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umisabaku · 4 years

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Hello! Your fic Your Heart Ain't Cold (Cuz It Burns) got me addicted to NijiMayu so I was wondering if I could get some more of it? Maybe a continuation of that one KNB mermaid au? I also just want to say that D:M was the first KNB fic I ever read and I even went and watched Haikyu, Free, and Oofuri just so I could understand the fics. Thank you so much for writing this wonderful story!

“As always, it is a pleasure doing business with you, Chihiro,” the Sharkfolk captain says as they wrap up their negotiations for the day. Mayuzumi has learned to ignore the way Nijimura croons and practically bats his eyelashes. It’s very unprofessional, but strictly speaking, they shouldn’t be negotiating over dinner at fancy restaurants either. But as long as Nijimura is paying, Mayuzumi doesn’t care. “When can I see you again?”

“You’ll see me tomorrow during the conference,” Mayuzumi says.

“Don’t be mean. As much as I love our negotiations, it would be nice to do something casual for once.”

Mayuzumi is unimpressed, and decides he better stop this before Nijimura gets too carried away. “You know, I really wasn’t expecting the Sharkfolk to lean so heavily on seduction tactics during negotiations, but I have to say, you didn’t really go about it in a smart way.”

Nijimura freezes, his fork halfway to his mouth. Casually, he says, “Seduction tactics?”

“The flirtation strategies you’re all using? It would have been much more effective if you weren’t all doing it at the same time. Out of curiosity, do they teach Seduction 101 in shark school?”

Nijimura puts his fork down and says, “You think we’re flirting strategically?”

Mayuzumi rolls his eyes, a little offended that Nijimura is continuing with this dumb act. “Please. Give me a little credit. All five of your shark generals are pursuing Merfolk like teenagers on their first class trip--”

“Midorima has repeatedly reassured me he is not the one doing the pursuing--”

“--So either every Sharkfolk who came to this peace conference has discovered hormones for the first time in their lives, or you’re trying to gain the advantage in negotiations. It really didn’t take much to put the pieces together on that one.” Mayuzumi deliberately doesn’t point out that Nijimura has been flirting with him this entire time. And given that no one in their right mind flirts with a lionfish-type, Mayuzumi thought his actions very telling.

Nijimura glances down at his food, and for the first time since he’s met him, looks faintly embarrassed. Mayuzumi feels Nijimura should be embarrassed, because it was such an obvious tactic, and really, if they alternated on their negotiation strategies, it would have been much more effective. There was no reason all of them should try it.

But then Nijimura speaks slowly. “Sharkfolk are raised in a fairly militant environment. We’re supposed to be devoted to war and nothing else. We also don’t have as many children as Merfolk do, so there’s fewer of us and we usually grow up together like siblings. Now that we’re entering a peace treaty with the Merfolk, we suddenly find ourselves able to relax for the first time, and with a much wider dating pool than we ever had before.”

Mayuzumi stares at him. For a very long time.

Nijimura clears his throat. “I’ll try telling the others to cool it again, but they didn’t listen the first ten times.”

“Are you telling me you’re actually all just really horny?” Mayuzumi exclaims.

“It’s been very frustrating, I assure you. Not only has it made it impossible to control my generals, but I really thought we’d have more advantages in negotiations than this. I’ll be honest, I was hoping we’d be able to intimidate Merfolk more, but apparently all it takes is a pretty Merfolk swishing their tails in our direction, and all reason goes out the window.”

“Wait. Wait, have these actually been dates?”

“Well, I’ve been trying, but you don’t make it easy for a guy, Chihiro,” Nijimura says, smiling.

Mayuzumi opens his mouth and then shuts it.

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen you at a loss for words,” Nijimura says cheerfully. “Does this mean I can take you somewhere non-business related next time? We could go to the opera.”

“I-- have to go now,” Mayuzumi says. “I’ll see you at the conference tomorrow.”

And yes, alright, so he’s running away. Apparently those seduction tactics are more effective than Mayuzumi thought.

A/N: Thanks, anon-friend! I’m glad you enjoy NijiMayu =D I don’t usually respond to prompts this quickly but I was inspired!! Now I kinda want to write a whole NijiMayu mermaid AU. (Previous installment here). I’m honored you checked out all those shows just to read my fic, thank you so much!

#Mikki writes #Kuroko no Basuke #NijiMayu #Mermaid AU #I have asks! and I'm answering them!#this is my anon tag #tumblr fic #fic I wrote

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unenuitetoilee · 6 years

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fandom: kuroko no basuke summary:

Mayuzumi and that time he just can't fucking spit it out, because he has no feelings, or something. [Spy AU]

pairing: nijimayu word count: 830 notes: this was a treat for @uneplumesombre for chocolate box 2018; now that authors have been revealed, i’ve decided to link it on tumblr too! :3c

#nijimayu #mayuniji #nijimura shuuzou #mayuzumi chihiro #kuroko no basuke #eliska writes #knb fic

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shuzo · 7 years

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“You are annoying.” Chihiro followed him, grabbed the cup that was offered even though he doubted Seijuro had the strength to hold it up for himself.

“Yeah? Well so are you. So is Sei.” Shuzo tugged him along by the wrist. “And yet here you are, stuck with the both of us. Tough luck.”

pairing: nijiakamayu words: 2770

Akashi Seijuro, the bastard, had to be the best at everything.

Even watching Seijuro wake up irritated him to no end. Chihiro was big enough to admit to his own flaws; he knew he woke up with a bedhead that could rival only the hilarity of Seijuro’s haircut in third year, okay, he knew that there’s gunk at the corner of his eyes more often than not and his mood was even less desirable. Shuzo’s flaws - his voice became hoarse (pending flaw), sometimes he involuntarily woke up at five fucking am (how and why?), and breathing on Chihiro’s face half-asleep meant a (well-deserved) kick to both shins.

Seijuro, on the other hand, woke up as though he had not gone to sleep in the first place. His eyelids flutter open delicately and refreshed, even after four unconscious Shuzo-style kicks during the night. He pushed away whatever sweaty limb holding him captive and then starts the day like that. Just like that. Those commercials, Chihiro thought, that promote cereal like porn and mornings like a godsend have nothing on Seijuro.

So it was more than a little alarming when he woke up one morning and Seijuro still had his eyes closed – asleep, messy, pale, and by the looks of it, still in REM cycle.

“Hey,” Chihiro grasped Seijuro’s shoulder and shook him a bit since 8AM meant Seijuro probably had a lecture to attend. Apparently ‘smart’ (completely idiotic) people specifically chose that hour to go to class. “Get up.”

He drew back, because that was definitely a slap to his arm and Seijuro probably thought that was okay. An incoherent mutter came out audible but faint and did nothing to help Chihiro’s disbelief.

“What’s the matter with you?” He smacked Seijuro on the forehead where sweat had accumulated and - ah. A fever. A bad one. Chihiro wiped his hand on a pillow with a grimace, listening to Seijuro’s pitiful sigh.

“Stop,” Seijuro’s body was pushed back down as it misbehaved, Chihiro stretching over him to grab a thermometer from the first aid kit. Seijuro inevitably started to fidget again and Chihiro was left with very few options but to squish the young man down with his upper body, ignoring his mangled groan.

“Stop it or I’m sliding this up your ass instead.”

He watched as Seijuro’s mouth opened and closed and then opened again with great difficulty. Eventually a sound was made.

“Chihiro.” Seijuro rasped and it sounded painful enough to make Chihiro wince.

“I know.” He realised he didn’t need effort to muster the gentleness that came to his tone - it just sort of, quite irritatingly, happened. The thermometer was removed and Seijuro blinked at him slow before promptly tucking into Chihiro’s side. Slim fingers pushed into Seijuro’s matted hair and scratched at his scalp, eliciting small, pleased noises from the younger man.

Chihiro’s eyes softened, Seijuro’s went glazed.

The thermometer read 39 degrees and he cursed because Akashi Seijuro, the absolute bastard, had to be the best in being sick too.

It was quite easy to take Seijuro’s wealth for granted but the fact that he had a private doctor at his beck and call was the best news Shuzo had heard all day. Influenza, the doctor had unsurprisingly said, the young master will be better by next week.

Seijuro’s absence in their daily routine (consisting in all three of them ignoring each other in the lounge room while they tended to their own business) resulted in an anxious silence; anxious on Shuzo’s part, silence with Chihiro.

“Can you stop?” Chihiro asked once Shuzo’s continuous walk-up-and-down path reached him. It was becoming irritating and rhythm games on his phone plus irritation was not a good mix. He took the folded crossword book from the dinner table and smacked the other’s hip with it. “Here, do your old man puzzles.”

Shuzo swatted him away with a mutter and sat himself down on the chair across Chihiro. He still had a stupid look on his face but that didn’t stop Chihiro from propping his feet up on Shuzo’s lap.

“Don’t, they stink.”

Chihiro gave him a dirty look, “I took a shower.”

Shuzo’s hands moved as though to push him away but opted to rest on his ankles instead. His hands seemed to automatically move, kneading at Chihiro’s calves and caressing the skin soothingly. Chihiro internally sighed; it’s usually very difficult to keep a straight face with Shuzo’s massages. His hands were just so nice, callused and steady and likely bigger than Chihiro’s and undoubtedly bigger than Seijuro’s.

“Why am I doing this? You should be massaging me. You don’t even look concerned.” Shuzo kept up his ministrations regardless.

“Oh, I am concerned for Akashi all the time. Trust me.” Chihiro said, in a deadpan so unfeeling his mother would surely scold him. His claim was genuine, he insisted, though perhaps a tad bit misplaced. A tad.

“What are you worked up for anyway? He’ll be fine in a few days. Also, Shoto and Shoko get sick all the time. This isn’t like you.”

“I’m sorry,” Nijimura frowned, jabbing recently cut nails into a bony ankles, “am I not allowed to worry about a person sick in bed with a 39 degrees fever?”

“It went down after the medicine. Stop being dramatic, it’s embarrassing.”

Shuzo didn’t like this tone; this tone was classically used for dealing with brats. Last he checked, Shuzo was not a brat.

He scowled, and then scowled harder knowing he was probably doing the lip-thing. Damn it all. “He’s never been that sick before, not even in middle school. And I know about the flu, stress only accelerates the process…”

“Humans get sick. Getting sick is a human thing.” Chihiro muttered, but the thought managed to make him a little cross. “Besides, if there really is something going on, we won’t be able to do anything unless he tells us.”

A silence of mutual understanding followed his statement; only very recently have they accepted the idea of opening up to each other - which would have been seen as little progress judging by how long they’ve been ‘together’, Shuzo thought, but to each their own.

“How contagious do you think it is?” Shuzo asked after a moment.

“Why.”

To which Shuzo only stared.

“If he gets you sick too, I am not going anywhere near that room. You two can die alone.”

“Sure.” Shuzo’s hands clamped dangerously over his ankles. “As if you have anyone else in the first place who’s willing to babysit you or your shitty moods.”

“I’m one year older than you.” Chihiro said dryly. “And yeah, because you and Seijuro are total angels. Remind me whose mood it was that completely ruined Seijuro’s formal dinner last year – fuck!”

“When did you get such a vulgar mouth?” Shuzo sighed and released him, having successfully yanked Chihiro closer by his ankles. Chihiro was now fifty percent on his lap, fifty percent falling off the chair. “Could have sworn you weren’t half this bad before.”

“When did you get so annoying?” Chihiro pushed himself up by his elbows and grabbing Shuzo’s arm to right himself. “You were supposed to be the good one.”

Shuzo cracked a smile. “That was faulty judgement on your part, if you ever thought I would be the good one. Correct in how you eliminated yourself, though.”

“…For the record, I hope Masaomi’s death stare comes back to haunt you. Actually, he scolded me more than he did you and he couldn’t even see me half the time. And you broke the blender. How is that fair?”

“You deserved it and so did he.” Shuzo said icily, the want for this conversation to end clearly present. He was embarrassed, Chihiro could tell. But who wouldn’t be, after (rightfully) snapping at a boyfriend’s Father on his birthday? “Besides, it was paid for and replaced, okay?”

It was. The new blender was nowhere near as expensive as the old one but Chihiro often acted fonder with the treasured household item than he did with Shuzo himself.

“Well, where is my payment?”

“You laughed and deserved what you got – which was my payment, I don’t know why you think you need one.”

“I bled.”

“I’m incredibly sorry.”

“Back off, sarcasm is my thing.”

“Is sincerity is mine?”

“Sigh.”

“I’m not sorry.”

“I know,” Chihiro rolled his eyes and hovered closer. “I know because right after that, you laughed. I can’t believe I’m saying this but maybe Akashi really is the good one.”

“Huh, or neither of us are. I’m not sure what your definition of good is but for me, falling sick and still demanding to go to work is definitely not it.” Shuzo stared indifferently at the quickly closing distance, not moving an inch further or closer. Though he did close a hand over Chihiro’s as it questioned its place on Shuzo’s leg.

“Really.”

“Brat.” Shuzo agreed.

“No, I meant really. You’re saying this?” Chihiro said in a manner that clearly spoke: I know you and you know yourself and if you think you wouldn’t do the exact same thing, I’m totally going to punch you in the face – Shuzo recoiled and flashed a guilty smirk.

“Okay, like I said. Your poor judgement.”

“My judgement?” Chihiro scoffed, and with each word the distance between their noses seemed to decrease. “Your stupidity. If you and Akashi don’t die from sickness, you will from overwork and what will I do then? Actually we should really think about life insurance, remind me tomorrow. Peace aside, there’s got to be more good to come out of your deaths.”

Shuzo wanted to complain but the urge immediately ceased when he felt warm hands on his hips. “Was that your really tsundere way of saying you care?”

“Stop stealing my light novels and shut it. Forget I said anything.” And when Chihiro’s lips pressed against his, he’s more than happy to comply. The only time Chihiro’s eyes became expressive and more silver than the usual dull grey was when lips kissed lips and skin was on skin, and Shuzo always made sure to appreciate this fact by returning the enthusiasm vigorously.

He bit Chihiro’s lower lip harder than intended and received a stifled groan in response. He didn’t have to say sorry with the way the other gets revenge by digging nails into Shuzo’s exposed skin, hard enough to leave tiny crescent indents when they leave. Even entangled like this, quarrels were extended one way or another and physical retaliation was never out of the equation. At one point, Chihiro shifted so Shuzo was more on his lap than vice versa, feeling rough hands tug at his nape.

“I don’t steal your light novels.” Shuzo said after regaining his mouth and Chihiro frowned because what was the purpose of the kiss then, if he’s still not shutting up - “How is it stealing when you just leave them lying everywhere, stupid. Ringo-tan’s cute.”

“No, no. Do not make me relive my past trauma by saying the exact same thing Akashi said in third year.” Chihiro’s hands were warm where they rest curled at the small of Shuzo’s back. “The two of you don’t get to ruin Ringo-tan for me.”

“Alright fine, I’ll lay off your girlfriend. Speaking of,” Shuzo unplastered himself from Chihiro’s chest. “I’ll go get him some water.”

“Go then.”

“Let go.” He made a move to stand but Chihiro’s arms refused to budge around him. When he tried to take them apart, he’s met with more resistance. “Oi.”

“I change my mind, let him suffer.”

“Stop trying to prove you don’t have a heart,” Shuzo dully stated, pushing Chihiro back to successfully wriggle out of his hold. “We all know you do.”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

“You are annoying.” Chihiro followed him, grabbed the cup that was offered even though he doubted Seijuro had the strength to hold it up for himself.

“Yeah? Well so are you. So is Sei.” Shuzo tugged him along by the wrist. “And yet here you are, stuck with the both of us. Tough luck.”

“God.” Chihiro groaned hours later when he stepped into the room to witness Shuzo feeding Seijuro like a child. To do this, Shuzo had to be close enough to breathe in Seijuro’s sick particles and that did not sound good at all. Not when he, one, lived with these two bastards, two, had a 5000-word essay to submit next Monday, a personal preference to breathe without physically suffering and an alleviated nasty attitude to go.

“What.” Shuzo said, sounding very insulted by his presence.

“This,” he said, pointing at the doorframe. “Is the line. All area on this side is quarantine and neither of you are allowed to cross it.”

“Then suffer when your ungrateful ass gets sick and no one’s there to nurse you back to health.” Shuzo pulled the glass back quickly as Seijuro started to cough, a large hand rubbing soothing circles into his lower back.

“Actually, I’m on this side of the line.” Chihiro said. “Meaning I won’t get sick, meaning I won’t need to be taken care of.”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to vacate the whole apartment,” Seijuro said in the most dignified voice he could manage (it wasn’t very) before another nasty cough escaped him. “…For the full guarantee. Though there’s a high chance you’ve already been caught.”

There was the pitiful sight of a weakened Akashi Seijuro scratching the tip of his nose and sniffing. Chihiro has never seen him more human (to be fair, the memories of Seijuro writhing under him felt too illegal to be human).

“Sei,” Shuzo warned lowly.

Seijuro took the glass from him and set it on the table after a short silence. “Admittedly I haven’t been feeling up to par since Friday last week.”

That little…Chihiro felt the muscles in his forehead tighten in exasperation, he could see Shuzo fighting it off, too. No wonder it got so bad.

Shuzo hummed deceitfully sweet, “I’m going to flick your forehead.”

“Please don’t.”

He ended up not flicking any foreheads because Seijuro said please and that was always a hard thing to say no to. And while it was irritating knowing Seijuro had masked it for more than half a week, it was typical behavior for the brat. Admitting vulnerability now meant a big step from where he was a year ago. Also, he was down with the flu. There were just too many factors to take into account – no, Shuzo was not getting soft, definitely not.

“But Chihiro has a point,” Seijuro said. “This is - thank you, Shuzo, but you may not want to get too close to me right now.”

“Shut up.” Shuzo crossed his arms and leaned back on his chair. “I want to take care of you so I’m taking care of you, okay? When was the last time anyone did anyway?”

“Ah.” Seijuro backtracked, glancing up at the ceiling. “The last time it was this bad was in senior high school, and my nanny did. She made me hot cocoa.”

“Right.” Shuzo confirmed, pinning Chihiro with his eyes before he could escape. “You there in quarantine, whip up some hot cocoa?”

“Excuse me?” Chihiro, happy about being momentarily forgotten, wondered for the second time tonight if he really deserved all this. “Why do I have to do it?”

Shuzo stared. “We’ve been told not to cross the line?”

The glare Chihiro shot then was completely void of all compassion and sympathy and absolutely capable of physical slaughter. Unfortunately, the duo on the receiving end were freaks to society and were therefore immune. Seijuro coughed once to hide a chuckle, and that was enough for Chihiro to walk away unimpressed, thoroughly regretting his life choices.

(Later he came again, a mug in each hand.)

(He tried not to be too smug when Shuzo was bedridden a week later and Chihiro was perfectly fine.)

#nijiakamayu #nijimayu #nijiaka #mayuaka #my #fic:nijiakamayu #hi i love nijiakamayu #i find a spelling/grammatical/everything mistake every time i reread this im SORRY </3

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cerberosthehellguard · 7 years

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rooftop

This, my dear! Classic among classics! A common stereotypical setting for many metaphorical incidents that impact the protagonist's life permanently! And in KNB, we have come across many in this particular case.

I find myself going back to the canonical scene of where Akashi seeks out Mayuzumi after the Winter Cup to bid him goodbye. It is such a poignant scene and of the apology Akashi asks and the acceptance that Mayuzumi offers. I don't think Mayuzumi ever actually cared, but the way he says that the year had been interesting because of Akashi is so lightly touched upon - that is the acceptance he offers for Akashi and his past mistakes and his treatment of his teammates. And its so subtle I cannot help but squeal when I see it. This is Mayuzumi. He is pure salt, he is Indifference Supreme but he is forgiving. He wouldn't give a flying fuck about people and their feelings and fragile egos but he would necessarily bad mouth you nor sabotage you. I personally think he is a great teammate because of that.

Preferably I want Nijimura and Mayuzumi to go the same college. Nijimura back in Japan after taking care of his father and Mayuzumi a senior to him. I am sure the college rooftop is famous for being haunted by a ghost - who of course is none other than our Salt Shaker who doesn't like people invading the space. Enter Nijimura who misses his family and takes on odd jobs to reduce the burden and comes to the rooftop to sleep for a while.

Their friendship would be reluctant, unspoken but it is there and it is Real. It takes them ages to say Hi to each other, even more for Mayuzumi to actually get his ass to the club when Nijiumura works as a bartender and ages more to go for dinner together.

It is only when Nijimura graduates that Mayuzumi flips a page in his book and says you might as well come and live with me if the commute to work is that much of a hassle. Nijimura accepts.

Akashi's mouth hangs open for a whole ten seconds - verified by Furihata - when he hears the news.

#niri babbles #nijimayu is something I have wanted to do ha ha but LOL //shrugs

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shuuniji · 6 years

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:3c -> niji/mayu, niji/hai, nijiGOM tbh, niji/aka /wonks and runs away tripping on my shoes;

put a ship in my ask

nijimayu.

vomit / don’t ship / ok / cute / adorable / sexy / perfect / beyond flawless / hot damn / screaming and crying / i will ship them in hell

nijihai.

vomit / don’t ship / ok / cute / adorable / sexy / perfect / beyond flawless / hot damn / screaming and crying / i will ship them in hell

nijigom.

vomit / don’t ship / ok / cute / adorable / sexy / perfect / beyond flawless / hot damn / screaming and crying / i will ship them in hell / it depends on the gom member bye.

nijiaka

vomit / don’t ship / ok / cute / adorable / sexy / perfect / beyond flawless / hot damn / screaming and crying / i will ship them in hell

#i cnb im getting called out #UH ANYWAYS -- A LOTTA OF THESE ARE BASED OFF OF DISCORD THINGS -- DON'T MIND ME!#BASKETBALL FOR BEGINNERS.#ANSWERED.#u get one answer per one kyun #ONE !

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himuro-en-la-zona · 8 years

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Cosas que pasan

Personajes: Mayuzumi + Nijimura

Argumento: Un buen día Mayuzumi conoce a un niño con cara de pato

(Esta historia técnicamente no es un AU)

Había varias opciones y todas, de un modo u otro, involucraban echarse a correr y llamar a la policía.

Las madres tenían una forma especial de arruinar las vidas de los niños. Una de ellas, por poner un ejemplo, era pronunciando una de las frases más aterradoras habidas y por haber: “mira, ese niño es de tu edad, ve a jugar con él”. Mientras la madre de Chihiro se quedaba charlando con su amiga, él tenía que pasar el rato con un niño lleno de tiritas y moratones.

Por no hablar de que ese niño NO era de la edad de Chihiro, sino un año menor que él o más. Menudo ojo. Las madres ya no sabían ni qué excusa inventarse con tal de arruinar la paz de sus hijos, en serio.

En vista de que Chihiro no hizo ningún tipo de intento por “hacerse amiguito” de aquel niño, fue el muy pesado el que se acercó a él con cara de malas pulgas.

—Buenas —dijo el niño aquel. Era bastante más bajito que Chihiro y se notaba que no tenía una madre tan pesada como la suya, que no paraba de echarle babas en el pelo para que estuviese socialmente presentable.

Este niño daba asco y muy simpático no parecía. Mejor eso que tener a un pesado de esos que no paraban de correr de aquí para allá y que creían que hablar a gritos era normal.

—Hola —contestó Chihiro.

—Que sepas que da igual lo que diga mi madre: no voy a jugar contigo —El niño se cruzó de brazos y puso una mueca que, más que temerario, le hacía parecer tonto o un quiero-y-no-puedo de Psyduck.

—Qué simpático eres —respondió Chihiro con aquello que, dentro de unos años, se convertiría en su sello personal: el sarcasmo.

Aun así, Chihiro no pudo decir que el crío aquel le cayese mal. Cada uno siguió a lo suyo, Chihiro con su manga y el niño… con lo que fuese que estuviese haciendo. Algo estúpido, probablemente.

—¡Shuu-chan, tenemos que ir a casa! —gritó la madre del niño, que estaba con una barriga descomunal. Era como si de ahí fuese a salir un niño de seis años y no un bebé.

El tal Shuu-chan fue corriendo a junto de su madre-ballena y miró para atrás, encontrándose con la mirada de refilón de Chihiro, y asintió con la cabeza.

La madre de Shuu-chan y la de Chihiro se llevaban de perlas y quizás también de diamantes, así que de vez en cuando se pasaban la una por la casa de la otra y arrastraban a sus pobres hijos con ellas.

—Mira, esta es mi hermana —dijo Shuu-chan con tal orgullo que hasta parecía que estaba hablando de una persona de verdad y no del elefante que se había comido su madre.

—¿Por qué me mientes?

—Chihiro-kun, ¿quieres tocar la barriga? —preguntó la madre de Shuu-chan.

La propuesta era muy amable, de eso Chihiro no iba a dudar, pero en qué cabeza podría caber la idea de que a un niño iba a gustarle palpar la barriga de una señora.

A Shuu-chan, vale. Lo demostró al coger a la fuerza la mano de Chihiro (este niño se iba a dedicar a la lucha libre, Chihiro lo veía claramente) y la colocó sobre la panza dura y desagradable de su madre.

Lo único que salvaba la situación era la mano sudorosa y llena de tiritas de Shuu-chan sobre la suya, y para tener esa birria de salvavidas, mejor era ahogarse. Chihiro apartó la mano y miró mal a madre e hijo, como si hubiesen ofendido a él y a la nación entera.

Como era obvio que a Shuu-chan le tiraba de un pie herir los sentimientos —y el cuerpo— de la gente, agarró a Chihiro de la muñeca y corrió escaleras arribas para enseñarle el juguete nuevo y aburrido que le había comprado su padre. Muy bien, Shuu-chan, perfecto: la próxima vez, si es que la había, mejor compartir sus bienes más preciados sin arrancarle ninguna extremidad a Chihiro. Ese era el primer paso hacia una amistad sana y fuerte.

Tampoco es que fuesen a llegar a ser amigos, que conste.

No lo iban a ser, más que nada porque Chihiro se iba a mudar a Kioto. Las distancias y la geografía de Japón no era información de la que Chihiro, de ocho años, fuese maestro. Nunca lo sería, a juzgar por las notas que iba a llevar en Ciencias Sociales en el futuro. Mejor no estropear las pocas ilusiones del Chihiro de ocho años con estos atisbos de un futuro menos que prometedor.

El presente era el presente y Chihiro se marchaba a un lugar que, en palabras de su padre, “estaba lejillos”. Fueron a visitar una vez más a Shuu-chan y a su hermana ya nacida (era como esos gatos arrugados y calvos), aunque esta pequeña criatura de infernales chillidos captaba la atención de Chihiro lo mismo que la hierba que pisaba sin querer en el parque.

Shuu-chan volvió a compartir sus juguetes con él una última vez, y Chihiro habría deseado poder pasar un rato más juntos. No tanto porque el niño ese le cayese bien como por lo buenos que eran sus juguetes.

Pasaron varios años antes de que Chihiro volviese a Tokio a visitar a sus abuelos. Iba a ser completamente sincero: tantas horas en coche le motivaron lo justo y suficiente para ir por ahí en busca de cosas divertidas que hacer, es decir, nada. Lo máximo que se permitió fue comerse la tarta que había preparado su abuela (luego tenía la cara de decirle que estaba “un poco gordito” y que debería dejar de ser tan goloso) y dar un paseo para quemar calorías y abandonar así la vida sedentaria.

Ese fue la excusa que dio, al menos. La verdad iba más encaminada a evitar las molestas charlas familiares y preguntas estúpidas que todo niño debía recibir de vez en cuando, como si quería más a su papá o a su mamá. Qué situación más comprometedora e innecesaria.

Resentido con el mundo ya desde su más tierna infancia, Chihiro caminó sin rumbo y preguntándose si la panadería de la esquina siempre había estado ahí o admirando lo grande que era ya el cachorrito de los Satou.

Entonces, casi como su fuese una ráfaga de viento áureo, apareció una cabecita rubia con una visera roja ladeada (qué moderno y radical) y varios moratones que ocultaban lo que algún día había sido una cara humana.

—¿Y tú qué coño miras? —preguntó el rubiales tras varios segundos sin darse cuenta de que había alguien con la vista fija en él.

Con todo, seguía siendo más avispado que la inmensa mayoría de la población.

—Nada.

Lejos de quedar convencido de la evidente indiferencia de Chihiro, el rubiales se acercó a él con gesto peligroso y muy malas intenciones. Había varias opciones y todas, de un modo u otro, involucraban echarse a correr y llamar a la policía.

—Yo a ti te conozco… —dijo el chaval con los ojos entrecerrados y una mueca de lo más estúpida a la par que única.

La misma mueca que solía poner Shuu-chan.

No.

—¿Mayuyu?

—Creo que te equivocas.

—¡Pero si es Mayuyu! —Shuu-chan, si se le podía llamar así a este proyecto de delincuente, le dio varias palmaditas en la espalda—. Joer, ¿no estabas tú en… Osaka?

—En Kioto, de hecho. ¿Tú no estabas en el matadero?

—¿Qué?

—Nada, es sarcasmo.

Shuu-chan se sonrojó de arriba abajo y Chihiro tuvo la impresión de que el muy idiota había confundido el sarcasmo con otra palabra un tanto diferente en cuanto a significado. Menudo crío.

Volver a ver a Shuu-chan despertó una especie de nostalgia en Chihiro hasta que, como siempre, acabó arruinándolo todo: vinieron unos chicos de secundaria a pegar a Shuu-chan, que parecía más que confiado en sus habilidades para destrozar huesos.

La parte positiva era que Chihiro, invisible como era, pudo escapar sin que nadie se diese cuenta.

La siguiente vez que se vieron, ya pasados otros tantos años, Shuu-chan seguía rubio y cada vez con peor cara. Asintieron con la cabeza en la calle, sin dedicarse un mísero saludo, y Chihiro evitó pensar en la mano vendada de Shuu-chan.

Algo más tarde, su madre le dio la dirección de correo de Shuu-chan para que hablasen “de sus cosillas”.

—A lo mejor a ti te hace caso, que eres como su primo mayor… Yo ya no sé qué hacer con él, de veras.

Pues si ella no lo sabía, que era una adulta, menos lo iba a saber Chihiro.

Para sorpresa de nadie, el primer mensaje lo recibió él de Shuu-chan. Le contaba que ya estaba en secundaria y que no tenía amigos (no lo dijo en esos términos, pero siendo Shuu-chan, lo extraño sería que estuviese rodeado de gente), de modo que sus padres no paraban de insistirle que se uniese a un club. Mayuzumi le sugirió el de baloncesto, al que se había apuntado él en su escuela, pero Shuu-chan le dio una hostia a mano abierta a la idea.

Poco después recibió otro correo donde le comentaba que, tras haberse peleado contra un viejo llamado Shirogane y demostrar que el respeto a los mayores se lo pasaba por el forro, se unió al club de baloncesto. Chihiro no le vio ningún tipo de coherencia a su relato y así se lo hizo saber, a lo que Shuu-chan, con ese buen humor que lo caracterizaba, le respondió con un “cállate”.

Hasta Kioto llegaron los rumores de un instituto llamado Teikou que tenía un equipo de baloncesto demencial que prometía arrasar con todo lo que se pusiese delante. Ese “todo” no iba a ser Chihiro, desde luego. Tampoco le extrañó mucho ver en una revista especializada que Teikou era el equipo donde estaba cierta cabecita rubia que él conocía bien.

Orgulloso no, Chihiro sintió algo en el pecho.

Fue incluso mejor cuando poco después leyó que Teikou se había proclamado subcampeón, habiendo perdido contra el equipo donde jugaba un tal Mibuchi Reo, y que la medalla de plata relucía bajo el rostro furioso y con sed de venganza de Shuu-chan.

Se avecinaba un cambio.

Fue el propio Shuu-chan el que le explicó por llamada telefónica que lo habían ascendido a capitán, y eso que era un mocoso de segundo año.

—No puedes ser capitán con esas pintas.

—Vuelvo a tener el pelo negro desde después de las nacionales, listillo —respondió Shuu-chan malhumorado. Su voz, en algún momento dulce y cantarina, ahora era la de un barítono de cincuenta años, divorciado y con poca esperanza de volver a encontrar el amor.

Shuu-chan le explicó un poco cómo era el nuevo equipo y cómo había afectado eso de ser capitán a su vida de exdelincuente reformado. Era una decisión del tal Shirogane, el viejo aquel con el que se había peleado, y buscarle la lógica era un trabajo demasiado arduo para Chihiro, así que ni lo intentó. Poner un equipo en manos de Shuu-chan no era muy sabio, pero Chihiro no creyó que le fuese a salir mal. No después de oír cómo Shuu-chan hablaba de los niños de primero, todos revoltosos y con más arrogancia que nadie.

Debía de tenerles bastante cariño.

—No sé a qué me suena a mí eso.

—¡No me compares con ellos!

—No intentes ir de digno después de haber confesado que te peleaste con un señor mayor, Shuu-chan.

—Oye, ¿qué te he dicho de llamarme así? Que ya no tengo siete años, Mayuyu.

Y una porra iba a llamarle él Nijimura. Era mil veces mejor ir a por la opción más humillante, aunque eso implicase que Chihiro perdiese algo de respeto hacia sí mismo en el proceso.

A veces Shuu-chan sonaba verdaderamente estresado y solía achacarlo a sus compañeros de equipo, en concreto a un tal Haizaki que no paraba de “liarla parda” (significase eso lo que significase). Sonaba a una versión un año menor de Shuu-chan y a Chihiro ya le entraba el agobio con solo escuchar la de problemas que daba. Aun así, había algo en la voz de Shuu-chan que indicaba que estaba escondiendo algo mucho mayor que las peleas en las que se metiese el tal Haizaki o los trastos con los que inundaba el gimnasio un tal Midorima. No sería Chihiro el que le fuera a preguntar; si quería contárselo, ahí lo tenía a su disposición. Tampoco sería plan de colgarle, ¿no?

Shuu-chan seguía en sus trece de hablar de sus compañeros y de lo raritos que eran. Lo más importante que le dijo aquel día, y era algo que Chihiro olvidaría hasta transcurridos un par de años, era que el único que se salvaba era un tal Akashi. “Parece majo”, dijo Shuu-chan con tono sincero.

Fueron sus notas aceptables las que lo llevaron a Rakuazan y el destino el que consiguió que conociese al tal Akashi Seijuurou.

“Parece majo”, había dicho Shuu-chan. “Es muy buen niño”.

—Soy absoluto.

Fue ese día cuando Chihiro, sin energías y con el nivel de intolerancia a la humanidad por las nubes, le mandó un mensaje a Shuu-chan de lo más críptico: “me has mentido, cabrón”.

#kurokadas #nijimayu #solo en tmblr

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artificervaldi · 8 years

Link

Two upperclassmen muse together.

#Nijimayu #kuroko no basuke #nijimura shuuzou #mayuzumi chihiro

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eunhaeka · 8 years

Photo

Nijimura and Mayuzumi crossover.

the original scenes from Tight Rope

#nijimura shuuzou #mayuzumi chihiro #nijimayu #kuroko no basket #crossover

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joss-lenn-blog · 8 years

Text

Cholos navajeros.doc

Mayuzumi se encuentra a un cholo navajero.

Probablemente yo sea una de esas personas que Dios se crea para meterles la zancadilla y luego repetir el proceso, por mera diversión. Pero hasta los más pateados por El Señor podemos tener nuestros momentos de buena racha ¿No? O al menos lo más cercano a eso.

Algo así fue lo que sucedió cuando mi madre me dio La Noticia: Te vas de vacaciones a Los Ángeles.

Aún recuerdo muy bien cómo ella hablaba tan entusiasta sobre no sé qué de conocer gente del extranjero, todo eso mientras desayunaba un tazón de cereal y la miraba fijamente, esperando a que me diera datos concretos sobre esas vacaciones.

No tuve el corazón para decirle que la última de mis preocupaciones era socializar, mucho menos en otro país. Para el caso, por algo el hombre moderno se había inventado el internet.

En fin, a lo que quiero llegar es que seguramente mi madre no estaría tan optimista sobre el asunto de la socialización si me viera ahora, hablando con una suerte de pato enfurecido.

Mi nombre es Mayuzumi Chihiro, ferviente fan de las novelas ligeras y futuro difunto.

Probablemente no se esté entendiendo nada de lo que está sucediendo aquí, así que recapitulemos:

Los tíos californianos resultaron ser de esos parientes de los que no sabes hasta que o son muy generosos o necesitan un préstamo, afortunadamente el caso era el primero. Ahora, ellos no tenían hijos, así que no existían primos con quienes pasar el rato. Eso en sí no era malo (mejor así), lo terrible aquí era que apenas habían pasado dos días y me aburría como ostra.

En mi ingenuidad, creí que no iba a pasar nada si salía a hacer unas compras, buscaba una cancha y practicaba unos tiros o lo que fuera.

En fin. El caso es que mientras me cocía bajo el calor infernal de Los Ángeles, un tipo con cara de bandolero se me acercó sin darme tiempo siquiera para huir. Luego comenzó a hablarme en inglés, probablemente pidiéndome que le soltara mi cartera o yo qué sé. Lo peor es que por el acento y las facciones era evidente que ese malandro era mi compatriota.

─Mira, si vas a asaltarme, que sea en mi idioma.

El chico aquél hizo una expresión aún más deplorable que la primera.

─Pero bueno ¿De dónde sacas eso? ─preguntó en un idioma decente, o sea, japonés─. Sólo te estoy pidiendo la hora.

─Cuarto para las tres.

─Oh ¿Juegas baloncesto?

Pues vaya. Había sido tanta la adrenalina de un posible homicidio por arma blanca que me había olvidado de la cancha.

─Algo así.

─¿Qué clase de respuesta es esa? ─el chico aquél enarcó una ceja y me miró con desdén. Pues vaya─. Ven, te muestro dónde está la cancha y de paso vemos a que te refieres con tu “algo así”.

Mientras lo seguía no pude evitar hacerme las preguntas importes ¿Por qué me preguntaba la hora si iba a ser que al final ni siquiera tenía tanta prisa?

Ahora, el chico se llamaba Nijimura Shuuzou y a mí me sonaba de algo, pero no recordaba exactamente de dónde. Y contrario a lo que había pensado en un inicio, no era un cholo navajero.

─No eres tan malo, eh.

Lo miré con resentimiento. Estaba muy fresco como para haberme machacado en ese jodido uno a uno. Por mi mente se me cruzaron mil respuestas mordaces que soltarle, como lo bestia que era en todos los sentidos, pero nada de eso me salió.

─Solía jugarlo el año pasado ─contesté encogiéndome de hombros─. Hasta que me retiré y entré a la Universidad.

Eso pareció picar la curiosidad de Nijimura.

─¿En serio? ¿En Japón?

─¿En dónde si no?

Recibí un balonazo en la espalda por respuesta ¿Qué les decía yo sobre ser una bestia?

─Yo también solía jugarlo, cuando estaba en Japón ─contó mientras se sentaba en las gradas─. Luego me mudé aquí y no hubo mucho tiempo para eso.

Parecía genuinamente abatido e increíble pero cierto, eso me removió la empatía, que para su información sí que la tengo.

─¿Es sólo el tiempo? ─pregunté, tomando asiento a su lado.

─Puede que tenga también mucho que ver el que extrañe a mis compañeros ─admitió Nijimura─. Eran unos mocosos ¿sabes? Pero les gustaba lo que hacían y es difícil encontrar a alguien así de apasionado.

─No lo sé. Yo conocí a muchos que sólo tenían baloncesto en la cabeza.

Nijimura me miró fijamente, pero no dijo ni pío. Aparentemente estaba esperando a que abriera mi corazón con él o algo así.

─Era molesto y no eran trigo limpio ─continué, recordando el último año de Rakuzan─. Pero supongo que si no hubiera entrado al club de baloncesto, el tercer año habría sido muy aburrido.

─Eso es dar muchas vueltas: te gustaba el baloncesto y punto.

─Podría decirse. Pero desde que entré a la universidad no lo he jugado, así que da lo mismo.

A saber en qué estaba pensando Nijimura, pero su cara era todo un poema. Uno que hablaba de patitos feos, aparentemente.

─¿Hasta cuándo dices que te regresas a Japón, Mayuzumi?

─El fin de semana.

─Pues dale, hay que aprovechar estos días para echar unos juegos.

Solté un bufido que sólo sirvió para alimentar la sonrisa de comemierda de Nijimura. Al parecer había un cambio de planes: Ya no iba a quedarme en la casa de mis tíos a seguir leyendo, tranquilo y sin que nadie me molestara.

No iba a decir en voz alta que me agradaba la idea.

El último día que estuve en Los Ángeles, Nijimura sugirió que nos tomáramos una selfie.

Casi muero atragantado con mis palabras ¿Cómo le iba a decir que si su duck face era permanente o la tenía para este tipo de emergencias? No fuera a ser que al final sí que fuera un malandro.

─¿Cómo te fue en tus vacaciones, Mayuzumi-san? Tengo entendido que las pasaste en California.

Lo que yo tenía entendido era que le había pedido a Akashi que guardara las distancias conmigo, pero allí estaba, visitándome a mi casa sin avisar. La próxima vez recordaría en probar la psicología inversa con él.

─Fui a Disneylandia. Y me hice amigo de un cholo navajero.

Esperaba que, para variar, la respuesta hiciera mella en Akashi, pero eso era mucho pedir. Se limitó a asentir y sonreír.

─Lo de Disneylandia no lo sabía, espero que te hayas divertido ─comentó, buscando algo en su celular─. Pero ayer hablé con tu amigo navajero y me contó que te encontró en Los Ángeles.

─¿Qué?

Para aclarar su punto, Akashi me mostró la selfie que Nijimura había tomado.

─Debo decir que la foto captura muy bien la esencia de ambos.

Nijimura estaba haciendo una mueca estúpida y yo tenía los ojos entrecerrados. Odiaba cuando Akashi llegaba y te insultaba entre líneas. Y odiaba aún más enterarme de que esos dos dolores de cabeza parecían conocerse, porque le haberlo sabido, le habría tirado mierda a Akashi.

Carajo.

#viva la niji fuck you #mayuzumi chihiro #nijimura shuuzou #y akashi seijuurou como invitado especial #nijimayu

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half-sleeping · 8 years

Note

For ficlet request, could I please have some kind of matchmaking plot involving mayuaka or mayuniji, and endless mayuzumi suffering? Can be any kind of AU or vaguely canonverse. Thank you!

I’ve been catching up on The World is Still Beautiful recently, arranged marriages ahoy.

Chihiro was given only a few minutes to freshen up before the servants opened the door again and said, breathlessly, that he was awaited in the Sky Pavilion. He needed them. He had been delayed by an earthquake, a landslide, a small flood, lost half his luggage in said flood and finally arrived at Heaven’s Doorway to discover that the fiance he’d crossed half a continent to meet was out on a bandit raid.

The Sky Pavilion was set in the middle of a beautiful garden and true to its name afforded a wonderful view of the palace grounds and the massive shuddering waterfalls that surrounded the pass that gave the palace and fortress its name. There was plenty of time for the pavilion’s occupants to look their fill at Chihiro as he approached.

Looking at them, Chihiro began to wish he’d bothered to memorise the names of the princes who had been hostaged- excuse him, educated- at Heaven’s Doorway since they were eight years old. He knew their kingdoms, of course. And he knew that they, like Chihiro’s fiance, were to meet their own mandated partners in less than a year, which might have explained their curiosity.

He stared at them. They all stared back. A hundred thousand rules of court etiquette fought in Chihiro’s mind. He was older than all of them, and he was engaged. They were better-born than he was, and technically his hosts. This was their first meeting, but the Sky Pavilion, with its low, scattered furniture and wide-open balconies and windows, was clearly not a formal venue.

They might have remained staring at each other until the servants came and rescued them from their awkwardness, but one of the princes hauled himself to his feet, and said, in a voice enlivened by a deep and passionate strain of derisive laughter, “You are here for Shuuzou?”

The rest of the assembled princes didn’t lower themselves to such a display of vulgar emotion, but the looks on their faces echoed the sentiment.

The lone girl among them sprang to her feet, distressed. Her, Chihiro could name: Satsuki, who following an epidemic in her country had been sent to join her fiance earlier than had been planned. “Shougo-kun!” she said. “That’s- you shouldn’t!”

“What?” he demanded, throwing back his head as though he wasn’t royalty of a dead country. “We’re all thinking it.”

Now that one of their own was actually talking to an outsider, other princes came forward, frowning at Shougo. One wearing a red armband went through all the right formalities, introducing himself as Seijuurou. He went around the circle, but Chihiro, humiliated and still tired, figured he would be able to remember their names later. It wasn’t like he, or they, were going anywhere soon.

.0.

A week later, the situation had not improved. Chihiro was just about able to recognise them when they were wearing their armbands, eternal mourning for their dead empires, but on the many occasions that they were dressed differently, or casually, or shirtless, Chihiro found it hard to distinguish between many very tall, talkative or non-talkative, and unfriendly blurs of motion.

They were, quite often, shirtless. It was hard not to notice that taken in a body, they were good-looking boys, rapidly emerging from their childhood to become good-looking men. And Shuuzou had lived with them, here, for many years. That would explain their unfriendliness, and Shuuzou’s extended absence.

Chihiro’s lessons had not included what to do if your husband took a mistress before you were even married.

“You could go riding with us,” suggested Seijuurou, who made a point of speaking with Chihiro at least twice a day and whose company was better than nothing, i.e. hiding in the library requesting that his meals be served there or in private. “We go in the mornings and evenings.”

Chihiro was reminded of his horse, Apple. He’d had to leave her behind in his own country. Abruptly he was homesick, hunching his shoulders against a wave of misery. His super-special, alliance-saving fiance hadn’t even been there to meet him.

Greeted with silence, Seijuurou shrugged his shoulders and said, “I will be going for weapons practice. I’ll see you later.”

“Yes,” said Chihiro. “I’ll-”

Horns sounded, notes from fortress’s sentries that Chihiro fumbled to put together. Someone was returning, someone who-

Seijuurou turned and walked away from Chihiro swiftly. Chihiro finally put two and two together, and followed him to the entrance foyer.

He, Chihiro noted sourly, had been shown to a side entrance. This was the door designed to impress.

In response to the signals, the graduating fortress gates had been flung open, and servants and soldiers alike gathered on the sides of the avenue, apparently of their own free will and full of excitement. Anyone visiting the palace would be able to watch a glorious assembly gather on the dias to greet them, and from the dias, Chihiro could see straight down the entire approach.

The commoners were not the only ones excited. All of the princes materialized to stand with Seijuurou and Chihiro, at least two of whom Chihiro had never seen before this exact moment. Even Shougo, whom Chihiro had not seen since that disastrous first day. They crowded to the front and elbowed each other out of the way, excluding Chihiro.

“Maybe it’s not him,” said a ravishingly beautiful prince who, typically, was shirtless.

“Of course it is,” said the serious-faced one who was, as far as Chihiro was aware, Seijuurou’s best friend. He was always irritatingly, scrupulously polite and formal. “Here he comes.”

Chihiro edged to the side and discreetly craned his neck.

A dark shape raced up on the wide, well-maintained castle road, gradually resolving into a horse and rider, galloping wildly home. The servants set up a cheer as he passed, while Chihiro thought, why is that guy in such a hurry?

Because he’d missed the arrival of his fiance. Right. Chihiro had nearly forgotten that he was supposed to be important.

The actual arrival of Shuuzou failed to disappoint. His magnificent horse clattered up the paved road and tossed its head, clearly proud to have such an adoring audience. The prince sitting on her back snorted indulgently at her antics, swinging himself off and handing off the reins to one of the princes.

He looked like he had been one of those bandits he had gone off hunting, quiver slung over his back and bow hanging off his saddle. Several of the princes were talking at once, demanding to know how it’d gone, why he’d taken so long, how he was, had it been a good fight, how many dead?

“SHUT UP,” bellowed Shuuzou. “What’re you all so excited for?” They fell silent, but still stared at him, failing to feign disinterest in their obvious hero.

He walked into their midst and they parted, letting him through to the central figure on the dias, who had remained still and composed.

“Did you accomplish your goal?” murmured Seijuurou, smiling up into Shuuzou’s face.

“Course I did,” said Shuuzou, affectionately cuffing Seijuurou on the shoulder for asking him a stupid question. “Sorry I took so long.”

Seijuurou, who lifted soft eyes- soft in his half-soft, half-sharp face, absolutely glowing with feeling- to Shuuzou’s face.

Oh.

So that was it.

Shuuzou seemed not to notice that the princes were greeting him as though he had returned from the dead; he passed by Seijuurou, arranging his scowl into an awkward smile and pushing back his sweaty hair, holding out his hand to Chihiro. Not knowing what else to do, Chihiro took it, and Shuuzou grasped him back, firmly.

“Sorry,” he said briefly. “Came back as fast as I heard.” His voice was roughened by dust and shouting. He was a little shorter than Chihiro himself, and his hair and eyes were an inky, solid black, his skin golden-tanned and warm. All in his dirt and sweat, he seemed twice as solid and real as anyone, anything else.

His father was dying, and whoever married Nijimura Shuuzou ascended by his side to the greatest throne in living memory.

Chihiro tore his gaze from Shuuzou’s face and looked over his shoulder. Once again the assembled faces of the princes looked at him in mingled dismay and disappointment, once again Chihiro said his own name, and it turned to dust in his throat.

#conquerse #nijimayu #nijimura shuzo #mayuzumi chihiro #akashi seijuurou #2 of 5 bloodfic #kuroko has been in the library the whole time #do u wanna know how i got to heaven's mouth #tei-KOU #i blame u #niji and mayu have great makeouts #i would have put that in but i died #i'm sorry this took so long

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