to put that in my hair?” Tooru raises an elegantly curved brow at the items that Hajime spreads out on the bed before him, just moments after returning from the bathroom. Well, he has to admit, it may be a bit unsual for a boy. But Tooru’s doubtful glance shifts into something softer when Hajime kisses him. “Just let me, okay?” He whispers. And, a miracle, Tooru nods and turns.
His hair is so smooth, Hajime thinks as he tucks a few bobby pins between his teeth to have them ready. His fingers gently trace Tooru’s head, nails scratching over his scalp in a quick, calming massage. “Mhm, that’s nice,” Tooru says and his head tilts back a bit, shoulders relaxing. “Stay like that,” Hajime mumbles through his teeth and takes a deep breath.
He takes his time with Tooru’s hair. The braid is easy, but Hajime tucks a silver and blue hairband into it as well, and puts a violet flower hair clip near Tooru’s ear, just above his temple. The small fake flowers are from his little sister, and Hajime’s picked the tiniest he could find, barely large than his thumb’s nail and perfect for Tooru’s hair. His fingertips gently work them into the valleys where the braid’s strands meet, the white colour almost innocent against Tooru’s brown hair.
“Okay. I think I’m done. I can take the clips out if you don’t like them – “ Oh god, shit, he totally forgot that he was just supposed to braid and not decorate Tooru like some nature princess, “I can fix it, gimme a moment.”
But Tooru’s up on his feet already and taking a hand mirror out of the nightstand. Hajime waits nervously as his boyfriend looks at himself in the mirror. Tooru’s fingers trace the braid, the flower above his ear. Then, he turns to Hajime and lifts his chin with one hand. “Thank you,” he whispers and kisses Hajime’s lips until they tingle. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome,” Hajime mumbles, and no, his cheeks aren’t red at all.
Could you write some more daisuga with a protective Daichi?
“If you will excuse us, but the prince is needed elsewhere. Let go of him.”
Koushi feels the warm hand slide over his lower back before he even hears the dark voice by his side. The nobleman in front of him jolts when he sees the young guard appear by Koushi’s side, and his filthy hand jerks away from where it dared to touch the hem of Koushi’s sleeve. As always, the timing is perfect.
“My prince. Your father has asked for you.” The hand spreading on Koushi’s back is a low flare, fire trickling down his spine and curling around his heart, as if Daichi can light sparks on his skin and a smile on his lips with a mere touch. He can do much more than that, Koushi thinks and tilts his head at the nobleman who is still standing there, staring at both of them.
“I should take my leave, then,” Koushi says. His voice is silk, soft and dangerous. “I must go see my father. Though I believe my faithful guard has a piece of advice for you. I would suggest you take it and never forget it.”
He turns around. Daichi’s hand is off his lower back as fast and quiet as a forbidden kiss. Koushi doesn’t hear what Daichi tells the man, but he can imagine the sharp gasp and widening eyes of a terrified nobleman shrinking into himself, stuttering and swearing to “n-never touch him again, yes, I understand, m-my apologies” because if Koushi’s personal guard is one thing, it is protective. There is more to Daichi, though, but if Koushi was to remember just how much this man means to him, what place in Koushi’s heart he has conquered with kindness and unbroken promises and his warm, rough hands, then Koushi would never find a way out of this unpleasant ball his father had invited half the kingdom to.
The palace garden whispers wind and desert sand into Koushi’s skin when he sneaks out of the throne room. A world of quiet lies before him, and as Koushi passes through the blooming labyrinth of flowers and emerald-leaved trees, he sheds his golden slippers along the way. The grass snuggles against his feet as if it is welcoming him. His journey guides him towards the oldest tree, higher than any other plant his father brought from far-away countries to fill his only son’s heart with joy and laughter.
Koushi knows the palace in blindness and dream, and his fingers find the indents along the bark with ease. He has just seated himself in the crown when soft footsteps approach. Koushi closes his eyes and leans back, smiling when the tree shivers below him as another weight climbs up its strong trunk.
“My prince.” The kiss onto his mouth is tender, breath hotter than the desert’s wind stroking over his naked arms. Daichi’s scent is musk and sandelwood and the iron of the sword strapped against his hip, and Koushi reaches to touch his cheeks without opening his eyes.
“I hope you did not scare the man too much. He barely touched me.”
“But he tried to,” Daichi mumbles against his lips. His teeth touch Koushi’s mouth, and one sharp breath later, they close over his bottom lip and suck a dark, pulsing bruise into his skin.
“Dai – oh. Mhm, ohh.” There is no chance for Koushi to speak because Daichi slowly lowers himself down onto him and presses a hard kiss against his neck, hand pulling down the collar of his golden-blue gown, teeth sinking into his skin.
“Daichi.” The name is a wish, a plea on Koushi’s lips.
“I will always protect you,” is the growled response into the vulnerable skin of his collarbone. And then, softer, a promise: “And if I have to be your secret forever, I will still be your shadow and shield and bring those down that wish you harm, my prince.”
Quote:
Tooru cannot breathe. His throat roars. He swallows. The world halts, hisses.
He doesn’t know the girl that’s tied to a chair, but he would know the boy’s dark brown eyes in blindness and death. Hajime stares, rigid, and the fear shimmering in the blood dripping from his gagged mouth has Tooru jolt. He’s tied, too, on the ground, a bruise on his cheek. No. God, no. Not him.
Tooru’s father nods to one of his men. The guy takes out a knife. “I think a present will convince Iwaizumi-san to express his gratitude most generously. But which present… I’d say a finger or two. From the girl or boy, Tooru?”
“The girl.” He doesn’t hesitate. Hajime’s eyes widen, and he screams against the gag. Tooru flinches when one of the men knocks the end of his gun into his head, and Hajime goes silent.
Tooru’s father pats his shoulder when he passes by, stalking towards the girl who has started to sob into the cloth between her lips. “Take care of the son, will you? And – good choice. I’m certain that Iwaizumi-san will cooperate now.”
“Yes, father.” Tooru steps forward, kneels by Hajime’s side. It’s only when the girl starts to scream that Tooru leans in to brush his shaking fingers over Hajime’s forehead. He stays like this until the girl doesn’t cry anymore and his father tucks a small, bloody thing into a plastic bag.
Then, he whispers: “Forgive me.”
This is a scene from @moami ‘s drabble (you can find it here)
Just read it, I don’t have anything else to say.
Oh my gosh. Robin, you – you are just such a sweetheart. I spent the whole day trying to find the right words to thank you for this, but I did not come up with anything that fits right. Just know that this is absolutely beautiful. I made such an inhuman noise when I first discovered that you had tagged me in this gorgeous artwork. And gosh, the hours you must have put into this, I am just – just – so thankful and happy. The Iwaois look amazing in this, I can almost feel Hajime’s fear and Tooru’s pain through my screen.
It is lovely. I adore this. Thank you so much, my dear Robin! ♥♥
pls let bokuto be happy!!!!! last fic was not ok, protect the owl child
“Are you going to break up with me?”
“Huh?” Akaashi looks up from his lunch box. It’s nothing new that Bokuto get dejected on occasion, but this is – unexpected, to say the least. Bokuto squats down in front of him, head hanging low, dark eyelashes shadowing onto his cheeks. Akaashi reaches out and laces their fingers up.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, soft. This isn’t one of his boyfriend’s usual mood swings. Bokuto swallows hard, and Akaashi is shocked to find redness creeping around his eyes. Has he been crying?
“You’ve been avoiding me for two days,” Bokuto says quietly. He still doesn’t look up. “Did I do something wrong? Don’t – don’t you like me anymore?”
Jesus Christ, he’s such an idiot. A cute one. Akaashi sighs and lets amusement curl his lips into a smile. “I still like you,” he says. “I do. But I was busy because I was working on something. I wanted to give it to you for your birthday in a week, but since you’re so sad, you’ll get it now, I suppose.”
“Something for – “ Bokuto can’t finish his sentence. Akaashi has reached into his bag and pushes something against his chest. “What is tha – oh. Oh.”
It’s a black ankle sleeve. “Turn it around,” Akaashi says and buries his face into Bokuto’s shoulder. Why would he blush? Bokuto wonders, flipping the sleeve over, that’s really strange – but then he sees it. There is a small owl stitched into the fabric, white feathers spread and yellow eyes glinting mischievously.
“That’s so – you did this for – I love you, oh god. You are so cute.” The thick lump inside Bokuto’s throat hasn’t vanished yet, but it’s warm and soft now and Akaashi’s smile against his shoulder lets shivers run down his spine.
“Happy early birthday, I guess,” Akaashi whispers. “And don’t ever think I would break up with you. I like you too much for that.”
That’s an even better present, Bokuto thinks and puts the owl-sleeve down to kiss Akaashi’s lips until none of them can breathe anymore.
Daichi only ever asks two questions that make Suga cry.
“May I kiss you?"
And, one day:
"Will you take this ring from me?”
“Akaashi – no, Keiji. Can I talk to you?”
Speaking the words out loud feels like surfacing out of an ocean. Bokuto can’t stop fidgeting, his feet shuffling, smile insecure and nervous. Akaashi turns around to him mid-changing, shirt just over his head. His expression doesn’t change. “Sure. What do you need?”
Bokuto takes a deep breath. He’s practiced this, has said those sentences to the mirror in his bedroom hundreds of time, for the past year, hoping he’d one day have the courage. His mouth is dry. His heart has never beaten that fast.
“I like you,” his lips whisper. “I – I want to go on a date with you.”
Akaashi looks at him. He’s so beautiful, Bokuto thinks, please, please let him say yes. But he doesn’t.
“Bokuto-san, I’m sorry.” The touch of Akaashi’s hand against his shoulder is warm, quick. “I don’t feel the same way. We – you are a great guy, but – “
“Okay. Yeah, okay, no problem!” Laughing hurts, his throat burns, something silver and heavy blurs in his vision. Akaashi’s dark figure fades into tears. “Haha, I didn’t really think – okay, see you tomorrow!” And then he runs, away, home.
His fist closes around the small owl plushie inside his pocket. His fingertips are scattered in tiny red stabs from where his needle slipped – the needle he used to stitch k-e-i-j-i in soft red strings onto the owl’s soft stomach.
“Kitten?” Tetsurou carefully pushes the door of Kenma’s room open, just a few centimeters, and smiles at him. “Hey, do you wanna – oh, sorry. I’ll come back later.” Kenma doesn’t look up at him, but he nods a bit underneath the hood of his sweatshirt. It’s pulled over his head, up to his downcast eyes that are fixed on the game in his soft hands. Tetsurou knows the secret signal between them by heart, with all his soul, would recognise it in dream and fear and fog.
He returns an hour later. Kenma puts the game away when he peeks through the door, and gives Tetsurou a tiny smile.
“Alone time’s over?” Tetsurou says, and makes a small step inside.
“Mhm. I’m hungry.” – “Good. I brought some chocolate. Wanna cuddle?”
The answer is a shy nod and fingers reaching out to Tetsurou, brushing along his wrist. When he follows the gentle invitation and lies down, Kenma curls against his waist and rests his head on Tetsurou’s chest. He takes a last deep breath. And before Tetsurou can say anything else, Kenma kisses his mouth, quick, and begins to search his pockets for the chocolate.
The hood of Kenma’s sweatshirt is down now.
All of your work is so beautiful and poetic and I appreciate you writing for this fandom so much! Thank you for sharing with us~
You are so very welcome! And thank you for this kind message 🙂
Moami 