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andypantsx3 · 2 years ago

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fruit first (ask questions later) | k. bakugou

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Gender Neutral Reader

length: 3.6k

summary: When the grocery store you’re in becomes collateral in a villain attack, pro hero Dynamight comes to your rescue. When you become armed with a handful of oranges, however, someone may need to come to his rescue…

A short, mostly fluffy nothing for the prompt Bakugou + oranges. Part of the Willow’s House server Meet Fruit collab, where I took “meet fruit” extremely literally. Thank you @willowser for letting me in even though my dumb ass signed up late!!

tags/warnings: sfw, fluff, sexual tension, gender neutral reader

You were in the produce section when it happened.

The season was creeping into summertime now, the weather outside hot and humid and perfect for fresh produce–stalks of crunchy asparagus, fat ruby-red tomatoes, and tiny little berries nestled in their containers like a fistful of jewels.

You had admittedly been getting a little over-indulgent, your basket already straining against the skin of your forearm, heavy with more fruits and vegetables than a single person might feasibly consume before they went bad. But you were heady with visions of summer salads and fancy grain bowls, cool and leafy and refreshing, a balm against the sweltering city heat.

You’d just been adding a couple oranges to your basket when the first sign came.

It started as a rumble from far off, like the sound of slow-rolling thunder.

It echoed through the store, the bass buzzing through the shelves, making them hum. The lights flickered for a moment, their fluorescence dimming. A few of the people around you glanced up curiously, but nothing else in the interior of the store changed—no screaming, no crying, no running.

At first there was nothing to indicate that you might need to abandon your groceries in a pique of terror.

That was, until another boom sounded just overhead. And then the ceiling was suddenly ripped open with violent force.

A hunk of the steel frame was pulled back like the tab on a sardine can, the caging screaming in protest, and a shower of plaster rained down around you, breaking apart in slabs. An enormous, hulking figure peered through the hole, then dropped into the aisles before you, shaking the floor with his heavy landing.

Behind him, several other figures skittered into the building, one woman climbing down the wall like a lizard as a few others dropped in through the hole. A man suddenly popped into existence a few feet away from the orange stand with a crack like a gunshot. You startled, stumbling backwards, knocking into the oranges and sending a wave of them plopping to the floor.

There was no mistaking who these people were.

Villains. An entire crew of them.

All at once, the shoppers around you scrambled for cover, letting out a cacophony of shrieks and screams. You backed away, only for your foot to catch on an orange, rolling your ankle.

A bright stab of pain lanced through the joint, and you went down, hard, banging your elbow on a nearby display. You caught the floor with your rib cage, crushing an orange under your hip, your basket screeching across the floor next to you.

It knocked the breath right out of you, and you gasped, just as a blade of energy went singing overhead, slicing through the shelves and sending explosions of fruits and metal into the air. They rained down around you, a chunk of shelf framing tipping over and slamming down on your leg, fruits and vegetables slapping across every inch of your body.

Screams went up from the far side of the store, and you bit back a yelp of pain, tears forming in your eyes.

“Grab as many civvies as you can!” a deep voice barked out. “Hold ‘em like a shield and get moving to the next location!”

Your whole body iced over in fear, your ankle and leg screaming in protest as your limbs locked up. Footsteps echoed in every direction as the group of villains split up, hunting down their civilian targets. You hoped wildly, desperately that no one had seen you go down behind the citrus display.

Your hopes were in vain, however. Bootsteps rounded the corner, and the man who had appeared from thin air bent over the shelving pinning you down.

He was tall and wiry, with a face like a weasel and a thinning crop of dark hair. A malicious grin split the sides of his face as he took you in, yellow eyes flickering over you. “Hello sweet thing,” he cooed.

Your stomach flipped in despair as he prowled closer, oranges rolling away from his boots. Your hands scrambled at your sides, fingernails digging into the floor, as you tried to drag yourself backwards, away from him.

He cackled, high, reedy and excited, stalking down the aisle between two fruit stands. Two steps brought him right to you, and he leaned in, smiling widely. He reached out his long, straggly fingers, grasping for you—

And then he promptly blinked out of existence as a furious explosion crackled into life right where he had been. The brightness seared your eyes, blinding you, and a scorching heat scalded your face as a deafening boom rattled your teeth.

You snapped your eyes shut reflexively, but the light and heat was gone as soon as it came. The pad of boots approached you over the ringing in your ears, and you blinked open your eyes. Behind the spots that dotted your vision was a familiar face—one you’d seen on TV dozens, if not hundreds of times.

Bakugou Katsuki, alias pro hero Dynamight.

The first, wild, reeling, nonsense thought you had was that he was so much more handsome in person.

Red eyes glowed like scarlet embers through the dark of his black domino mask, and a scowl sat angrily but prettily on his plush mouth. He had scratches raked across one high cheekbone and down the line of his strong jaw, and his hero uniform had endured something worse, torn in several places, baring the bulge of one enormous bicep, and the trim line of his waist at one side.

The sight dazed you almost more than the flash of his explosion had, and Bakugou turned his scowl down on you, sweaty strands of blonde hair falling across his forehead as he did.

“You break anything, extra?” He rasped. His voice was lower, too, gravelly in a way that apparently didn’t translate well over TV airwaves.

You gaped for a moment, then quickly corralled yourself as his scowl deepened. You tried shifting your leg under the shelving, a fresh wave of pain lancing through you. “Um, my ankle I think is no good—I’m not sure if it’s broken—”

You were interrupted by a sound like a gunshot, splitting the air right in front of you, and then the teleport villain appeared just in front of you. He lunged for Bakugou, and you caught the flash of a blade in the fluorescent lighting. A reflexive scream tore out of you, trying to warn Bakugou—

But Bakugou was faster. He whipped around, a terrifying smile splitting his mouth, an explosion already crackling in his palm.

The teleport villain flickered out of sight again, just in time for Bakugou’s explosion to rip apart the air where he had been, splintering several of the displays around you and blasting a shelf of crackers and jelly apart. You could hear the glass and cracker bits raining down like chunks of hail.

Bakugou quickly turned back to you, eyeing you evaluatively. “Stay down, extra, and don’t fuckin’ move. I’ll take care of this asshole.”

You nodded hurriedly, shifting under the shelving that had you pinned. You managed to wedge yourself into the rough wood of the citrus display at your side, as if you could disappear into it if only you pressed hard enough.

Bakugou turned his back to you, one arm out as if to block anyone’s line of sight to you. The lines of his broad shoulders were tense under the white-hot glare of the store lights, and you noticed another gash in his uniform along one shoulder blade, exposing a peek of his back muscles.

Bakugou was moving almost before you even heard the next teleportation crackle, spinning to aim an explosion to his right. He launched himself after it with a vengeance, only to blow right through another display as the villain winked out of existence again. It seemed like he was fast, possibly too fast…

And then that gunshot noise again–and the villain was right next to you. In one impossibly fast movement Bakugou rerouted himself with a searing blast that ripped the tile right off the floor. In less than a second he was screaming down on the villain with all the speed and fiery fury of a falling comet. He aimed another shot right where the villain was standing—

But the villain disappeared again.

Bakugou neatly dodged you with another explosion aimed at the ground, the hot wind of it throwing you back against the orange crate. He somersaulted over the display just as another crack sounded behind it, and you could hear another explosion tearing through yet more of the produce.

And then another growled swear from Bakugou told you the villain had vanished again.

Your heart beat double time, wondering anxiously how bad this match up was. Bakugou was the number two hero, and you’d always assumed he’d be well-matched against any type of quirk. You’d seen a million broadcasts of his takedowns, quick and purposeful and scarily precise, with one of the fastest takedown averages on record.

But it was clear this villain was slippery and all together too quick. You didn’t know how Bakugou was supposed to catch someone who could disappear within milliseconds.

You thought probably the only chance could be to unleash his full power. On the news, you’d seen him send entire buildings crumbling. If he wanted to, he could tear this entire storefront down, set the entire inside on fire and catch the villain no matter where he teleported to in this space.

But instead you were in the middle of things. Bakugou had to aim, had to hold back lest any debris hit you, had to angle himself around you to protect you, all while the teleport villain had no such qualms.

It was possible Bakugou wouldn’t be able to catch this guy under these conditions–and you were the impediment to blame.

You heard Bakugou’s explosion rip apart another display in the distance, and that gunfire crack of the villain disappearing. Heart in your mouth, you cast around you for something, anything that could help him.

If only there was something to even the odds…

And then you found it. Your gaze landed on the spill of oranges at your feet. Fat, round, heavy and hard. Perfectly projectile shaped.

Now that…that was something.

You quickly gathered as many of them as you could, your ankle twinging in protest when you leaned across the shelving that had trapped it. You scooped the oranges up in an armful, depositing them in your lap, grabbing the largest and hefting it aloft just as another gunshot sound echoed in front of you.

The villain flickered into view right in front of you. You drew your arm back, whipping the orange at him with all of your might. But then like a lightning strike, Bakugou was there, explosion in hand. The villain flashed back out of sight, flames raking the store behind him, nearly blinding in their brilliance.

In another millisecond, the orange caught Bakugou on the thigh. You could hear the hard thump of it against the muscle even over the crackle of Bakugou’s explosion. It sent Bakugou slightly off course, and he had to aim another shot at the ground to catch himself before landing on his feet.

Instantly he whipped around to glare at you, smoke rising off his hands. “Oi, brat, what the fuck’re you throwing shit at me for?”

Your mouth dropped open belatedly, shocked that you’d just beaned the number two hero with a navel orange.

“Oh shit—” you gasped out. “I didn’t mean—it was for him—”

Bakugou’s mouth opened, but then another crack sounded across the store, the teleport villain undoubtedly in sight again. Bakugou threw a shot at him again, but you could tell it had missed by the way the villain materialized again just behind Bakugou.

Before you knew what you’d done, another orange was already in flight. Instead of turning to hit the villain, Bakugou was forced to duck before the orange went right through where his head had been. You heard it hit the floor as the villain was gone again, bouncing into a roll.

“Fucking—! Brat, knock it the hell off!” Bakugou growled, his red-hot glare searing your skin. “Or I will cram those things so far up your—”

Another teleportation crack cut him off, and he launched an attack over your head. The heat scalded the top of your head, blowing a flurry of fruits off of the citrus display.

Good. More ammo, regardless of what Bakugou said.

Except, well, this time you would try to aim better.

It was another few heart-pounding minutes before you got your redemption shot, Bakugou and the teleport villain chasing one another all over the grocery store in the most anxiety-inducing game of cat and mouse you had ever witnessed. You could hear entire sections of the store becoming victim to Bakugou’s quirk, hear the sharp cackle of the villain’s laughter and Bakugou’s angry swearing.

And then came the moment.

The gunshot noise that heralded the teleport villain’s quirk exploded in the air right in front of you again, and it was then that you unleashed a volley of fruits–whipping one as hard as you could as you unleashed several more across the floor. A heel materialized just over a rolling orange, and then the rest of the villain—and you watched with malicious pleasure as his ankle buckled and he went to the floor just as hard as you had.

That moment of stunned surprise was all Bakugou needed. He was there in a single second, an explosion catching the villain and blowing him straight across the floor. He hit the side of another display with a sickening thud. Lettuce spattered him in a shower of leaves, plastic bagging fluttering in the aftershocks of Bakugou’s explosion.

Bakugou was on the villain again instantly, and you caught the silver flash of quirk suppressing cuffs as Bakugou buckled him to the shelves, snarling a victorious stream of swear-laden insults. The villain was unresponsive, clearly knocked unconscious by the force of Bakugou’s blow.

In under a minute, Bakugou was striding back over to you, his boots echoing heavily on the tile.

“Watch where the fuck you’re throwing shit next time, brat,” he snipped at you, even as he bent down, hands going under the shelving that had you pinned. His bicep corded with effort, and the metal screeched as it was lifted, clanging to the tile as Bakugou threw it off of you.

You watched it fall, dazed. Bakugou squatted down next to you, catching your ankle and pulling it carefully to him.

You blinked, surprised by the gentle touch, eyes following Bakugou as he leaned over your injury, poking and prodding carefully. His eyelashes dusted the tops of his cheekbones, long and golden and a little too pretty for a man.

“I–ouch–I got him though,” you said defensively.

Bakugou’s scarlet gaze flicked up to your face, and a weird zing went down your spine. He really was so gorgeous in person, you had to admit, even beat to hell like he was now.

“Got me too, you fuckin’ brat,” Bakugou said. Strangely, his expression went clearer as he spoke, however, like he wasn’t even that mad about it. His fingers pressed delicately at the inside of your ankle, just beneath the jut of bone.

“Well you were in the way,” you groused, though you knew your second throw really had been a little poorly aimed. Bakugou snorted.

“...Got a good fucking arm on you though,” he allowed after a few more seconds of prodding.

It startled a laugh out of you, and a surprising hint of a grin cut across Bakugou’s own mouth, white and straight and viciously pleased.

“I—thanks,” you said, strangely flattered. “I think.”

“Yeah yeah,” Bakugou said, red eyes wandering over you. Then he went back to poking around your ankle, and you tried not to watch his arm flex as he shifted through the motions. “‘S fractured but not broken, I think,” he declared when he was finally satisfied.

“Oh,” you said, “Well that’s better than I thought.”

You shifted uneasily, wondering what the process was now that you’d been diagnosed. You’d never been in an attack before. Did you just sit here and wait for a paramedic to come to you? Or, could you ask Bakugou to help get you up to hobble out of the store?

You’d just decided to sit tight when Bakugou decided for you. A strong hand wormed its way under your thighs as another swept around your back, and then you were being hefted into Bakugou’s arms in one smooth, upsettingly easy movement.

Embarrassingly, your thighs clenched, even as your arms reflexively went around Bakugou’s neck.

You could feel a prickle of heat flaming across your face as he looked down at you, those scarlet eyes picking across your features. “Gonna get you to the paramedics, brat, they’ll fix your shit right up,” he said, so close now that you could feel his exhalation on your collarbone.

You nodded, your throat suddenly dry. “I—yes, that sounds good—thanks.”

Bakugou nodded, shifting you more securely against him, and then picked his way across the rubble, holding you tight. You tried not to revel in the feeling of his arms around you, aware this was an entirely inappropriate train of thought to have during a rescue. Especially when you’d hit the man with an orange.

It was a disappointingly short journey—you were outside in nearly a minute, and it was only another few seconds before Bakugou set you down on the back of an ambulance. A young, friendly paramedic bustled over and Bakugou relayed your condition in a brusque growl.

Surprisingly, however, he lingered close as the paramedic assessed the condition of your ankle and applied his quirk—a green light that made every nerve in your leg hum in response, but instantly took away the pain in your ankle. Then the paramedic wrapped you in compression bandages to keep it set straight.

“Ice it when you get home and keep it elevated when you sleep,” he advised you in his spritely tone. “I’ve got a regeneration quirk so you should be all healed up by the time you wake up, but you’ll want to keep off of it as much as you can in the meantime.”

You thanked him, and were surprised when Bakugou thanked him too, although much more briskly.

Then Bakugou turned back to you, red eyes catching yours again. You found you couldn’t look away from him, as shy as you were suddenly feeling out in the daylight. A few seconds ticked by, and you could feel your ears going hot as Bakugou looked you over.

“So. You want dinner or what?” Bakugou asked finally, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes got momentarily stuck on the tear in his sleeve, the way the divot of muscle peeked through in the afternoon light.

Then you gaped up at him when you caught up with what he’d said. “Do I—dinner—with you?”

Bakugou looked down at you, a smirk curling his lip as if he’d just realized where your attention had been. “Yeah. ‘M off shift after I give this report. Thought you might want a thanks for the assist or whatever. But if you’re gonna be fuckin’ squirrely about it, then—”

“Yes!” You gasped out, almost before you even realized you’d spoken. A thrill like lightning sang down your spine, electrifying all your nerve endings. Bakugou Katsuki—pro hero Dynamight—had just asked you to dinner?

Of fucking course you were gonna say yes.

Your brain swam, still unsure you’d heard him correctly, but then he leaned in, an arm coming up to catch the side of the ambulance van just beside your face.

“Good,” he said, another viciously pleased smile cutting across his mouth. Something hot crawled into your stomach, and you suddenly realized dinner might be only the tip of the iceberg Bakugou was steering your ship towards. “Gonna have to have a word about your aim, though,” he said, his gaze searing. “Don’t think you’ve gotten out of it just because I like you and you got that teleport asshole too.”

The low, raspy way he spoke was heavier with promise more than reprimand—and it sent another swarm of shivers over your skin.

Bakugou’s eyes caught it, a reply even clearer than if you had spoken. He grinned victoriously, pushing off of the ambulance to stalk over the police presence that had started to amass just beyond the sidewalk, presumably to give his report.

“Stay right here, brat, I’ll be back for you,” he promised, and you grew roots in your seat.

And then you watched him stalk off, staring in disbelief after his broad back. You couldn’t believe the number two hero had just asked you to dinner. And after you’d accidentally beaned him with an orange!

All you’d done was go to the grocery store in anticipation of produce, and you’d walked out with the promise of a date instead.

A ridiculous loop of orange you glad you decided to go grocery shopping? echoed wildly in your brain, a sign of the sheer ridiculousness of your situation. But yeah, you thought, as Bakugou leaned in to speak to a police officer, those scarlet eyes cutting unmistakably back towards you.

You really, really were.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo fluff #bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #meet fruit collab

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tikosblogg · 6 months ago

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My Hero..

Summary: you get dragged to a house party and end up having a panic attack, when you run into Noah.

Warnings: just fluffy cuteness, mentions of anxiety, panic attack.

A/N: thought this was a cute idea❤️

As I stepped into the dimly lit house, the pulsing music crashed over me like a wave, enveloping me in a cacophony of noise. My friends had begged me to come to this party, insisting it would be a night filled with laughter and fun. But the moment I crossed the threshold, the walls of the crowded room began to close in, suffocating me with an overwhelming sense of anxiety.

The house was packed with strangers, their laughter mixing with the heavy bass of the music. I could feel my heart racing, pounding in my chest as my breath quickened. I’m not a party person; I had known this. But their pleas had drawn me in, and now I was regretting it. I pushed my way through the throng, my 5’2” frame feeling lost in the towering bodies around me. My eyes darted from face to face, searching for an escape, but all I could see was an endless sea of unfamiliarity.

“Just breathe,” I whispered to myself, but even the words felt useless as my heart hammered louder. I could feel tears prickling in my eyes, and before I knew it, they began to spill down my cheeks. That was when I collided with a solid wall, or rather, a person. I instinctively looked up, my breath hitching painfully in my throat.

The man towering over me was a stark contrast to my petite figure. He stood at least a foot taller with shaggy brown hair that framed his face and a tapestry of tattoos blanketing his arms, and throat. My mind raced through a myriad of thoughts, but one thing was clear — I felt so small, so frail against him. “I’m so sorry,” I managed to stammer, my voice barely a whisper. My hands trembled as they clutched the fabric of my shirt.

His expression changed from confusion to concern in a heartbeat. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked, leaning down slightly to meet my gaze. The kindness in his voice cut through the chaos, grounding me, but I shook my head vigorously, unable to form words.

“It’s just — I- uh- so m-any people,” I finally managed to breathe out, my voice quaking. The realization that I was having a panic attack washed over me like a tide.

Without hesitation, the tall man reached out, his hands gently grabbing my hips. “I got you,” he said firmly, and before I could react, he hoisted me over his shoulder. I squeaked in surprise, my breath catching as he pushed through the crowd, calling out, “Excuse me! Coming through!”

I instinctively wrapped my arms around his waist, burying my face into his back, where the scent of laundry detergent mixed with something fresh and earthy. The rush of movement took me outside, where the air struck my skin like a cool balm.

He set me down onto a soft patio couch, his presence still looming large as he squatted down in front of me. The lights from inside pulsated, casting a warm glow behind him, but I focused on his face. “Okay, what’s your name?” he asked, his tone gentle as he carefully observed my trembling form.

“Y-y/n,” I said, the name slipping from my trembling lips almost shyly. His warm smile returned, easing some of the fear clenching my heart.

“I’m Noah,” he replied, and I could see the sincerity in his brown eyes, a striking contrast to the inked skin that told stories of adventures I could only imagine.

Noah’s presence offered a cocoon of calm. “Can you tell me five things you can see?” he asked, a technique I recognized from my readings on anxiety coping methods. My heart was still racing, but I nodded slowly, willing to engage.

“Um,” I started, looking around the expansive patio. “Those string lights overhead,” I said, pointing to the fairy lights strung above, glowing softly. “And… the trees.” I took a deep breath, my voice gaining strength. “There’s a ceramic pot with flowers near the end of the couch, and… the stars.” I hesitated for a moment, searching for that fifth thing. “And… you. Your tattoos.”

Noah’s eyes softened as a smile spread across his face, and I felt a little piece of the tension within me dissipate. “You doin great, y/n,” he said, his voice like a warm blanket wrapping around me.

“Thank you,” I replied, my cheeks warming under his gaze. It felt strange to connect with someone in such a chaotic environment, but somehow, sitting on this patio, it felt safe — comforting, I noticed my breathing going back to normal.

“I hate crowded places, too,” he confessed, leaning back slightly. "I come to parties to a lot, but honestly, I’d rather be elsewhere."

“Then why are you here?” I asked suspiciously, still internally debating the wisdom of even coming to a party at all.

“I was dragged here by my my best friend,” he admitted with a chuckle. “But now I think I’m somewhere better.”

My heart swelled a little. It was refreshing, and maybe a bit reassuring, to share this moment with someone who understood. “Yeah, me too,” I confessed, feeling the next few breaths settling into a new rhythm.

“Do you want to talk about something else?” he suggested, his eyes sparkly with mischief. “Books? Movies? Or maybe we could brainstorm ways to escape parties in the future?”

I laughed, a real sound that surprising me. I couldn’t help but smile at him, meeting him made this night a lot more bearable.

#noah sebastian #bad omens #badomensimagines #noah sabastian smut #noahsebastiancult #bad omens cult #imagines #bad omens band #bad omens smut #nick folio #joakim jolly karlsson #nicholas ruffilo

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hcdragonwrites · 1 year ago

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Good Memories

(a @semisolidmind Twice as Bad Au Fic)

Ok I wrote another one. This one I focused more on Wukongs perspective ! A happier memory, a happier moment- even in this twisted and messed up bad ending. Because there has to be some sweet moments … right ?

Inspired by this ask!

The noise of the stone corridor was quiet. The silence was a peaceful breath of welcome here where Peaches hardly got a moment of true peace. The roar of the waterfall drowned much conversation here so the foot traffic of the mountains subjects was lessened. Except for the patrols of troops, the top ranking officials and guards, the eyes here were light.

A chance to escape had come. Of course escape wasn’t to leave the mountain. Peaches had learned that long ago. To attempt to get down the mountain- to get to the sea that kissed the beaches below- was foolhardy. She had tired once. Once in that far away time when the trauma of abduction has been fresh, when the desire to be anywhere but here drover her to staying awake at night and planning.

Now, years later, the escape was not to leave Flower Fruit Mountain. Though she desperately longed to do such a thing. Hope though was a hard bird to kill even when caged and clipped. So, to circumvent the need to escape- to release some of the pent up agitation- she had found another way to escape.

The patrol passed the alcove Peaches had huddled herself into without a look. She waited. One. Two. Three. Once they rounded the bend she made her move. Peaches snuck out of one of the many side entrances of Water Curtain Cave. She slunked from shadow to tree, avoiding the eyes as best she could. Once beyond the courtyard, beyond the orchards she felt her spirit take wing. It was the bubble of freedom that she had to take as medicine for the true longing she couldn’t - wouldn’t- ever feel.

Not as long as she had her husbands about.

Like a horse turned to pasture, Peaches kicked up her own heels and ran. She ran for the joy of it and for the enjoyment of it. She let herself believe that she was back in the village. That she was back in her home, beneath its peach trees and with its terribly creaking timbers. That this was only a jaunt out to the woods to enjoy the day foraging and finding morsels.

It was a delusion but it was like a balm to her soul. Too much time inside the mountain and among the talks of conquests and bloodshed dampened her. Her husbands never demanded that she attend councils between other Immortals or Demons but Peaches knew when she attended there was far less work for the servants to do. For one, there was less blood to be cleaned from the stone floors. Of course it would take some of her own energy to be apart of these conversations.

Peaches would dress in the courtly and lordly garments bestowed upon her by The Monkey King and The Six Eared Macaque. Gifts they called them. Blood gifts, Peaches knew. Dressing the part as Queen always put the two demonic monkeys into better moods. Of course, whenever she was present it also became a game of keeping.

This game all depended upon the placement of the two heads of Flower Fruit Mountain. They always were placed in strategic spots- to better intimidate or to better please whatever guest they were entertaining. If there was a demon of hungry standing there was always roasted meat and wine a plenty to drink upon. These times, Sun Wukong would be seated closest to the doors. If she entered the room he would catch her wrists, her hand, her waist. Those claws would grip and tug, and she would be in his lap. Wukong would keep her there. If the King was in the middle of a conversation he would simply stop and lavish compliments upon her. Wukong was more of a earnest love then his darker counterpart. She would be forced to stay in his lap, feeling his hands and the soft admonishments if she tried to move, as the conversation continued.

Peaches wished she could have said it was always unpleasant. In the years of captivity, in the moments of stuck between hope and despair, she had come to find a balance of some sort. After so long being molded and worn down by their attentions, Peaches had begun to tolerate the attention. Wukongs attentions helped establish her as something of importance and a person not to be touched. It helped when those demons had an inclination for human flesh.

Too many times she had been told not to touch the food, the meat, when it was presented on the council table.

If the sworn brothers were entertaining an immortal being with no bloodlust for humans the positioning was different. More lax in some ways but no less imposing. Sometimes Peaches would be able to actually sit in a seat beside or between the monkeys. Other times, Wukong would claim her to his lap and tug and tease at her, a game to turn her to blushing of what things he would whisper into her ear. And, in those moments when Wukong did not claim her it was Macaque who stole her into his seat. He was more touching, less outwardly loud praise. But still enough to burn her cheeks, to make her wish to dissolve.

Water Curtain Cave fell behind her as Peaches rushed forward into the woods and away from her husbands. Macaque was away, on some errand or other again. Wukong would be occupied until late into the evening. A conglomerate of would be allies wished to pledge themselves to the King today, and it would take much of her rowdy husbands time and energy to entertain. It would also boost his ego and, with no worry of bloodshed (unless someone was foolish enough to insult) Peaches had taken her leave.

She rarely got moments alone and she laughed, some of the tension sloughing off like snow in a spring melt.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sun Wukong rarely had patience with beings that held incompetence. He was seated in his spot in the council room, upon his golden gilded throne. The warlord was in full regalia, armour polished to a blinding sheen and staff set beside him. However all the splendour about Wukong couldn’t distract from the loathsome thing huddled at the foot of his dais, blubbering and sniffling like a slug.

The demonic monkey felt his teeth grind and clip in his mouth as the weakling worm of a dragon sniffled and bowed its head in a kowtow. Disgusting. This beast had come asking him to slay his brothers and sisters in the western sea so he could be appointed heir. Wukong raked his eyes over the diminutive fellow, taking stock.

Scales as thin as moonbeams. Teeth as square as a cows. Mane bedraggled and unclean. How filthy. This little worm couldn’t even clean himself before grovelling for my help.

A poor ally if he choose to anger dragons in an ocean a world away. Weak of claw and fang.

“It’s obvious you cannot even keep yourself fit let alone keep a kingdom if I gave it to you.”Wukong waved his hand, bored. “Leave my sight. Maybe once you’ve actually wet your muzzle and had a scrap or two I’ll consider. Get out.”

“But -“

Was this Dragon also weak of hearing? Was it slow of wit? He had dismissed the stupid beast. His eyes flashed.

“Get. Out.”

The thing moved now, scattering loose scales in its speed to escape. They fell like toenail clippings and Wukong hissed in disgust. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose and felt the patience in his body diminish. The king raised a bell and gave it a ring, summoning several servants - not monkeys these creatures were those foolish demons that had imposed themselves in the paths of Flower Fruit Mountains conquests- to clean up the mess of scales.

Wukong had a full itinerary for the day. He had already met with his southern vassals and those positioned in the East. They were reporting movement from a would be upstart exorcist, one that deemed himself a demon slayer. A blood hungry pup. If it was blood he craved then Wukong would deliver it to him. He had set Macaque to the East, tasking him with bringing the man to heel. He had given his brother free reign. If the six eared demon wanted, Wukong wouldn’t stop him from making the exorcist into a gift - of flesh. Maybe I should have sent this whining worm to the East. Macaque would have shown him the ropes of turning an enemy into a boon.

“Foolish idiots.” Wukong grumbled, irritated. The other appointments had been his people which he took gladly. His own residents of the mountain were precious to him. They only asked for the numbers to help in the forest grove harvest. It was apple harvesting time and some of the trees were showing signs of damage from the deer and other beasts. The other group had been some now turned immortals begging for teaching in the east of shape changing. Wukong had dispatched them with ease, tossing their heads to the sea. He would send their corpses off to the visiting Swallow Heart- an upstart creature with a good three hundred beastly birds- as a peace offering.

His mood would have been better if his Wife had attended his talks. Wukong had kept glancing to the side, looking to the opulent doors and hoping they would open. Or her scent would waft in from the corridor, announcing her approach. Wukong felt his mouth salivate a bit at the thought of her. Oh he was lucky. His little Peach. Wukong and Macaques of course. Not just his morsel. Though today… with Macaque away. ..

She was all his to adore and hold and to make squirm with his praises and his demands.

“Trouble my King?”

An attendant asked of him, waking him from his daydreams. The monkey was by his side, face curled in worry. Wukong let the thinly held patience fall away as he gave into rubbing his head. Too much courtly affairs. He usually didn’t mind the task. In fact, he enjoyed pitting his mind against that of the estate he ran, the duty he held. Wukong had an iron will for ruling. He enjoyed the fruits of that labour, the rewards of conquest. One of the best rewards was here in the caves, walking the halls all alone …

“Trouble that can be easily cast off.”

Thoughts of his Peaches, and the irritation of his last meeting, decided it for him. Wukong rose out of his throne and stretched. Though he was a monkey originally of stone it didn’t mean he didn’t get sore in his throne. Popping his back, Wukong motioned to the door. “Walk with me.”

“Yes my King.” The servant walked beside Wukong as he stalked down the Halls. His people dipped and bowed. The servants who had been brought to the mountain and had been forced to serve kept their eyes downcast. Wukong paid them no heed. He had one goal.

“Peaches!” Wukong sang through the palace. He looked in her usual haunts. She had a tendency to stick to habit and Wukong made it his goal to know all of his little sweets habits and places of hiding. The kitchens, the scroll rooms, the bedroom and other such places deep beneath the mountains stone.

“Peaches?” Wukong now questioned. Usually she was so near he could hear and track her just from knowledge of her habitual motions. But there was a lack of her today in Water Curtain Cave.

“Where has my wife gotten to?” He mused aloud. Wukong would have been more worried in the early days of her life on the mountain. Peaches had a tendency back then to plot and scheme and attempt every sort of trickery to escape the brothers. She had tried tricking (Macaque had been present for that one where he had kept her trapped in a riddle game for hours), sneaking (again a foolish thing due to the number of ears between her husbands numbered eight), drugging (Wukong had thought it cute to see her try and ply him with so much wine he became inebriated. That had led to … other things however.) and finally just running.

Running had led to chasing. Wukong had tried to terrorize her just a small bit to discourage the action. Having her run off while he was in the middle of meeting and for him to rise and say “Excuse me gentlemen” and then rush off had first been an inconvenience. He would never punish his Peaches. No, never. When he talked of the terror it had been more to scare her of what could snatch her up. Tigers, leopards, wolves and their ilk. Taking her back to their rooms and tucking her in and locking the door was the most he did. If he had time, if he could ignore the work of the day he would wear her out in other ways. It would either be both or one and the other who would keep her attention. Wukong was a King but he wasn’t a tyrant.

This didn’t deter his little wife. She seemed … more determined, however, to attempt it. Peaches had learned over the years that running away was useless but that didn’t stop her from taking to flights of fancy. Which lead to a different kind of chasing. A pursuit that called to the raging hunger inside him, to that predator. Peaches had given him and Macaque a new game- a game he craved almost as much as he craved her scent in his nose and her body in his arms.

After opening their closet and seeing the small little nest she kept in there empty as well, Wukong felt his tail give an excited lash. The fur on his spine began to rise up in anticipation. It practically shook through his blood. Made his mouth grin and his body begin to buzz as if drunk upon fruit wine.

“A game is afoot. A game all for myself~” Usually these games of hide and seek with their wife became a race between him and his sworn brother. Macaque would enjoy the competition as he had a unfair disadvantage. His keen hearing compounded on his shadow ability let him take a lead that Wukong wouldn’t be able to close normally. But with his brother away from the mountain… Wukong laughed to himself, beginning to shed his courtly attire.

“Do you require anything, my king?” The servant asked from his shoulder. Wukong passed the servant his crown and those few glittery vestments he bore to impress the lesser demons who came to grovel for his power.

“Clear the rest of my meetings for the evening.” Wukong commanded. Where could my sweet have gone off to? To the grove? The stream? Did she perchance head to the woods? The thought of the hunt was already consuming his mind.

“My King that would mean dismissing the Swallow Heart Demon and his Entourage.” The servant set the items delicately on Peaches armoire, being careful to not tip any of the bottles, brushes or powders there. Macaque had sent for that armoire for their Wife. It had cost a pretty penny to have it brought in with the paints and brushes.

It was a warm memory in Wukongs mind, seeing the pure delight in her eyes. That night had been filled with the boys teaching her how to use the more expensive bits of makeup and had led to her learning to paint war paint upon their faces. The warm memory set a second shiver up his spine. When he caught Peaches he wouldn’t let her go- he would let her know how much he cherished her. The happy memories of her face were becoming more numerous now. It set his tail to swaying like a cat who had caught a canary.

“They are birds yes? Tell them to find another place to roost for the evening.” Wukong stretched his legs one at a time. He waved one hand to the servant, trying to rush the discussion along. He had a wife to find.

“I will meet them in the morning when my mood returns to better and more … harmonious thoughts.” All he could see in his head was her. Her skin shining in the light, her hair in his hands so soft. The rush of feeling hit him low in the gut. Was it love ? Was it possessiveness ? Was it possession? He didn’t know but it had his heart thundering. To think a mortal women could bring such a change through him so rapidly…

“I will see it done sir.” The servant bowed.

“Good.” Wukong stretched his arms, pulled his back straight. He had removed all but the trousers he wore. The glory of Sun Wukong had been set aside. Armour wouldn’t slow him- he was the Sage that had rebelled against Heaven. Had almost won. Armour was little hinderance in his silence or his ability to move. It would however limit him to capturing his intended target. Peaches was soft, pliable and would not like a tackle from her husband if he was wrapped all in his battle regalia.

He bounced on his heels. The excited energy wanted to be unleashed, to be set free. Wukong left the servant in their rooms, swiftly walking to the entrance of Water Curtain Cave. His generals saw him and bowed, continuing their rounds. Smaller monkeys, the children of his people came and clambered for his attention. He smiled at them and turned them back to their mothers promising attention later.

The waterfall came into sight and Wukong grinned. Just like he had when he first had been crowned King, the monkey lord bent low a palm pressed to the floor and launched himself through the torrent of water. He was out on the other side in a spray of water. Once on the ground again he looked, listened, smelled.

Wukong was an expert tracker. He could read the signs of his mountainous home. He knew every blade of grass every bend of the leaf in the trees above. Wukong looked for the signs, the telltale notes his wife would leave so lovingly in nature for him to find. There ,beneath the shadow of a tree. Wukong moved swiftly and lightly, faster then the long spotted cats to the far west. The press of foot too large to be a monkey, to heavy to be a cat.

I got you~

Wukong followed her path, enjoying the exertion and the feel of the sun on his fur.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Peaches had found herself a nice little patch in the wood, a small trickle of a stream ran through a copse of tightly packed willows. It had a few gooseberry bushes in its shade and she plucked them eagerly.

She had brought her small bit of knitting, a book, and a change of clothing if she wanted to take a dip in the water. The gooseberry’s were a plus, having been ripened and their red flesh sweet. Peaches didn’t have a snack- running into the kitchens would have alerted the staff she was going out and she did not want a retinue of guards on her tail. It was nice and pleasant to be alone. Hearing the soft babble of the water over the stones, the wind sighing in the leaves. It was peaceful. She could fall asleep. In fact a nap didn’t sound bad—

Snap.

Her head snapped up, eyes widening. That had been too loud to be a simple little bird or just the sound of a branch falling from the wind. She felt her calm wash away in a rush of icy fear. Though Flower Fruit Mountain was possibly the safest place in the world, it did still have the occasional predator. Bear or tiger were the largest creatures to have been spotted on the mountain. Wukong and Macaque assured that the worst of those beasts kept to the lower plains of the mountain.

But what if— what if I went too low?

Her ears strained, her eyes blown wide to see. Nothing revealed itself from the emerald green foliage or the berry bushes. Her hair stood on end as something shuffled in the undergrowth. Behind her. Peaches spun, holding a knitting needle out—

To air.

Another brushing sound, like that of claws across wood. Peaches took a step back, away from the sound. Her heart was in her throat and all the peace of the day was gone in the rush of animal instinct that screamed in her mind.

Freeze of Fly?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sun Wukong followed her trail easily to the copse of trees. His Peaches had much to learn if she wished to our pace him in his tracking ability. The path she took was such a massive trail he could see it from miles away. The demonic monkey crouched low, keeping close to the earth.

She was sitting next to the little stream at the foot of a great willow. His Peaches. Her fingers were red with gooseberry juice, her hair down in the heat. She was the picture of peaceful, the very image of serenity. Wukong felt a desire to grab her to hold her close, to take the juice of the berries off her fingers and hear her laughter and voice.

Gods he craved her.

He held off leaping, held off and observed. Magic would make it easier to drop in on her but he liked the challenge of keeping his current shape. So Wukong lay low, watching. The brothers had a practice of watching their Peaches when she thought she was alone. It was in those moments they learned the most about their mortal heart. How she would sigh, how she always got itchy if she wore too much of the powder upon her face. It was how Wukong learned Peaches preferred bangles over rings. How Macaque gleaned that her favourite foods involved a doughy treat called cinnamon rolls. Little things. Silly things. Treasured things that the brothers would go over and strategize on how to make their precious fruit the most comfortable. To win her favour. Her love. Her attention.

Sometimes she would cry in these moments and the game would have to be put on hold as they made themselves known beyond her field of vision. Wukong hated when she was upset. He knew, somewhere in his twisted heart, that he had caused these tears. That he was to blame for the sorrow that weighed heavy on her.

I can make her happy. No one else saw her sparkle like we did. She’s ours. Forever if I have my way.

But right now he had a game he was in the middle of. The immortal peach he was keeping for her would have to wait. Wukong stalked forward, through the brush. Peaches had laid herself back, body flat to earth and completely relaxed.

Wukong took a branch in his hands and snapped it.

His Peaches lifted herself up and whipped her head in the direction. Wukong had already moved, speed on his side as he circled beyond and behind her. The terror on her face made something stir in him, a protective urge. He would sooth her worry when he caught her. He would pet her hair, hold her close and tell her how foolish she was to leave his safe embrace. She had nothing to fear from him. Only his little sweet fruit didn’t know it was him. Not yet at least.

Wukong let his tail tussle the dead leaves beside him then darted off. He raked his claws over a bit of bark and then zagged back to a new hiding spot. Peaches turned like a doe, alert and eyes wide. Her face was full of fear, full of such open prey-like terror that Wukong couldn’t resist anymore. He rumbled, mimicking the sound of a big cat. Sweet Peaches stared right at the spot he was hiding.

Run little wife, he urged. Come on. Run for me.

At his second snarl, she obliged him. She spun her back to him and took several vain attempts to run. Wukong smirked. And leapt.

He caught her in several bounds barreling full into her body and taking her off her feet. His hand had her by the back of the neck, the other about her middle. They rolled in the air but Wukong angled himself, curling her into him and taking most of the fall. Peaches cry rang in the trees and sent the birds flying. Wukongs laughter was loud and shook through his body as he landed with her. The demon caged her in, setting her hips between his legs so he straddled her. One hand had both her wrists held above her head. The other angled her face to him, the eyes firmly shut.

“Caught you~” He purred.

“WUKONG!” Peaches gasped, opening her eyes to stare right into his face. Wukong felt his heart give a squeeze as the fear melted into ease. Ease with him. It sent a trill of joy up his spine. “You gave me a heart attack. I thought you were some tiger.”

“No love.” Wukong mentally took note of her. No scrapes from their tumble, no bruises. A perfect capture. “A tiger wouldn’t have toyed with you like I did.” Here he stretched his free hand, claws on display.

Peaches laughed. A laugh for him. His tail was swaying, his face inching closer to hers. “I’m glad I’m not getting devoured then.” She said, breath still catching up with her shock.

“Oh my Peaches, I may not be a tiger but I’m going to devour you all the same~” he let the words sink into her, enjoying the blush that coloured her face before he bent down and kissed her. She tasted of gooseberries, of laughter and the earth and ever of peaches. Her lips were soft against his. Wukong moved away from her mouth, wanting to taste her throat, her cheeks, her nose. Kisses he planted along her most ticklish spot on her neck, eliciting giggles and cries of mercy.

The Monkey King felt like he was drinking wine, head getting lighter and lighter while his body relaxed over hers. Only with Peaches had he felt so at peace, so blissful. It’s why he could never let her go. To rob himself of this? Never. She was his and he was hers and that was it.

Peaches pressed a kiss to his nose and he swooped back down to capture her lips. How could someone so soft and small consume me so? He felt starved. He felt parched. Here Peaches was, a bountiful feast and and overflowing cup. He couldn’t get enough of her.

Wukong nipped her neck, tugging her into his teeth to elicit a squeal. She laughed and tried to worm her way out of his grip. “Wukong please! Let me up, let me up!”

“Only when you tell me how well I caught you. Lavish praises on me.” He grumbled. He didn’t want to let her out of his arms. If he could he would keep her here and live in this bubble of joy forever. Peaches blew hair out of her face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…”

“I assure you I’m not. So tell me.”

“Wukong your pride is insufferable.”

“And your beauty is unconquerable.” He countered and was rewarded with a scarlet Peach. “Now tell me.”

“Ugh. You caught me. You startled me so badly I thought I had gone too low on the mountain.” That had Wukong grinning wide as he now rolled over taking her onto his chest.

“Go on~”

A snort. Peaches was open in only the brief times when his and Macaques earnest attentions had worn down her barriers and aversions to nothing. Here was his adoring and adorable wife. One he wanted to bring treasures and conquer worlds for. I would burn this whole place to the ground to please you.

They spent a time there, the two of them in that grove of trees. Wukong kissed the gooseberry juice from her fingers and Peaches tried to see the good in this moment. Wukong was, a murderer. He was a monster who had taken her from her village. He had killed the villagers. Laying on his arm, feeling his voice and laughter in her body, seeing the tender way he held and touched her…

His love was hard to deny. To match up to the truth she knew so well. He was a murder. The soft glow as his eyes alighted when a butterfly landed on his hand. Wukong would kill again. He set the butterfly on her hand and they both marveled at the changing colors.

Peaches felt a bit more of her resolve break. Wukong and Macaques love was an ocean slamming into her. It was eroding the coastal cliffs she had within her. It had been a constant, driving force these years. She didn’t … she couldn’t remain so indifferent in the wake of such attention. Of such open love. She would never fully be at peace here. However … she was finding a balance.

Maybe that was the closest she would be to the love she originally had showered them both in. Or maybe she would fall head first into that roaring surface and loose herself in their love.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Wukong tugged the brush through Peaches hair, listening to her sing softly in the night air of their bedroom.

Suddenly- the ground became black and Peaches squealed as she disappeared into the earth—

—and popped up in Macaques arms.

“Save some of her for me, Wukong.” Macaque drawled, hands wrapped around her middle in a possessive gesture. They were back in their room, the night air wafting cool tonight. Wukong and Peaches had spent the rest of the day in that copse of trees and upon the mountain. They had walked hand in hand, visited the monkeys and the new babies that had been born to the family’s farthest from the caves.

It had been a day of sweet gestures and, whenever Peaches had turned eyes inward or far off, he had pressed her with tender affection. Drawing her back to the present. If Wukong had learned anything over the decade it was to keep his Peaches in the present, to keep her away from the drifting worry of the past.

They had returned home only when the first stars had begun to spark in the dark sky. Wukong had carried his tired wife all the way back to Water Curtain Cave. He whispered how he would make a necklace of the stars and give them to her and teased out of her sleepy laughs.

Maybe tomorrow will be full of hardships. Maybe she will hate me for what I did. This though- I would kill a thousand villages if I could get a single day of joy like this.

Macaque had returned shortly after dinner, coming into their room to Wukong holding Peaches in his arms and biting more of her neck between brushes. Of course Mac had wanted a bit of her to himself after being gone for a day. Wukong obliged, not bothered one bit.

His brother in arms was still dressed in armour meaning he had probably just arrived back from the East. Not a speck of blood was on his clothing. Wukong would ask him later about how the trip went, when Peaches was asleep. This moment was meant to be a memory of joy. He would not drag kingly duties into this moment.

“I caught her fair and square.” Wukong sniffed, growing a bit jealous at Macaque. He had stolen his prize from beneath his nose- right when he was getting to Peaches too, in her sleepy state. Macaque blinked then stared between the two, his purple eyes flashing.

“You played the game without me?” Wukong heard the bit of hurt and, though he was sure part of it was drummed up for sympathy, felt a bit of guilt. Only a splinter of it. He didn’t regret acting on his own. The game was his to play when he was away. However it had the desired effect on their Wife.

“Oh Mac- no I didn’t know Wukong would be coming after me.” Peaches was so easily guilt tripped. She kissed the darker demons cheek. The sudden flash of confusion and delight passed over Macaque features. His eyes stole towards Wukong, questioning.

Is she happy? Is she giving without teasing? Wukong nodded, the smile on his face like the soft warm dawn. Peaches was happy and that’s all that mattered. She was happy and would give to them.

“He did have a full schedule of meetings.” She bemused. “What.. happened to them?”

“I cleared my evening.”

“Of course you did.” Macaque snorted, half heartedly irritated. His fingers were already brushing through Peaches hair, grooming.

“Nothing was getting done beyond my latest meeting.” At the raised eyebrow of his six eared brother, Wukong waved a hand. “I’ll tell you later but for now- why don’t we have another game of tag.”

“A-another one?” Peaches sat up a bit, looking outside to the dark and moonlight beyond.

“Well you owe Macaque a chance to catch you. And I want to compete again. We will give you … thirty minutes.” Wukong grinned. “No going outside. Just find one of your hidey holes in the Palace, Love.”

“What if I’m too tired for this game?” She pouted and Wukong smirked. Seeing her pout brought the urge to tug her close and erase that pout from her lips all the stronger. He had been hoping she would say it. It’s why he had one of his chefs cooking a very special sweet treat.

“If you play you’ll get a reward~” Wukong crooned.

“That sounds ominous.”

“It’s innocent. I have some delicious sweets being made as a treat. Just a few short rounds and all of them can be yours.”

“Are they …. Cinnamon rolls?”

The Monkey King felt like he had caught her all over again. “Yes”

“… two games. Then no more. I’m tired..”

Macaque kissed her temple and set her free. “Go on darling. When I find you first I will tell you of the sights I saw.”

“You have to get to her first brother.” Wukong challenged. When he got to Peaches he would make her laugh again, demand kisses and more.

“And I will!” The six eared demon grinned eyes flashing. Peaches stood a bit uncertainly until Macaque leaned forward and gave a kiss to her temple.

“Go Peaches. And don’t stop running till you are in one or both of our arms.”

Peaches ran.

#hcwrites #writing stuff #hcfanfics #twice as bad au #fanfic for semisolid #OK THIS ONES A BIT HAPPIER #I Hope i still captured the boys.#I wanted to write something more of a happy memory- even though in this bad end I don’t think there’s too many #did I make Peaches like cinnamon rolls ? yes #also I use peaches because it is nicer then using y/n. it just feels better #jttw au #jttw fanfic #jttw x reader #six eared macaque #this is the only SEM I let slide past me that I like #the other ones I know (stares at Kiri and Kaiju) are bastards #not saying this Macaque can’t be - but like. at least he has a redeeming quality.#wrote this with music yes. lord Huron love like ghosts was for the end but.#for the first part it was Rule27 drunk on pride by Fish in a Bird Cage #the best helped keep the tempo for what I wanted to convey #semi if I didn’t get it right tell me I will LEGIT FIX IT #I just have been meaning to write for you again but I got bogged down with stuff #good luck with college btw #yes this one’s more Wukong centric #sorry you Macaque lovers #it would have been too long to write if I included both of them #maybe I do a seperate one for y’all #jttw tag #bad end wukong #jttw sun wukong

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chroniclesofskz · 6 days ago

Text

Late Night Serenade

FLUF IMAGINE!

After a long night at the studio, Chan is ready to unwind and get some much-needed rest, but his heart skips a beat when he is surprised by a visit from his girlfriend, Y/N. With a cozy dinner of burgers and their favorite drinks, Y/N brings warmth and comfort into Chan's world. As she cuddles up on his lap, the stresses of the day fade away, and their bond deepens. When the night winds down and she drifts off to sleep in his arms, Chan can't resist her heartfelt plea to stay by her side. Join them for a night filled with tender moments, whispered melodies, and the kind of love that makes everything feel right in the world.

It was another long night at the studio for Chan. Surrounded by soundboards, tangled wires, and sheets filled with lyrics, he dove deep into the creative process, letting the music guide him. The room was dimly lit, but the glow from his laptop illuminated his focused expression as he layered beats, crafted melodies, and sought the perfect harmony for the upcoming album. Each note he recorded felt like a brushstroke on a canvas, and in that moment, he was completely absorbed in his world, the outside noise fading away into insignificance.

Unbeknownst to him, Y/N had something special planned. She had been eagerly anticipating this moment, knowing how hard Chan had been working. After a trip to his favorite burger joint, she packed a delicious dinner of juicy burgers, crispy golden chips, and her signature iced Americano—made precisely to his liking and definitely without pineapple. With a heart full of excitement and a hint of nerves, Y/N set off to the studio, hoping to bring a much-needed smile to his face and steal a little bit of his attention.

As Y/N entered the studio, the familiar sounds of melody and rhythm filled her ears, wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. Chan was in his element, head bobbing slightly as he tapped his foot to some invisible beat. She paused for a moment, savoring the sight of him, how intensely he was focused on his work. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and the way his fingers danced across the keyboard made Y/N’s heart flutter as she admired him.

“Surprise!” Y/N exclaimed, stepping into his line of sight and revealing the feast she had prepared, her arms spread wide like she was waiting for an enthusiastic embrace.

Chan looked up, his serious demeanor melting into a radiant smile that lit up his entire face. “Y/N! You’re here!” He quickly abandoned his notes to rush over to her, his excitement palpable.

“I figured you could use a break,” she replied, her heart soaring as she watched him take in the sight of the food spread before him.

“Burgers? You know me too well!” he exclaimed, his grin stretching wide as he looked at the food she had carefully packed. “And of course, no pineapple. You’re the best!”

As they settled together, sharing bites of food and laughter that echoed softly in the studio, Y/N felt the warmth of Chan’s presence enveloping her. She leaned against him, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder, breathing in his comforting scent—a perfect blend of fresh soap, a hint of cologne, and something uniquely Chan that always made her feel secure.

“Can I ask a favor?” Y/N said, glancing up at him with her big, pleading eyes.

“Anything, Princess,” Chan replied, his voice a soothing balm that made her heart race.

“Can I cuddle you? Just for a bit?” she asked, her tone playful yet warm.

Without hesitation, Chan smirked and nodded, as if the answer had always been clear. “Always.”

With a mixture of excitement and shyness, Y/N shifted so that she could comfortably sit on his lap, snuggling into his chest. Chan wrapped his arms securely around her, the warmth radiating from him enveloping her completely. She felt a sense of safety and contentment as she nestled deeper, listening to him hum softly along with the melody he was creating.

As the minutes passed, a comfortable stillness settled between them, and Y/N felt her eyelids grow heavy. The soothing nature of Chan’s warmth, combined with the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat and the aroma of their shared food, lulled her into a state of serene relaxation.

Soon, the comforting sensation of his warmth and his steady breathing lulled her into a peaceful sleep, her body sinking deeper into his embrace. Chan, noticing her relaxation, couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle. He glanced down to see her dozing off adorably, her features softened in slumber.

“You’re too cute, Princess, you know that?” he whispered, brushing his lips against her forehead. His heart swelled with affection as he peppered soft kisses along her hairline, savoring the moment. He felt incredibly lucky to have someone like Y/N in his life, someone who brought a vibrant spark to his world.

With a tender smile still on his lips, Chan eventually realized it was time to pack up for the night. He gently shifted her off his lap, careful not to wake her, and gathered his belongings. As he prepared to leave, he couldn’t resist one last glance at her peaceful face, a sight that filled him with warmth.

“Time to go home, Y/N,” he murmured softly as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms, ensuring that her upper back and thighs were supported securely. He was mindful of her skirt, feeling the cool night breeze blow gently around them, and he adjusted her slightly to prevent it from blowing up in the wind.

Y/N snuggled deeper into his chest, instinctively seeking the warmth of his embrace as he carried her out to the parking lot. Chan reveled in the closeness, the way her weight felt perfectly right in his arms, as if they were made to fit together. The cool night air greeted them, but he focused on the warmth of her body against him, shielding her from the chill outside.

Chan walked with careful steps, ensuring she remained secure as he navigated the parking lot. As he reached his car, the soft glow of the overhead lights illuminated their path. He gently opened the passenger door and placed her down, but kept his arms around her to ease her into the seat. Adjusting the blanket he had thrown over her earlier, he tucked it around her for extra warmth and comfort.

“Goodnight, my princess,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, his heart fluttering at how beautiful she looked in her sleepy state. Once she was settled, he moved to the driver’s seat, glancing back at her one more time as he fastened his seatbelt. She was still in a peaceful slumber, a serene smile on her lips that made him feel all the more grateful for having her in his life.

With a soft hum, Chan started the engine and began to drive home. The city lights flickered past the car windows, creating a mesmerizing backdrop that perfectly matched the tranquility inside the vehicle. As he drove, he couldn’t help but feel a deep-seated contentment wash over him, knowing that nights like these filled with love and tenderness were what he cherished the most.

Occasionally, he glanced over at Y/N, marveling at how lucky he was. The way she brought light to his darkest days and laughter to the quiet moments never ceased to amaze him. It was in these quiet drives home, under the twinkling stars, that he felt the weight of his stress lift away, replaced by the comforting presence of the woman he adored.

As they pulled up to their apartment, Chan quietly parked the car and turned off the engine. He slipped out of his seat, moving over to Y/N’s side once more and gently lifting her into his arms again. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her head resting cozily against him as he navigated the familiar path to their door.

After unlocking the door with a quiet click, Chan carried her inside and softly shut it behind him. The cozy warmth of their home enveloped them, and he made his way down the hallway, pausing only to take in the sight of her peaceful expression.

Once they reached their bedroom, Chan laid Y/N down gently on the bed, taking care to tuck her in snugly beneath the covers. The sight of her nestled against the pillows brought an overwhelming sense of love coursing through him, making his heart swell. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, warmth radiating between them. “Sweet dreams, Princess,” he whispered, not wanting to leave her side.

But just as he turned to walk away, he felt a gentle tug on his arm. Startled, he looked back at her, noticing the softness in her sleepy eyes. “Chan, please don’t leave me,” she whispered, her voice a delicate plea. “Stay and sleep with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

Her words wrapped around him like a warm embrace, and he felt his resolve melting away. The vulnerability in her voice mixed with her longing gaze made it impossible for him to resist.

Chan felt his heart soften at her request. “I will in a moment, Princess,” he promised, brushing a thumb over her cheek as he leaned down to kiss her forehead again. The warmth of her sleepy expression tugged at his heartstrings, and he couldn't help but smile.

After tucking her in securely, he swiftly removed his shirt, the fabric falling to the floor as he prepared to join her under the covers. Slipping into bed beside her, he turned onto his side and gathered her gently into his arms, positioning her as the little spoon while he nestled behind her, his larger frame encompassing her completely.

Y/N sighed contentedly, feeling safe and protected as she curled into him, her head resting against his chest. Listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart, she felt a wave of comfort wash over her. The unwavering thump beneath her ear provided a lullaby that soothed her into an even deeper state of relaxation.

“Chan,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with sleep, “you make me feel so safe.”

He tightened his hold on her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead again. “That’s what I’m here for, Y/N. You’re my princess, and I’ll always take care of you.”

The two of them lay there, enveloped in warmth and love, as Chan gently rubbed her back soothingly. He could feel her soft breaths against his skin, the way she melted into him as she fell deeper into a peaceful slumber. He chuckled softly, adoring how cute she looked, completely lost in sleep, her hair spilling over his chest like a gentle waterfall.

As the night stretched on, the world outside faded away, leaving them in their cozy bubble. Chan continued to whisper sweet nothings, soft melodies and tender words, his voice a low hum as he serenaded her gently. Each soothing note filled the room, wrapping around them like a warm embrace.

“Sweet dreams, Princess,” he whispered, feeling content as he held her close, knowing that with her in his arms, everything felt perfect.

Eventually, they both surrendered to the embrace of sleep, their bodies intertwined, hearts in perfect sync. In the quiet of the night, tucked away from the world, Chan and Y/N drifted peacefully into their dreams, surrounded by warmth and love—the kind that created memories that would last a lifetime.

The end.

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caffeinatedmunchkin · 19 days ago

Text

absolutely insane, out of pocket WIP that no one asked for that's not in my usual tense OR style, but I needed to exorcise it, under the cut

Ummm slight NSFW? Religious themes ? Dub-con? Age gap? Canon-divergence AU for the explicit purposes of (eventual if I continue this) smut ?? Under-age (female reader is a high-schooler of unspecified age, probably 17 ?? almost legal but not? idfk)

I've never written anything in the reader-insert or present tense ballpark. I have no business doing this. Anyway here's some of it! xoxo

Heels click the tile in brisk approach, luring his attentions to Mrs. Grady, an attendant of the main office, with you in toe. The rubber soles of your mary janes fall silent in your step, though your head is held high behind her, assured with the saunter of your hips. You're but a girl, though your walk is a womans. You carry yourself with the oversized confidence of a fatale. One who looks into his tired eyes and wary posture and sees herself staring back, wicked and red. A devil. His devil.

You come upon him like you know it all. Wiser than your years, lethal in your innocence feigned. You fix yourself to Mrs. Grady's shadow as if the position offers you to him meek, but your posture holds to a maturity that betrays you.

Father Brennan straightens with an amicable smile in greeting. Mrs. Grady returns it, though the quirk of her lips raises and falls so fast it's almost missed. Her skirts hem modestly swishes below the knee, three inches below to be exact. Three to four inches or so longer than yours had often been. Your waist band rolled twice to achieve the shortened length. An act of rebellion, a stab at the salacious you pretend yourself heedless of. Too pure to be deliberate.

The stunt with the skirt has landed you in the main office many times. Only until recently, when they turned to him for disciplinary action.

Their sole priest. One of but a few male staff members. They came to him at their wits end, and suddenly, you behaved. So mild and pious, suspicious with how quick you bent the knee. Confirmation he loathed.

Yet here you were, dragged before him once again. The same long walk to his domain, after school hours, when your studies wouldn't be interfered.

Not a walk of shame, but a strut.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

"What's been troubling you, my child?

He doesn't recall when my began to precede child, but he notes the way you're alight with covetous pride, and it beams up at him through the white of your smile, and glint in your eye. He basks in it with rueful conflict, one whose favor tips the scale in disappointment, both in himself, and you. Or at least he tries to tell himself that, shift part of the blame.

He sits on the edge of his desk before you, a bold maneuver, a vulnerability, but one he subjects himself to willingly. A deliberate ploy to show he can. To assert you have no hold over him, a display of his strength, his determination. Lofty and unaffected by your wiles.

Wiles you somehow seem unaware of even as you wield them; in your blushed cheeks and gaped lips, sighing his name minty fresh and bubblegum sweet, from the chewing gum you sneak, and the tinted lip balm that has sent you to his office more times than he can count.

A little silver crucifix collars your neck, dainty and simple, it signals your virtue, brands you as one of his own. He finds himself captured by it, dangling from your throat.

"What has you acting out so?"

He observes with the same raw anguish settling in his gut like a brick with how you sit before him. Your leg crossed, one over the other. Foot bobbing from a small ankle, restless and blurring. Your kilt slides back over your leg, hinting bare thigh above the thin green cotton of your knee-high.

The girls of St. Marys are supposed to sit straight back, hands clasped and ankles crossed. Demure, innocent, juvenile. You've been told not to sit the way you do, as if the correction itself scolds you for the impurity of which he fears you implicit. The way you are now. Alone in his office. Looking up at him.

He wonders if he shouldn't correct it again himself, but thinks better of it.

Weakness. He thinks. He chants. He affirms.

Baseless, primal, profane. He shouldn't pay any mind to how you sit. Like a woman.

You sigh, long-suffering, and troubled. Pouty lips and pleading eyes. Your lashes flutter, jet black and spindly with mascara applied so light it might go unnoticed. It doesn't.

Weakness.

Red flares within him, pointed, sleek. Igniting with a spark that fizzles and fades to gooey pink, soft and tender. And then golden again. Reverential. The sun setting on a dismissed mass. The aftermath of grace and due deference to his person leaving him hazy and contented. A school of faculty and students alike who adore him. Without them he's left to the sobering of an empty chapel, one whose light then shuns him. Daring him to continue to fester with the new, hungry monstrosity that swells and stiffens, ugly and blunt.

Heavy on his shoulders, digging at his back. A cross to bear, he drags it along his pilgrimage to the hill, where he will stake it in the ground, climb to its center, and crucify himself on the broad tines. And you're both the hammer and the nail. Sharp and unforgiving. A pierce of his flesh that damns his rotten soul. A giggle through his left hand, a sigh through his right, and kiss through both feet. He takes the pain and bleeds. He bleeds for you.

Weakness.

"I don't know, Father." You surrender, fingers picking the pleated hem of your skirt at your knee. A budding chest rising and falling beneath your buttoned blouse. His molars crack as he clenches his jaw firm. "I don't feel like I'm supposed to be here. I don't feel like I do any of this right."

His brows bow and his eye droops. Frosted brilliance chilled in pity. How wistful and lost his little lamb bleats.

"Do what right?" His voice is old and hoarse, and it catches in his throat. He hopes you think its breaks from disuse. From solidifying, stoic and cold in his lonely office, his clearing throat and crisp strokes of pen all that keeps him company there.

And not because of the way you take your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Belong." You reply, plain and real. So ahead of your years, and the vapid nuance that fill the heads of your classmates. Boys and lunches and status. He sighs, his smile so thin it disperses imperceptible in the deep lines that etch his face.

"We all belong, lass." He lilts around the pet names, feeling one weight lift in place of the new.

His vow of celibacy is a mutt gone rabid, and you're the child unawares, as you pull his ear and yank his tail, pushing at the warning ripple of jowl to get at his canines. Slick and yellowed by marrow, the memory of it's taste a perpetual haunt from the decades since it last soaked his tongue.

You're no Jezebel.

He almost sinks to his knees and sobs in relief. You're wayward. Wayward he knows. Wayward he can curve, he can herd, he can appease. And all without so much as a scuff to his shining piety. His stirred faith settles. Balls back up tidy, and tamed.

"You speak of nothing the Lord cannot quell." He eases himself into this routine, to the familiarity in advice he's since taken to using as a shield against your temptation. Or a muzzle to his own. "You need not but turn to him."

His suggestion is reasonable. One any good mentor, or spiritual counselor, should provide. You shake your head before his graveled words have the chance to settle.

"I try." Your insistence is earnest, as is your defeat. It strengthens his pity. "He doesn't listen to me. He never responds."

"My girl, of course he listens." You remain unconvinced. He sees it in your furrowed brow, and pout. "Come, I'll show you." He holds both of his palms out and open to you, thick and creased and stable. "We'll talk to him together."

#trying to mimic the beautiful insane unobtainable styles of my cooler older siblings jainydoe emmg and aldisobey tbh to be honest #i dont know okay I DONT #just gonna drop this and run #i dont even know how to tag this ???#ralph ineson x reader #the omen fanfic #the first omen #the first omen fanfic #father brennan #father brennan x reader #father brennan fanfic #x reader #reader insert #reader fic #reader smut

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frostbitebakery · 10 months ago

Note

Anything from Who Ordered The Resurrection Special please?

DO I! :D

“The war is over. What now?”

Ryloth’s mountains rise on the horizon with the setting sun.

Obi-Wan rubs at the corner of his eye, leans back on his other hand. The grass is tickling against his skin. Kashyyk’s vegetation has always been so soft and lush; it’s a balm that almost, almost makes him smile. “I’m afraid we’re not out of tasks to do yet, my friend.” Perhaps his tone is too sarcastic, too downtrodden. But the exhaustion is clamoring up his every nerve and muscle and strand of thought.

“You’re right,” his Commander agrees softly, small chuckle rounding the vowels, echoes of it flowing back from the cliffs. Geonosis is not a good resting place. “Even death can’t keep you away from work.”

It sounds too serious for a joke. “What do you mean?” he asks and turns his head towards—

Goda shakes him by the singed shawl, breath burning and fire. “The one who should have been didn’t care and now everyone is paying the price.” The hole in his gut sizzles, melts, and Obi-Wan frantically pulls at the bandages. “Stop them before—“

“Goda, please, hold on, yes?” They’re alone but they shouldn’t be. It had been carnage the last time. Goda pushing Obi-Wan into a fighter with his last breath, voice cold and droid-like when it wasn’t drenched in despair.

Goda’s glove smells like death as it brushes against Obi-Wan’s cheek. “We weren’t ever meant to be, were we?”

“Who—? Commander—“

“Your men.”

Obi-Wan wakes up.

Day 2

Wolffe hauls the backpack higher up on his shoulder, pulls the cap deeper into his face. “Sinker owes me. I’ll rig up the IV once I’m back.”

“I’m sure Nurse Rosa appreciates the nickname.”

Wolffe holds up his hands. “She’s the one who came up with it.” He slaps Cody’s shoulder before turning to the front door. “I’ll get something to eat, too,” he says, stepping through the door and into the faint morning light.

Cody leans against the door, closing it with his weight, and lets himself sigh deep and even.

Their plan is to put an IV into the zombie for electrolytes until his organs can handle digestion. Wolffe gets some supplies from the hospital since going there is still out of the question even though the zombie has drastically healed since the first moment he appeared. It’s not leathery skin stretched over bones and gnarled limbs anymore. He had almost looked fresh faced when Cody had helped him into a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. Very fresh faced. It’s easy now to imagine what he’ll look like once he’s fully alive again.

Cody’s cheeks turn warm and that’s enough of that.

Maybe Cody’s family is in a unique position when it comes to… the stranger side of life, and as a firefighter he’s certainly seen enough shit one can’t explain that easily. But he’d rather not make tinfoil hats in a padded room while the zombie is whisked off to be sliced and diced.

“Hel…lo…”

Perfect timing. Cody looks up to his unalive guest standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom, looking lost in Cody’s borrowed clothes. “Oh, hey, you’re up!”

“…there.”

Cody blinks. “Where what?”

Cody has to think about that one for a minute. Which might give Obi-Wan the wrong impression about his family and Cody’s relationship to them but he’s not exactly thinking about them day and night anymore. Not now that they’re all adults with their own lives.

“My siblings mean everything to me,” Cody lands on, tipping a finger against the red MFD mug. “They didn’t have it easy growing up but they worked hard and,” he huffs out a laugh. He isn’t cynical usually but working hard to achieve dreams and success hasn’t been cutting it since before he was born. “Our father had some helpful connections so they could at least get a foot in the door.”

Cody refuses to publicly acknowledge the reality behind those connections for his siblings’ sake. He dug deep to uncover the truth behind Bly suddenly getting the scholarship of a lifetime, the top notch medical school of the country personally inviting Wolffe into their program.

Fox had fucked off to the Navy following his dream of reenacting the beach football scene in Top Gun. So it was up to Cody to ensure their father’s shady business wouldn’t bite them in the ass in the long run. Ponds had already paid the highest price for that. Boba—

“Boba is the oldest,” Cody starts, smile tugging at his mouth despite everything. He’s currently in jail for murdering my second oldest brother, Cody chooses not to say.

Obi-Wan tilts his head in interest but Cody moves right along.

“You met Wolffe,” he continues, grinning at Obi-Wan’s sigh. “Yeah, he has that effect on people.”

“I’m not here to hold people’s hands, Dr Koone,” Wolffe says reasonably.

The medical superintendent looks down at his hand being held by Wolffe and raises a bushy eyebrow around the breathing mask contraption covering most of his face.

“This means nothing.” Wolffe about had a heart attack when he got the news of the gas leak explosion rendering his mentor comatose. “It’s not my fault you like to live in a medical drama.”

Dr Koone pats his hand.

Wolffe sighs. “I’ll have Boost fluff your pillows. He’ll sneak in your ER novels.”

“I actually am not sure what Bly does,” Cody says slowly. “She got a bunch of doctorates hanging in her garage and her favorite hobby is making slime.”

Bly punches the end call button on the touchscreen with a growl. “No one lets me do anything around here!”

Cody blows on the spoonful of sauce before taking a careful sip. “They’re not going to fund you your own CERN, Bly.” A bit more oregano should do the trick.

“The things I could do with it!”

The alarm is about to go off and Cody stops it before the first beep. “Drain the spaghetti, please.”

Bly takes the huge pot over to the sink, hitting the cold water. “They act like I’m one inevitable lab accident away from becoming Doofenschmirtz.”

“They aren’t wrong.”

Bly whirls around, hands over her heart. “That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me, Codes.”

“I love you no matter what doesn’t count at all, does it?”

His sister scoffs out a laugh and waves him away. “I already knew that, idiot.”

Cody shakes his head and announces to the station that lunch is ready.

“After Fox’s stint in the Navy and fulfilling that dream, he went on to the next one,” Cody explains and pauses.

“Please give a warm welcome to our special guest tonight,” the club host says into the mic. “His unapologetic attitude towards life and its wonders has firmly established his name in the poetry community worldwide.”

Cody is about to clap when he notices everyone around him snapping their fingers.

“I swear, all your lives are made purely out of 90s tropes,” he murmurs to Bly.

“You would know, old man.”

Fox slinks onto the stage in a tight fitting black turtleneck and board shorts, and grabs the mic. “Pain.” He stomps onto the floor once. “Spite.”

The crowd goes wild.

#my wips #who ordered the resurrection special #Goda means honor in Latvian

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sincerely-anascot · 8 months ago

Text

He should have never let you go.

That day when he walked you down the altar—was it any different to sending you off to your demise?

Erwin received a missive from the Military Police in the early morning. Levi arrived at Mitras in record speed, his mare at the verge of collapse when he handed the reigns to the stable hand.

The mansion was huge, bigger than the former Survey Corps Headquarters. And while he thought such a gaudy thing never suited you he was at least comforted by the fact that you had all your needs met and more. Your marriage may have been a sham to support the regiment yet he swore that a man that openly proclaimed so much admiration for you would cherish you.

“You must be Captain Levi.” A man with a white cloth over his nose and mouth met him at the top of the stairs leading to the second story of the mansion.

Levi followed through the gilded corridor, the sound of footsteps barely eclipsing the sound of his rapidly beating heart.

The room was as lavish as the rest of the building; filled with furnitures and trinkets he would never be able to afford. At the center of it all was an expansive four-poster bed and on it was a memory that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Varying colors of bruises riddled your skin. Your once bright and eager eyes that seemed to wander to unseen lands stared up at him devoid of life. Cheeks sunken and limbs so thin, his mother may as well be lying before him again.

“There are signs of abuse that can be dated to weeks back. Starvation and dehydration played their parts too but ultimately, her death was due to blood loss from the multiple stabs wounds she sustained.” The medical examiner sounded too clinical for Levi’s liking.

It felt like torture almost—to hear about how much you suffered. So, he held the urge to punch the man in the nose because Levi thought he deserved the punishment.

“We tried to quickly operate on her upon her request but we couldn’t save the child either.”

A ringing began to grow in Levi’s ears. Bile started to gather up his throat. He could barely register the words ‘escape’, ‘fight’, and ‘self-defense’ coming from the medical examiner’s mouth but it was enough to form a gruesome story that had the captain spilling his guts at the foot of the bed.

The thought of you starting the family you always wanted and he could never give you was a balm that soothed his loneliness and bitter days.

He didn’t hear the doors closing as he was left alone to drown in his retch and vicious sobs.

Hours later, a maid silently slipped a tray carrying a jug of water, a glass, and a stringed, pile of letters beside where he knelt holding your hand at the side of the bed.

When he has exhausted himself from crying, Levi helped himself to the letters—all of them were addressed to him.

He opened the one dated on the day of your wedding. Not even half-way through he drops it on the floor and shakily stands up ignoring the numbness in his knees.

For the first time since he came into the room, he spots the bundle by your side.

He strides to the opposite side of the bed, legs heavy as if he was weaving through muck. Hand seasoned with battle trembling when he reached over to pull the fabric open.

The almost translucent skin doesn’t take away from the softness of the babe. If his fingers didn’t feel the coldness of the infant’s cheeks, he would’ve mistaken it to be peacefully asleep.

Fresh tears stained the swaddle as he lifted the unmoving bundle to his chest.

Levi whispered with deep regret and longing,

“Hello, son. Daddy’s here.”

#i swear i don’t like hurting him #i call it the isayama fever #he has an ascot made from the swaddle #levi ackerman #captain levi #levi x you #levi x reader #levi x oc #aot angst #snk angst #levi angst

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suranastair · 4 days ago

Text

@14dayscirclemages

This is Part 1 of a writing challenge for my Dragon Age Origins OC Selph Surana.

~ Prompt 1: Upbringing ~

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62724109/chapters/160576507

Rating: Teen & Mature

Warnings/Tags: Bullying, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Servitude, Good ol' Racism against elves/mages in Thedas.

Word Count: 1,639

Summary: After some confrontation, Selph finds solace in her favorite spot by the river. Something else may have found her as well...

It hadn’t rained in a fortnight, and the river was low that evening. As a result, Selph sat lower on her usual bank to dangle her feet in the lazy flowing stream. The cold was a stark contrast to the hot and darkening welt around her eye. A part of her wished she could dunk her head beneath the water, but then she’d smell like fish. Well, even more like fish.

She gnawed at the swollen part of her lower lip, tasting the blood and making the wound she sustained worse. Returning to the village now would be for the best, but either way she would get the switch. After all, she did humiliate the mayor’s daughter and her friends.

“She had it coming,” Selph told herself, flipping some of the water up with a foot. “Frost can happen whenever. It’s random, stupid! It’s not my fault the crops died! It’s…not my fault…”

Pulling herself into a ball, Selph began to cry, letting the earth around her encase her in a pseudo embrace. She missed her papae—her father. More and more as of late. Terrible dreams were keeping her up at night, dreams that woke her from the deepest confines of sleep. Sometimes, she felt like she wouldn’t wake, feared it.

But she didn’t want to trouble Eira with this nightmare talk. It would only bring trouble, and her stepmother had enough to worry about now that she was raising Selph alone. A human, let alone a servant, raising an orphaned elf was already problematic.

Even still, Eira loved Selph, deeply and wholly. Just like she had loved Selph’s father. He left his clan to be with her, had brought Selph with him. Selph had been young, too young to remember much of their departure out of the northern outskirts of the Brecilian Forest. The memory was a thickened haze for her now.

What she did know, what she held onto, was that her father loved her. Always. He had cared for her alone and through the grief he carried of the loss of his vhenan—Selph’s birth mother. Eira made him smile, made him sing like he used to around the bonfires with the clan. To Selph, Eira was a walking miracle.

And then he died.

Selph pulled herself into a tighter ball, desperately trying to push down the resurfacing memories and emotions that came with them. The earth around her seemed to shift, cradle her further as she was attempting to do to herself.

No. Not the earth. It was a…presence? It was warm, like a blanket fresh from a sunny day’s laundry line. A soothing balm of whispers reached her ears, nothing coherent, but comforting all the same. Selph was suddenly drowsy; her eye throbbed less, her skinned knees didn’t burn, and she stopped chewing on her lip as the freckled scrunch of her nose and brows untensed. Soon, she found herself laying on the scratchy grass of the bank. A prickly feeling transformed into one of utmost comfort, and her consciousness slipped into slumber.

The sun began to set, and the nightmares eluded Selph. Only upon hearing her name cut through the cooing voices did she stir.

Eira rounded one of the trees to Selph’s spot. Her large brown eyes were always calm, always kind. The pull of her mouth into a thin line conveyed otherwise. “Thought I’d find you here.”

Selph yawned and stretched, feeling lightweight and refreshed. Eira came into view as her vision adjusted, as did the rest of her forested surroundings. The sun had dipped behind mountain peaks in the far distance—a sign to Selph that she had stayed out too long.

“What time is it?” Selph rubbed crust from her emerald eyes, dirt from her bangs, and started a quick and loose braid of her lengthy hair. She scrambled up to complete the brush-off of her person.

“Late,” Eira said, stepping forward to help Selph get any missed spots off her oversized smock and breeches. “We’ve got barn duty.”

Selph turned toward her guardian with a smile, realizing then that her blackened eye was now in full view. As was her swollen lip and suspicious grass stains on her knees hiding the scrapes she got when she was shoved to the ground.

Eira wasn’t angry. In fact, the façade of anger she wanted to portray fell from her expression, promptly replaced with one of sympathy. “Halwen told me what happened.”

With a frown, Selph crossed her arms. “Did she? Or did she spin you a story again, gossip gab that she is?”

Kneeling down to meet her stepdaughter’s height, her loose bob of dark curls shifting, Eira tapped her forehead to Selph’s. “She spun me a story, obviously.”

Selph tried to hide her relieved smile, reaching out to hug Eira tightly. Eira picked her up and spun her around, and Selph let out a weak giggle before planting back to the ground.

Eira then grasped Selph’s hands, her eyes welling with tears. “I promise you, Selph, we’ll be able to leave this place soon. But until then—”

“I know.” Selph cut her off with a sudden huff.” But I didn’t kill the crops! Adelaide and her goons are idiots! From a family of idiots! Frosts happen, right? I’ve read a buncha books on it! And we’re in a part of Ferelden that gets cold! I mean, colder than most of Ferelden, but still!”

“Selph—”

“I didn’t do it! I’m not cursed!” She paused to take a breath. “I’m not a cursed knife-ear…”

Eira pulled her into another hug. “No. You’re not. Not at all. You’re a blessing, the biggest blessing I could have asked for along with you father, Maker rest him.” Her last words were choked.

Selph never knew her mamae. She died giving birth to her. But Eira was everything she could have wanted in a mother and more. She taught Selph to read and write, her falling into hard times and becoming a servant a betrayal to her educated background. Her roots were from Rivain, but her immediate family was from the Free Marches. All Selph knew at the time was that she left them behind in pursuit of better opportunities in Ferelden. Eira did her best with what she could, even if Selph didn’t fully believe it at times. Selph would look back on all Eira did—all she tried to do—with affection and amity.

However, at present, she wept in Eira’s arms in anger and sorrow only she felt she could understand. Emotions came back in a flood, as did the gentle blanket of warmth. It now surrounded her and Eira both, became a calming presence once again to the anguished girl.

With a big sniffle, Selph then inquired about it to Eira. The woman looked around, a breeze lifting some leaves around them before falling back to the ground. For a split second, her eyes glazed and hardened. Selph didn’t see.

“No, but I believe you,” Eira said, “and I think the pressure of another harrowing day of dealing with a bunch of spoiled brats is taking its toll.” She dropped her tone to a whisper toward the end, the fear of her status always at the forefront of her actions.

“Right…” Disappointment coated her words.

“Let’s get you back home, yeah? We’ll feed the livestock and join Halwen in the kitchen. Together.”

Selph scrunched her brows. “But I’m supposed to be on net duty with Eliot this eve.” She grumbled, kicking a stone after pulling on her shoes. “Stupid smelly fish.”

Eira couldn’t help but let out a belly laugh at that. “You told me you enjoyed net duty with old man Eliot!”

“When I can bathe after! Adelaide said she was gonna tell her dad to take my bath privileges away. Then I’d be a cursed and smelly knife-ear.”

“I see.” Eira frowned at the repeated pejorative. “Then I shall just have to relinquish my bathing privileges as well!” She placed her hands on her hips, lifting her chin to the tinted orange sky. “And then I’ll get Halwen to relinquish hers, and so on and so forth, until the whole village is rank with our rebellion!”

Selph blew a flippant raspberry. “Halwen will stop bathing when a pig sits on the Sunburst Throne.”

Eira laughed once again. “Too true, my child. Too true. Anyway, let’s get you home. A cool cloth for that eye and some elfroot rub for your lip and knees will do you good. Then we’ll get to our evening chores, get you a hot meal, and get you to your bed just in time to read a few chapters of your book, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Selph felt tears well in her eyes again, repeating, “Yeah.”

Selph took Eira’s hand, but not before glancing at her reflection in the stream. Selph stopped breathing. Next to her and Eira was a pale, human-like figure. Their features were barely visible in the sun’s setting light, but there was clearly a third person with them.

Eyes widening, Selph felt the start of a yelp bubble up from her chest. It was quashed when the figure slowly gifted her a wave. The calming, warm sensation returned to envelop her with the gesture, and Selph found herself smiling and waving back.

“Selph?” Eira tugged on the young girl’s hand. “Sweetheart?”

“I’m glad I get to come here when I want,” Selph said with genuine excitement, ignoring Eira’s open concern before finally snapping back to the present. “Sorry! Let’s go!”

The young elf then bounded off ahead of Eira, her energy renewed. Once again, Selph didn’t see her stepmother’s eyes glaze and harden. Even if she had, it was impossible for Eira to convey only what she had felt: the icy chill of a bad feeling creeping up her spine.

#14 days of circle mages #writing challenge #writing prompt #my ocs #oc: selph surana #dragon age origins #dragon age fanfiction #fanfiction

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erebusbabylon · 4 months ago

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Threads of Fate Chapters 11 and 12

Find chapters 9 and 10 HERE

Notes: No chapter warnings.

CHAPTERS 11 AND 12

Chapter Eleven: Solitude's Embrace

The next morning, the sun filtered through the heavy clouds, casting a soft light on the village of Eregion. The air was cool and fresh, carrying the scent of rain that lingered from the night’s storm. You found yourself in the healer’s pantry, surrounded by shelves lined with jars of herbs and tinctures, the rich aromas enveloping you like a comforting embrace.

As you stocked the freshly cut herbs you had gathered from the garden, your mind wandered back to the vivid dream of the night before. The image of Celebrimbor’s ethereal glow and Gil-galad’s strong, steady hand created a tempest of confusion in your heart. You focused on the task at hand, but your thoughts remained tangled, an undercurrent of anxiety tugging at your mind.

Miroden entered the pantry, his expression warm but perceptive. He paused, taking in the sight of you carefully arranging the herbs. “You seem weary today.” He said, his voice gentle but probing. “Did you sleep well last night?”

You hesitated, the truth hovering on the tip of your tongue. “Yes, I slept well. I’m just missing Gil-galad.” You replied, forcing a smile that felt more like a mask than genuine emotion.

Miroden studied you for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. He knew that the bond between you and the High King was strong, but he also sensed the turmoil beneath the surface—an unease tied to the encounter with Celebrimbor.

“It’s understandable.” He said, keeping his tone light yet understanding. “Adjusting to new surroundings and responsibilities can be overwhelming.”

You nodded, grateful for his empathy but acutely aware that he could see past your façade. As you reached for a jar of red and orange dried flowers, the memories of the dream flooded back—Celebrimbor’s voice, the flames, the way he had reached for you. You shook your head slightly, trying to clear the thoughts that threatened to consume you.

“I just need some time to adjust.” You added, hoping to divert the conversation. You busied yourself with the herbs, trying to focus on their textures and scents, grounding yourself in the present moment.

Miroden stepped closer, resting a hand on the counter. "If you ever need to talk, I am here." His voice held a sincerity that was both comforting and disarming.

You met his gaze, appreciating his kindness. “Thank you, Miroden. I really do appreciate it.” The words felt genuine, and for a moment, the weight on your chest lightened.

As you continued to work, the sounds of the pantry—the rustle of herbs, the soft clinking of jars—filled the silence. Yet, the tension remained, a silent companion to your thoughts. Each time you caught yourself daydreaming, the image of Celebrimbor would resurface, that electric connection leaving you both exhilarated and unsettled.

As the morning wore on, you worked alongside Miroden, stocking the pantry with herbs and preparing tinctures. His presence was a balm, a steadying force that helped ease the anxiety still swirling in your mind.

As the day drew to a close, you finished the last of your tasks and bid good night to Miroden. You made your way to the large, stone tower that you now called home. You ascended the staircase to the sixth floor, each step bringing you closer to the comfort of your bed.

Once inside your chamber, you took a deep breath, allowing the quiet to envelop you. The moonlight spilled through the window, illuminating the space with a silvery sheen. Your gaze fell upon the small chest at the foot of your bed, where you had carefully stored some of your belongings from Lindon.

With a sudden urge, you approached the chest and opened it, your heart racing with anticipation. As you sifted through your clothes, your fingers brushed against a familiar fabric. You pulled out Gil-galad’s night shirt, soft and worn, its scent still faintly carrying his essence.

Holding it close, you felt a rush of emotion—nostalgia mingled with longing. You slipped it on, the fabric enveloping you like a warm embrace, a fleeting reminder of his presence. But as you stood there, the weight of your feelings crashed over you, and the tears you had held back began to flow.

You sank onto the edge of the bed, the soft material pooling around you. Your fingers instinctively found their way to your engagement ring, the silver band glinting in the moonlight. You fidgeted with it, twisting it around your finger as memories of Gil-galad flooded your mind—his laughter, his unwavering strength, the way he made you feel safe.

“I miss you.” You whispered into the stillness, your voice trembling. The words felt like a prayer, a plea to the silent room. The ache in your chest deepened as hot tears streamed down your cheeks, each one a testament to the bond you shared and the distance that now separated you.

In that moment, you allowed yourself to feel the full weight of your emotions—grief for what you had left behind, uncertainty about the future, and a longing for the comfort of his presence. You wrapped your arms around yourself, seeking solace in the memory of his embrace, even as the tears continued to fall.

“I will be okay.” You reminded yourself, but the words were muffled by the sorrow that clung to your heart. In the sanctuary of your chamber, clad in his night shirt, you surrendered to the moment, letting the waves of emotion wash over you, knowing that tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for tonight, you just needed to feel.

Chapter Twelve: Dinner and a Letter

The morning sun broke through the heavy clouds, casting a golden hue over Eregion. It has been several days since your deam, but the intensity of it had not waned . You were on your way to meet Miroden, eager to immerse yourself in your studies. Your time with Miroden had become a wanted distraction for the longing you felt for Gil-galad.

As you approached the healer’s pantry, you turned a corner and nearly collided with a figure stepping out of the shadows. It was Celebrimbor, his presence striking and luminous even in the morning light. His golden hair caught the sun, framing his face like a radiant halo, and his deep eyes sparkled with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Ah, there you are!” He said, his voice smooth and inviting. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me." He said with a smirk.

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the world around you faded. “Good morning, Lord Celebrimbor.” You managed to reply, your heart pounding in your chest. "I have been so busy with my studies, I promise I am not avoiding you." You said trying to sound sincere. The truth was, you had been avoiding him. The way your body reacted , just at the sight of him, terrified you.

He took a step closer, the air between you charged with an unspoken energy. “I would be honored if you would join me for dinner tonight. A few of my advisors will be present. It would be an excellent opportunity for you to learn more about our work here in Eregion.”

You felt a rush of excitement at the invitation, but also a wave of anxiety. “I would be delighted.” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fluttering in your stomach.

A smile broke across his face, and it was as if the sun had risen just for you. “Excellent. I look forward to it.” He lingered for a moment longer, his gaze intense, before stepping back and allowing you to continue on your way.

You hurried into the pantry, your heart racing. Miroden was already there, arranging jars on the shelves. He looked up as you entered, a curious expression on his face. “You seem… different today.” He remarked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I just ran into Celebrimbor.” You admitted, trying to hide your excitement. “He invited me to dinner tonight.”

Miroden raised an eyebrow, a half-smile playing on his lips. “A dinner with the Lord of Eregion? How intriguing.”

"His advisors will also be present." You were quick to add.

Miroden chuckled. "Yes, yes..of course."

The hours passed quickly as you immersed yourself in the healing texts, Miroden guiding you through the intricacies of herbal remedies. Yet, as the day wore on, your mind wandered repeatedly to the dinner, and the anticipation of seeing Celebrimbor again sent butterflies swirling in your stomach.

After your studies, you returned to your chamber, the excitement bubbling within you. Once inside, you paused, feeling the weight of the day’s events. As you moved to your desk, something caught your eye—a letter, neatly sealed, lying on top of your belongings.

Your heart leaped as you recognized the crest of Gil-galad. You rushed over, fingers trembling as you picked it up. With a surge of joy, you tore open the envelope, eager to read his words.

My Dearest, I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. My guards delivered your to me safely. Your words brought warmth to my heart and a smile to my face, even amidst the duties that often weigh heavily upon me. I often find myself reflecting on that night we spent together in the tent above the village. I remember your laughter mingling with the night air, the way your eyes sparkled in the firelight. It is a memory I hold dear, a reminder of the connection we share, no matter the distance that separates us. I trust that you are settling into Eregion well. Have you had the chance to meet the Lord of Eregion, Celebrimbor, yet? I hope that he treats you with the respect and kindness you deserve. I know how capable you are, and I have no doubt you will make a meaningful impact wherever you go. Please know that you are constantly in my thoughts. Each day without you feels incomplete, and I eagerly await the moment when I can hold you close again. Until then, I will cherish the memories we have created and look forward to the ones yet to come. Take care of yourself, my beloved, and remember that my heart is always with you. Yours forever, Gil-galad

As you finished reading, tears of joy brimmed in your eyes. You held the letter close to your heart, feeling the distance between you both fade for a moment.

Eager to feel connected to him in some way, you glanced at your reflection in the mirror. You decided to wear the silver circlet he had gifted you for your birthday last year. It felt like a piece of him, a reminder of your bond, and you slipped it onto your head with care.

With a final glance at the letter, your heart swelled with a mix of excitement and nerves. You took a deep breath, readying yourself for the evening ahead.

#gil galad x reader #gil-galad / reader #celebrimbor/reader #celebrimbor x reader #trop fic

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justpoliteconversations · 1 year ago

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Olive Tree Sonnet [Raffle Winner]

This was supposed to be a little drabble for four-eyed-nerd, who was chosen randomly during the Follower Raffle. But I'm a liar. So it's a whole damned oneshot instead. So much for promises.

Masterlist

Characters: Juniper (OC created by four-eyed-nerd, Warriors, Wild

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise. Linked Universe is the fan creation of jojo56830.

---

Things have been strange with Wars lately. Ever since they'd found out about Juniper's ancestry (and his unusually prevalent place within it), he'd been the most infuriating toss up of awkward avoidance and brooding cucco and Juniper was just about done with it. She respected him, truly she did, but for being so intelligent he sure had a way of putting his foot in his mouth.

Just because he was her grandfather (and wasn't that something) doesn't mean she wants to be his apprentice or some nonsense. He had his strengths and she had hers, and no amount of nitpicking or corrections was going to change that. She wasn't him.

At the time though, she hadn't known how to brooch the topic. Usually so willing to voice her grievances and set boundaries (her gerudo blood, perhaps? her hero's spirit?), it had caught herself off guard just how much his opinion mattered to her. Partially because of their revelation, yes, but also because of just how much she admired him.

He was just-

He was just so confident. Self-assured in a way she struggled to be, elegant and cultured too. Intelligent and frighteningly strong, well spoken and educated. Handsome and connected. Respected by the group (though he often bickered with Legend and Twilight). He even had Time's ear.

There was just so much to admire. So much to live up to, and she just-

She couldn't be him, no matter what he expected of her. The shoe didn't fit and she doubted it ever would. He might have been her grandfather, but they were not woven from the same cloth.

So here she was (fresh out of a tense argument with that very man) hiding behind some outcropping of boulders with Wild (like some sulking teenager) while Time talked Wars down. Scratching pictures and anxiety fueled nonsense into the aged stone only did so much though, so she began picking at her split ends with dust covered fingers instead.

A hand grabbed at her wrist, pulling it away from her now tangled, dirty hair. She yanked her wrist out of their grasp without thought.

"For fuck's sake! It's just damn hair!" Juniper snapped in frustration, turning to the interloper with a tense frown.

Wild just leveled her with an unimpressed stare as he pulled his hand away from where it'd been hoovering, but the downward angle of his ears gave away his hurt. As did the slight tensing of his shoulders.

She immediately felt regret for her loss of patience. All the progress they've made, and this is what starts the backwards slide.

Hell no.

"Look, Wild. I'm sorry. I'm just really fucking tense. I didn't mean to snap at you like that." Juniper apologized, struggling to keep eye contact while he looked so- betrayed.

At her words though he softened, nodding in acceptance before pointing at her doodles. The curious upward flick of his ears was like a balm on her heart.

"It's Wars...slipping on a banana." Wild snorted, eyes alight with mischief (and promise). "Hey! I was mad, okay? It's not like I actually want him to fall on his ass."

"Not even a little, huh?" A familiar voice spoke from behind them, startling the pair. Wild had nearly reached for a weapon, but thankfully caught himself.

Juniper looked up at Wars, wanting to fade away into the rocks behind her but also too upset still to think of backing down. Though she also wanted things to be okay between them, and less awkward. Honestly, she was just a mess right now.

War's eyes flickered to Wild's for a moment, assessing. Surprisingly, he seemed to find what he needed in the way Wild frowned, dug his boots into the grass below and crossed his arms impatiently. Protective as always.

"No need to get testy, Wild. I'm not going to ask you to leave." Wild snorted, as though amused Wars thought he'd have abided by the order even if it had been given.

"Wild." Juniper said, grateful for her friend's unflinching support, but also not wanting to be the cause of bad blood between the men. Wild was just too damned loyal sometimes.

Wild side-eyed his red haired friend unhappily, but backed down, leaning against the boulders behind them. Still watching like a silent predator, but willing to take the support role for this one.

An awkward moment of silence.

"I wanted-"

"What do you-"

Silence again. Warriors cleared his throat, readjusting his scarf in a practiced motion, body language far too relaxed for the way his eyes wavered with uncertainty.

Even his fidgiting was smooth and elegant. It was so unfair.

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior recently." He began, face very carefully passive. "I have been- unfairly strict with you, Juniper."

Juniper felt almost- shocked maybe? Validated? She wasn't sure, but her heart ached as Wars continued.

"I- I know I wasn't there in your life. You have no reason to listen to me, and I know I've overstepped my place as your comman- comrade multiple times now. I know that, and I'll make no excuses for myself. It was my own selfishness that led to where we are now." He paused, pointedly not looking at Wild who was watching him like a coiled snake.

"I'm sorry, Juniper. You're your own person and I have no right to criticize you for who you've become." Juniper felt her heart flutter, relieved and touched and suddenly, unexpectantly, sad. "I'll do my utmost to remember that."

Silence once more. Awkward as it's ever been between the both of them. Wild's eyes flicked between the two, just as awkward in this stilted atmosphere.

Wars nodded his head, suddenly looking unsure now but trying to hide it with pleasantries. "That's all I wanted to say. Thank you for your time." Then he turned to leave, ears red and lower face tucked into his scarf.

"Wars. Wait." The red haired woman said, voice fighting passed the swell of her throat.

The man paused midstep, turning back to her. He was composed now, quick on the recovery as ever.

Wild looked to her too, curious and confused.

"I'm sorry too." The unreadable passivity of War's face was unnerving (it always had been), but Juniper pushed through. "Not everything you've tried to teach me has been unreasonable. Actually, most of it has been damned helpful." Juniper went for her hair again, but remembered how Wild disliked when she damaged it.

The woman took a moment to gather herself, and Warriors was kind enough to let her. Even if now he still looked a little lost. Maybe a little hopeful too. "I don't want you to stop teaching me things." That was the last thing Juniper wanted. "I just- don't want to constantly feel like I've failed you." She looked down, unsure of how to continue.

Arms were around her then, warm and strong but also so incredibly tender. It was almost enough to pull a sob from her.

"You've never failed me, Juniper." Wars said, with such strong conviction in his voice it made the woman's eyes sting. "I'm sorry I made you feel that way." She lost the fight to maintain her composure, hiding her face in his scarf.

"I'm proud of who you've become." She sobbed harder and he held her tighter, speaking into her hair. "I'm glad you were born. I'm so blessed to have met you."

Wild quietly slipped away then, certain now that things would be alright between them. Eventually.

They just needed time.

---

I must now return to the shadows to rest again.

#linked universe #for my followers

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lilypadlys · 9 months ago

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Mushy May Day Three - Massages

Ship: Cirrus/Dewdrop

Notes: Prompt list by @forlorn-crows. See prompt list here

Word Count: 660

Read on AO3 or below the cut

Dewdrop squints in confusion and a bit of concern as Cirrus eyes him up and down. Even as they stand in the lobby of the latest hotel, dressed in their civies, and surrounded by the rest of the pack and their papa, he feels exposed.

“Hey Cir. What's that look for?”

“You’re rooming with me tonight, Droplet.” It’s not a request.

“But-”

She interrupts by handing him his room key, grabbing his duffle bag for him, flashing him a toothy grin, and turning to head to the elevator. Dew has the distinct impression she’s going to eat him alive.

He shakes his head and heads to the elevator after her but just barely misses it. It’s whatever. He’ll just catch it with Mountain, who’s just now come in from the bus carrying a sleepy Phantom. Still, the suspense makes his stomach flip.

The elevator returns and he and Mountain ride it in silence, too tired for small talk. They bid each other goodnight and Dew stands before his hotel room. He unlocks the door and walks inside.

“There you are sweetheart.” She smiles.

Dew blinks at the pet name. “Hey Cir, I don’t think I’m up for it tonight. I’m tired.”

Cirrus wrinkles her nose. “Good. If you had anything planned I would have told you no. Now up on the bed.” She waggles her travel sized lotion bottle at him and he chuckles in understanding. He strips down to his boxers and lays on his stomach.

“Feet and shoulders giving you trouble again?” She starts to slick up her hands.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ve got you. Just let me know how the pressure is.” She starts by rubbing up and down his back, just warming him up to her touch. Her cool lotion slick hands feel like a balm against his perpetually overwarm skin. Once he lets himself relax into the repetitive motions she begins to kneed at his tense shoulders. He lets out an involuntary shudder and a little sigh as she gets something to pop, releasing tension Dew hadn’t been able to relieve.

“Feel good?”

“Uh huh.”

She keeps going, feeling around until she finds a sore spot. She taps in warning before digging her thumbs in.

Dew hisses a little but lets her continue.

“Sorry Dewy. I know it hurts but I promise this will help in the long run.” She repeats what she always says when she works at the tense spots.

“It's okay.” He sighs in relief as he feels the muscle start to loosen up.

Once she’s done with that spot, and moves to his other shoulder and repeats. Then she gives his shoulders a gentle soothing rub.

“Gonna get your feet now okay?”

“Uh huh.”

Dew rolls over to his back and scoots up to the head of the bed to make room for Cirrus to sit at the foot. She sets his feet in her lap and squirts some fresh lotion into her hands. As she works at the balls of his feet, they chat idly. Talking about that night’s show, where they're headed tomorrow, wondering what the others are getting up to tonight. Nothing too deep though; they’re both too tired.

When Cirrus finishes with his feet she gives one a playful squeeze.

“That feel better?”

“Lots, thanks.”

“Want me to brush your hair?”

“Please?”

Cirrus moves up to the head of the head and has Dew sit in her lap. She grabs her brush from where she set it on the nightstand and starts undoing the braid his hair is still in from the show. As she brushes, she makes sure to give him a gentle scalp massage as well and they’re both purring in no time. She only stops when it’s clear Dew is in danger of falling asleep right there.

“Ah ah. Shower first stink bug.”

Dew doesn’t even snip at the nickname, just stretches and sighs.

“Come on. I'll wash your hair too.”

That gets him moving a little faster.

#the band ghost #nameless ghouls #cirrus ghoulette #dewdrop ghoul #cirrus/dewdrop #massages #fluff #ghost fanfiction #mushy may 2024 #lys writes

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monochromaticbeans · 20 days ago

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Chapter 60, Part B: Ruthless Deed

Corruption is just one more whirlpool lurking

beneath the surface.

What will we have to give in return for balming our wounds and soothing our screams?

“Ruthless Deed” ~ the Gazette (Eng. Translation)

Hikari shifted in her seat, her fingers tapping absently against her thigh as more familiar faces trickled in. Each new arrival felt like a fresh punch to the gut, a sharp reminder of the twisted reality she was trapped in.

Koko was next, his familiar sense of style intact, but his eyes—once sharp with quiet calculation—were colder now. His gaze was locked in, fully committed to this corrupt version of Toman. The absence of his once playful smirk—tongue sticking out in that cocky way—only made it worse.

Inupi followed close behind, his footsteps as silent as ever, but his energy had changed. The Inupi she remembered, the one who ran the bike shop with Draken in that peaceful timeline, felt like a distant memory. His loyalty had shifted entirely to this twisted Toman, and Hikari’s heart clenched at the sight of him. He had been like family, a constant, and now he was one more ghost in this room full of the lost.

Her breath hitched when Mucho entered. His imposing frame and stony expression were as intimidating as ever, but Hikari could barely look at him. The betrayal during the Tenjiku incident still stung, and seeing him here, fully embraced within Toman again, made her stomach churn.

And then came Sanzu.

The moment he walked in, something inside Hikari twisted uncomfortably. Sanzu was always an enigma—unpredictable, perplexing at times, but always part of her world. He'd protected her from Hanma twice. Yet as he took his place, a slight smirk on his scarred lips, there was something about him that felt different. Hikari couldn’t put her finger on it, but the way he glanced her way—like he knew something she didn’t—it was as if he could see right through her, peeling back the layers she’d tried so hard to keep hidden in this timeline.

Hikari tore her gaze away, rubbing her palms against the stiff fabric of her slacks, trying to shake off the feeling of being exposed. But her mind kept spinning, thoughts darting between faces, memories clashing with the cold versions of her friends that now sat around the table. Keep it together, she told herself, but the words felt hollow.

Her jaw clenched when the door opened again, and all the noise in her mind went silent.

Kisaki.

He strolled in with that self-satisfied smile plastered across his face, followed closely by Hanma, whose long, lanky frame always seemed to radiate chaos. Hikari’s heart pounded in her chest, her muscles tensing. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, drowning out the sounds of the room. Kisaki’s cold, calculating eyes swept across the table, and when they landed on her, she had to fight the overwhelming urge to stand up and launch herself across the room at him.

Her fingers twitched, the phantom chords of "Master of Puppets" running through her mind's ear. Her foot bounced restlessly against the floor, the adrenaline surging through her veins. She could already see it in her head: her fist smashing into Kisaki’s smug face, his shocked expression as she drove him into the floor. She’d drag Hanma up by his stupid tie and slam him against the wall, her knee connecting with his gut as his mocking laughter turned into a gasping wheeze.

Her hands itched for it, every nerve in her body begging her to move, to do something—anything to wipe those smiles off their faces. But she stayed still, clenching her fists under the table, the anger roiling inside her like a storm barely contained. She knew she couldn’t. Not yet.

Kisaki slid into his seat at the head of the table, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the wood, the sound grating against Hikari’s already frayed nerves. The silence that followed felt thick and suffocating, as he surveyed the room with that same smug expression, like he owned everything and everyone in it.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Kisaki began, his voice smooth and controlled, though the malice underneath it was palpable. His gaze moved slowly from one person to the next, as if savoring the power he held over them. "There’s been a... situation."

The tension in the room thickened, and Hikari felt Chifuyu shift slightly beside her. Her heart raced as she struggled to keep her face neutral, the weight of the room pressing down on her like a vice.

Kisaki’s voice dropped, dripping with venom. "There’s a rat in Toman. Someone has been leaking information to the police."

A low murmur rippled through the room, and Hikari’s chest tightened. She stole a glance at Chifuyu and Takemichi. They were both tense, their faces carefully blank, but she could see the flicker of unease in their eyes. They had expected this, but hearing it aloud made everything feel too real, too dangerous.

Kisaki’s eyes gleamed as he looked around the room, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably before continuing. "We will not tolerate traitors."

With a snap of his fingers, one of Kisaki’s lackeys grabbed a man sitting at the far end of the table—someone Hikari didn’t recognize. He was yanked out of his chair, his eyes wide with fear as he struggled against the grip of the men dragging him away. Kisaki barely spared him a glance, his expression cold and indifferent. The message was clear—there would be no mercy.

Hikari bit the inside of her cheek, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth as she tried to suppress the bile rising in her throat. She couldn’t react. Not here, not now. Not when Kisaki and Hanma were watching. But the anger was a living thing inside her, a beast clawing at her insides, begging to be unleashed.

Once the man was dragged from the room, Kisaki leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him as he spoke again. "Now that that’s been handled," he said smoothly, "let’s enjoy our dinner."

Hikari stared down at her plate, her appetite completely gone. The rest of the meal passed in a blur, the food tasteless and heavy in her mouth. Her hands fidgeted restlessly in her lap, her foot bouncing as she tried to keep her emotions in check. Every time Kisaki or Hanma spoke, it was like nails scraping down a chalkboard, and all she could think about was how much she wanted to smash both of them into pieces.

Takemichi glanced at her every now and then, concern flickering in his eyes, but she gave him a tight nod. She had to stay calm, had to keep her focus. But it was getting harder with every passing second.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the dinner came to an end. Kisaki stood, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes locking onto Hikari, Chifuyu, and Takemichi. His voice was calm, but the command in it was unmistakable. "Chifuyu. Takemichi. Todawa. A word in private."

Hikari’s stomach twisted into knots. Chifuyu’s hand brushed hers again under the table, a silent reassurance. She gave a small nod, steeling herself as they rose to follow Kisaki.

Hanma’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with amusement as they passed. He was enjoying this. Whatever was about to happen, Hikari knew Hanma was looking forward to the chaos. He lived for it.

As they stepped into the back room, Hikari forced herself to take a deep breath. She could feel the rage simmering beneath the surface, but she had to keep it under control. There would be a time to fight. But right now, all she could do was wait.

And when the time came, she'd make sure Kisaki and Hanma paid for every twisted thing they’d done.

***

The dim light of the private room and the suffocating air clung to her skin. She followed Chifuyu and Takemichi inside, her senses on high alert. Everything about this place—the neatly arranged bottles of expensive liquor on the bar, the polished mahogany table, the cold, calculated energy in the room—reeked of Kisaki.

As soon as her eyes landed on him, standing near the bar with his usual smug expression, her stomach twisted. His presence made the air feel thick, almost claustrophobic. She resisted the urge to fidget, instead keeping her hands balled into fists at her sides, the tension building with every second.

Kisaki's voice slithered through the room, smooth and dripping with false camaraderie. "The First Division," he began, his lips curling into a smile that made Hikari’s skin crawl. "It’s been a while since we’ve all been together like this, hasn’t it?"

Hikari’s insides clenched. He’s using Keisuke against us. The mention of the First Division—the division that had once been a symbol of loyalty, strength, and family to her—felt like a slap to the face. She could barely contain the wave of nausea that rose in her throat. Every word from Kisaki was a taunt, a calculated jab meant to poke at their emotional wounds. How dare he invoke it?

Her fingers twitched at her sides, the desire to punch that smug grin off Kisaki’s face growing stronger with each passing second. She could almost hear Keisuke’s voice in her head—Don’t let him get to you, Hikari. But it was hard. So damn hard.

“And Todawa,” Kisaki continued, his tone sickeningly sweet as his gaze fixed on her. “One of Toman’s founding members. It’s an honor to have you here.”

The word honor felt like poison. Her teeth ground together as she struggled to keep her expression neutral. Don’t react. Don’t give him the satisfaction. But every muscle in her body screamed for her to shut him the fuck up, to make him pay for every manipulation, every twisted game he’d played with their lives. Her fingers curled tighter into fists. I can so take him. Just give me five minutes alone with him.

Kisaki walked over to the bar with an infuriatingly casual air, trailing his fingers over the glass bottles like he was playing some kind of sick game. "I brought you three here for a reason," he said, pouring drinks into crystal glasses. "Because of your connection to Baji Keisuke.”

The sound of Keisuke’s name falling from Kisaki’s lips felt like a stab to her heart. Hikari’s nails dug into her palms, her breath catching in her throat. You don’t get to say his name. The urge to lash out was so strong, she had to physically force herself to stay still, to not give in to the fury burning in her chest.

Kisaki turned, holding up a glass as if he were offering a toast, a wicked smile playing on his lips. “Let’s drink,” he said with mock reverence. “In Baji’s honor.”

Hikari froze, her blood turning to ice as she stared at the glass in front of her. The amber liquid swirled inside, the clink of crystal echoing in her ears like a death knell. Her skin crawled just looking at it. This isn’t in Keisuke’s honor. This is a goddamn mockery. A sick game.

“I don’t drink alcohol,” she said flatly, her voice low but firm.

For a brief moment, Kisaki’s smile faltered, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. It was gone in an instant, replaced by that same infuriatingly smooth expression, but Hikari caught it. "Come now, Todawa," he said, his voice edged with impatience. "Surely you can make an exception, just this once. For the love of your life?"

Her chest tightened, anger flaring hotter than ever. How dare he? How dare he use Keisuke like this? She locked eyes with Kisaki, her voice steady and sharp. “I honor him every day. I don’t need to drink to prove that.”

The tension in the room spiked, a dangerous silence stretching out as Kisaki’s jaw tightened. Though he kept his composure, the irritation was clear. He turned his attention back to Chifuyu and Takemichi, who, without hesitation, lifted their glasses and downed their drinks.

That’s when Hikari’s stomach dropped.

The moment their glasses hit the table, Chifuyu’s hand slipped, his body slumping forward. Takemichi followed, his head rolling to the side as his glass fell from his limp hand and shattered on the floor. The suddenness of it made Hikari’s pulse race, her brain scrambling to catch up with what she was seeing.

Sedatives. It’s a setup.

Her body tensed, her eyes snapping to Kisaki, who was already watching her, his lips curling into that smug grin. "Impressive," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "You’ve always been sharp, haven’t you?"

Hikari’s heart hammered in her chest as two of Kisaki’s men stepped forward, moving to restrain her. They think I’ll go down easily. They assumed she’s the softer, older Hikari from this timeline, the one who hasn’t fought in years. But they were about to get a rude awakening. They were about to get First Division's Third Seat Todawa Hikari.

The first man lunged at her, but Hikari moved faster. Ducking low, she drove her elbow into his ribs, the satisfying thud of bone meeting flesh sending him sprawling to the floor. The second man barely had time to react before she twisted, delivering a sharp kick to his chest that sent him stumbling backward.

Her movements were fluid, instinctual—every punch, every kick honed from years of fighting alongside Keisuke, alongside Toman. You’ve picked the wrong fight, motherfuckers. Her adrenaline surged, and for a moment, she reveled in it, the rush of combat familiar and almost comforting.

But more men came at her, rushing in from the shadows. One, two, three more. Hikari spun, dodging one blow and landing a hard kick to another’s knee, sending him crashing to the ground. Her heart pounded in her ears, her muscles coiled like springs, ready for more.

After I finish these twat-waffles off, Kisaki's next.

But there were too many. Five men piled on her, trying to restrain her at once, and even with her speed and agility, they managed to overwhelm her. One of them slipped close enough, his arm snaking around her from behind as he jabbed a needle into her neck.

The sedative hit her bloodstream almost immediately, the room swimming around her in a blur of dim light and movement. Her body felt heavy, her limbs sluggish. She fought against the drowsiness, her vision blurring as she struggled to stay conscious.

Keisuke... His name was the last coherent thought in her mind as the world around her faded into blackness, the fight draining from her body.

And then, nothing.

***

She'll be my mirror

Reflect what I am.

“Lips Like Sugar” ~ Echo and the Bunnymen

Hikari awoke to the dull throb of her pulse in her ears, her head heavy and swimming with the lingering effects of the sedative. The room was dim, shadows blending together as her eyes struggled to focus. Her arms were wrenched behind her, wrists bound tight with coarse rope, and her legs were tied to the cold metal chair beneath her.

Where am I? The thought came sluggishly, her mind thick with fog. She blinked hard, willing herself to shake off the haze.

Across from her, blurry figures began to take shape. Chifuyu’s familiar silhouette came into view first, his head hanging low as he blinked groggily. Beside him, Takemichi stirred, his movements sluggish and jerky, a mirror of her own disorientation.

The rough sting of the rope cutting into her skin sharpened her awareness, slicing through the haze. Hikari tugged subtly against the bindings, testing their strength. They held firm, and frustration surged in her chest. Her breath steadied, deep and controlled, as her surroundings became clearer.

Captured. Kisaki. The realization hit her like a cold wave.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Kisaki’s voice sliced through the air, smooth and cutting, every word dripping with smug satisfaction. “You three are like cockroaches,” he sneered, his footsteps deliberate as he paced in front of them. “No matter how many times I crush you, you keep coming back.”

Hikari forced herself to stay still, her gaze fixed on the floor. Showing anger would only feed Kisaki’s twisted need for control. But her teeth clenched as his words continued, each one like salt on a wound.

“I’d almost admire your persistence,” Kisaki said, leaning close to her, his breath hot and sour against her ear. “If it weren’t so utterly pathetic.”

Hikari’s fists tightened behind her back. She wanted to spit something venomous in his face, to wipe the smug grin off his lips, but she knew better. Instead, she took a deep breath, forcing her anger to simmer beneath the surface.

Before Kisaki could say another word, the lights suddenly cut out.

The room plunged into darkness, and for a heartbeat, there was silence. Then chaos erupted.

Hikari’s senses sharpened. The heavy thud of bodies hitting the floor, the muffled grunts of Kisaki’s henchmen being taken down, and the sharp sound of a katana swinging—all of it painted a vivid picture of the fight happening around them.

A hand brushed against hers, warm and steady. Hikari flinched at the contact but froze as a voice, low and urgent, murmured in her ear, “Hold still.”

The voice was unmistakable—Sanzu.

Her breath caught as the edge of a blade pressed against her wrists. The ropes began to fray under the precise cuts, and seconds later, her hands were free.

“Run,” Sanzu whispered, his tone firm but oddly gentle. “Now.”

Hikari turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of him. His face was obscured by the dark, but she'd recognize his voice and movements anywhere. Without waiting for a response, he disappeared back into the shadows, leaving her to untangle her legs from the chair.

On the other side of the room, the sounds of a fight intensified. Hikari glanced up to see Kazutora’s outline moving through the chaos with practiced precision, taking out Kisaki’s henchmen one by one. His movements were fluid and efficient, every strike calculated, every blow decisive.

Chifuyu stirred beside her, his movements sluggish but determined. “Hikari?” he muttered, his voice groggy.

“We have to go,” she hissed, shaking him lightly. “Come on.”

As Chifuyu began to free his legs, Hikari scrambled to Takemichi’s side, untying him with trembling hands. The sedatives were still in their systems, slowing their movements, but adrenaline surged through her veins, sharpening her focus.

By the time they were all untied, Kazutora and Sanzu had taken down the last of the henchmen. The room was eerily quiet except for their ragged breaths and the faint hum of city noise outside.

“We need to move,” Kazutora said, his voice low but commanding. He glanced toward the door, his sharp eyes scanning for any signs of reinforcements. “Now.”

Sanzu reappeared from the shadows, splattered with blood, his katana glinting faintly in the dim light. “I’ve cleared the back exit,” he said, his tone calm and detached. “You’ve got maybe three minutes before more of them show up.”

Hikari hesitated, her eyes flicking between Sanzu and Kazutora. “Why are you—”

“No time,” Sanzu interrupted, his gaze steady. “Just go.”

There was no time to question his motives. Hikari gave a sharp nod, grabbing Chifuyu’s arm and helping him steady Takemichi. They slipped through the door, the cool night air hitting them like a slap as they emerged into a narrow alley.

They didn’t stop until they reached the far end of the alley, where Keisuke's bike was parked. Kazutora turned to them, his expression unreadable in the faint glow of a distant streetlight.

“Chifuyu,” Kazutora said, his voice quiet but firm. “Take Takemichi to Naoto. Make sure he’s safe.”

Chifuyu hesitated, his gaze flicking to Hikari.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, though her voice was strained.

After a moment, Chifuyu nodded, guiding a barely-conscious Takemichi toward the shadows. “Be careful,” he said over his shoulder.

The night felt colder as their footsteps faded into the distance, leaving Hikari alone with Kazutora.

He turned to her, his expression softening ever so slightly. “You okay?”

Hikari nodded, though her trembling hands betrayed her. “Yeah.”

Kazutora glanced back toward the building they’d escaped, his jaw tightening. “Let’s get out of here before Kisaki sends more of his dogs.”

The steady hum of the bike broke the tense silence as they rode into the night, leaving the chaos and darkness behind them. But as the wind whipped past her face, Hikari’s thoughts lingered on Sanzu. His unexpected help, his cryptic silence—it left a knot of unease in her chest.

What’s your game, Sanzu?

The engine roared beneath them, a low, familiar growl that vibrated through Hikari’s entire body as Kazutora weaved them through the city streets. The cool night air whipped against her face, stinging her skin but clearing her foggy mind. She tightened her grip around Kazutora’s waist, the leather of his jacket slick under her fingers as the city blurred around them.

Each streetlight flashed past in rapid succession, the rhythm of it all doing little to settle the chaos still storming in her chest. The confrontation with Kisaki, the sedatives, the suffocating closeness of nearly being killed—it all swirled together, heavy and raw, but there was no time to process any of it. Not now.

They sped through the city, the wind swallowing the sound of the engine, and Hikari shouted her directions to Kazutora. “Turn left here!” Her voice felt small against the rush of noise, but Kazutora heard her, his body leaning into the turn without hesitation. The streets they rode on became narrower, less familiar, until the bright lights of the city began to fade into the distance.

The path turned steeper as they climbed, leaving the city behind. As they approached the outskirts, the sounds of Tokyo dimmed to a low murmur, and all that remained was the steady purr of the bike beneath them and the occasional rustle of leaves caught in the night breeze.

Finally, Kazutora slowed the bike, pulling off onto a secluded overlook. The engine fell quiet with a final growl, and the sudden silence that followed was almost deafening. Hikari slid off the bike, her legs unsteady beneath her, and stood still for a moment, letting the quiet sink in.

The view from the overlook was just as she remembered it. The city stretched out below them like a blanket of twinkling lights, distant and almost unreal in its beauty. The night sky was clear, stars winking above like tiny pinpricks of light, and for a brief, fragile moment, Hikari could almost pretend that nothing had changed. That she was still that girl from years ago, standing here with Keisuke.

Her heart clenched painfully at the memory.

“This is the spot,” she said softly, her voice barely carrying over the stillness of the night. She reached up, her fingers brushing the wolf pendant hanging around her neck—the one Keisuke gave her that night, just days before he’d faked his defection to Valhalla. The cool metal against her skin was a reminder of the loyalty, the love that bound them together.

Kazutora watched her quietly, his expression unreadable, but Hikari could feel the weight of his gaze, the unspoken questions lingering in the air between them. She didn’t look at him, her eyes still fixed on the city lights below.

“He brought me here once,” she continued, her voice tinged with bittersweet nostalgia. “The night he gave me this.” Her fingers tightened slightly around the pendant as the memory washed over her—Keisuke’s wild grin, the way the night breeze had tousled his long hair, the quiet promise in his eyes that night. She hadn’t come back here since. It was too painful, too full of ghosts.

Kazutora’s eyes flickered toward the pendant, then back to her. He didn’t say anything, but there was an understanding in his gaze, a shared weight that neither of them needed to speak aloud. This place, this memory—it was sacred ground, a moment in time preserved between her and Baji.

Hikari exhaled slowly, her breath misting in the cool air as she finally turned to face Kazutora. “It’s ironic, isn’t it?” she said, her voice quiet but edged with something deeper. “That I’m standing here with you, of all people.”

Kazutora’s body stiffened slightly, his eyes searching hers for a clue as to where she was going with this. But he didn’t have to wait long.

“For the longest time,” Hikari said, her voice low and steady, “I blamed you. I blamed you for taking him from me.”

Kazutora flinched, just barely. His shoulders tensed, bracing himself for the words that would surely follow. He’d been waiting for this moment—for her anger, for her hate—to finally spill over. He thought she’d tell him to go to hell and she would never forgive him.

But instead, Hikari’s gaze softened, her voice steady, though there was an unmistakable sadness woven into it. “I don’t hate you, Kazutora.”

He blinked, caught off guard, his breath stalling in his chest. “You… don’t?”

She shook her head, the tension easing from her body as she looked out at the city again, her fingers still idly playing with the pendant. “I met a version of you in another timeline,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “One where I had Hotaru. You came to me to apologize for what happened… and that was the moment I stopped hating you.”

Kazutora stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in slowly. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. A version of me? The thought was disorienting, almost impossible to process. But the idea that Hikari could find it in herself to forgive him—that was something he’d never imagined.

Silence stretched between them, the cool night air pressing in around them as they stood side by side. The lights of Tokyo glittered far below, but neither of them seemed to see it anymore, their thoughts too heavy, too tangled in the past.

Finally, Hikari broke the silence, her voice quieter now, vulnerable in a way that made Kazutora’s chest tighten. “I have to ask you something.”

Kazutora tensed again, bracing himself. “What is it?”

Hikari turned to face him fully, her expression softened by the weight of all they had been through, all they had lost. “Why didn’t you ever write back to me?” she asked, her voice a whisper carried on the night breeze. “After Shinichiro’s death... after you went to juvie.”

Kazutora froze. Of all the questions she could have asked, that wasn’t one he expected. He looked away, the memories clawing at him, raw and painful even after all these years.

There was a long pause, the only sound the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. Hikari waited, watching him, her chest tightening as she tried to piece together the emotions flickering across his face.

After what felt like an eternity, Kazutora finally spoke, his voice low and almost hesitant. “There were... a few reasons,” he admitted, his eyes fixed on the ground. “One of them was because... you were Toman. Loyal to Mikey. And I—I was so messed up back then, Hikari. I blamed him. I blamed all of you. It was the only way I knew how to cope with what I'd done.”

Hikari nodded slowly, her heart aching at the rawness in his voice. She understood that. She’d always understood that. But there was something else. Something deeper.

Kazutora hesitated again, his throat tightening around the words he wasn’t sure he should say. “And… there was another reason,” he continued, his voice barely audible. “I had feelings for you, Hikari. And I hated it. I knew you were always Baji’s girl. Even if neither of you realized it at the time. Nobody else stood a chance.”

Hikari’s breath caught in her throat, the confession landing between them like a stone in still water. She hadn’t expected that. Not from Kazutora. She stared at him, her mind spinning as she tried to process the weight of his words.

Kazutora shifted uncomfortably, his gaze still fixed on the ground, as if afraid to look at her. “So I buried it, I smothered it,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “I hurt you then, I hurt you at the arcade, and I hurt you when—”

Hikari’s chest tightened, a flood of emotions swirling through her, too tangled to make sense of. But there was no anger anymore, no bitterness. Only a quiet understanding.

The silence between them stretched on. The soft breeze rustled through the leaves around them, carrying with it the quiet sounds of the night. Far below, the city carried on as usual. But up here, on this overlook, the world felt smaller—like it was just the two of them, standing at the edge of something fragile and unspoken.

Hikari took a slow, steady breath, the tension that coiled tightly in her chest began to unwind, loosening with each passing second. It wasn’t the kind of relief that washed over you all at once, but a gradual easing, like a knot being carefully untied. Her gaze stayed on Kazutora, soft and open, but tinged with the bittersweetness of all the memories they shared—good and bad.

After another moment of quiet, she stepped closer to him, her footsteps barely audible on the gravel path beneath them. When she stopped, she looked up at him, her eyes holding that familiar warmth, the one that always made people feel seen, made them feel less alone.

“You were my friend,” she said softly, the words slipping out like a quiet truth. “You still are.”

The simple statement hit Kazutora harder than any punch ever could. It wasn’t just the words, but the way she said them—so genuine, so open-hearted. It was the same way she’d always been, that ability she had to find space for people in her heart. Even when it hurt her. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t find the words to respond. He wasn’t sure how to.

He’d spent so long carrying the weight of his guilt, the knowledge that he played a part in taking away his best friend, the one person who meant the world to her. He expected anger and resentment—he wouldn’t have blamed her for it. But this? Forgiveness? Friendship? It was more than he deserved.

Hikari’s gaze never wavered, and when Kazutora finally met her eyes again, he saw it—she meant every word.

“Hikari…” he started, his voice barely above a whisper, rough and unsteady. He tried to say more, but the words lodged in his throat, tangled in the flood of emotions that he couldn’t quite untangle. She’d seen the worst of him, and somehow, she was still here, offering him a place in her life, in her heart, like she always had.

She smiled, a small, knowing smile, one that said she understood. “We’ve all been through hell, Kazutora,” she said gently, her tone warm but firm. “But we’re still here. And you’ve always been my friend. No matter what happened.”

Her words wrapped around him like a lifeline, pulling him out of the depths of his own self-loathing. For a moment, he had to look away, his chest constricting with emotions he wasn’t sure how to process.

Hikari’s smile faded slightly, her expression becoming more thoughtful, more serious. “Chifuyu’s taking Takemichi to Naoto,” she said, her voice softer now, almost as if she were talking to herself. “So, another time leap is probably going to happen soon. Could be any moment now.”

Kazutora’s breath hitched, his gaze snapping back to hers. The unspoken understanding settled between them. The time they had left here was fragile and fleeting. This timeline, this version of their reality, could disappear in an instant, just like all the others.

The thought of losing this moment—this fragile, hard-won moment of peace—filled him with a sudden, quiet panic. But before he could voice it, Hikari took another step closer, her presence grounding him, pulling him back from the edge.

“If I end up in the past again,” she said, her voice steady but laced with a quiet determination, “I’m going to try harder to reach out to you.”

Kazutora blinked, stunned by the sincerity in her voice. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he could hardly breathe. “You… you will?”

Hikari nodded, her gaze unwavering. “I didn’t realize just how much you were hurting back then. I should’ve done more, tried harder to reach you. But if I get another chance…” She paused, her voice softening, but her resolve clear. “I won’t let you fall through the cracks again.”

Her words hung in the air, thick with emotion. Kazutora felt a lump rise in his throat, the weight of her promise settling over him like a blanket. He didn’t know if he deserved her compassion, her kindness. Hell, he knew he didn’t. But hearing her say it, knowing that she wanted to try, that she wanted to make things right for him—it meant more to him than he could ever put into words.

He swallowed hard, his voice rough and low when he finally managed to speak. “Hikari... I—I don’t deserve it, but... thank you.”

She shook her head gently, the corners of her mouth lifting into a small, bittersweet smile. “You do. You always did.”

They stood there in the stillness of the night, their past hung between them, but it wasn’t suffocating anymore. It was just there—a shared history, painful and complicated, but no longer an insurmountable wall. There was nothing more to say, no more need for words.

Kazutora took a deep breath, his chest feeling lighter than it had in years. The guilt, the shame, the self-loathing—it was still there, but it didn’t feel as overwhelming. For the first time in a long time, he could see a way forward. A way to move on. A way to atone.

And it was because of her. Because Hikari had looked at him, really looked at him, and seen more than just his mistakes. She had seen the boy who had been her friend, the one who had loved her and Keisuke. And she reminded him that he still mattered. That he still had a place in this world, in her world.

The night stretched on, the breeze rustling the leaves around them as they stood side by side, looking out over the city lights. There was no rush to leave, no urgency to move. For the first time in what felt like forever, Kazutora felt at peace.

And for now, that was enough.

#tokyo revengers #toman #chifuyu matsuno #hanagaki takemichi #kazutora hanemiya #sanzu haruchiyo #kisaki tetta #hanma shuji #tokyo revengers angst #sakayume #fanfiction #fanfic

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thepartyresponsible · 2 years ago

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Hey there! I've read all the way through your fics masterlist (for the second time this year) and am craving more (who wouldn't?!). I was just wondering, since I'd hate to impose asking for something new, if you'd consider posting a snippet of one of your wips (maybe something with Clint)? Any scrap of material you'd be willing to release into the world again would be like a holy grail, a balm to soothe savage readers. Love your writing so much!!

hello! i'm not working on much right now, but i've been reading something is killing the children, and, naturally, trying to figure out how to write a dc/marvel crossover in that universe.

so here's a little snippet of a something is killing the children dc/marvel au, where jason todd and clint barton are young, feral, and murderous.

warnings for graphic violence, dead parents, and gore.

- - -

The White Masks clean up after a feeding frenzy at a circus, and, afterwards, they bring home a pair of blonde brothers still spotted with blood. Circus kids, just like Dick, but skinnier. The youngest is wearing a costume, bright purple and garish, an embarrassment in the predawn light. He’s clutching a bow like a teddy bear, has that pale, rolling-eyed look of fresh trauma.

The story, when it filters to them, is that a brood of Oscuratypes feasted their way through a late-night performance. The monsters started in the stands, ate their way to the stage. It was a spectacle, Jason hears. A real, once-in-a-lifetime sort of show.

Whole families dismembered and consumed alive. Pieces of acrobats raining down from the trapeze. Blood and guts and sequins and screams.

The baby brother, that five foot nothing bit of dandelion fluff on legs, killed three of the babies with blunted arrows. Three of the damn things.

“I mean,” Jason says, at dinner, “it’s bullshit. Kid shows up with three kills. That’s not fair.”

“Yeah.” Dick looks disappointed in him, which is how he usually looks these days. “That’s absolutely the point here, Jason. That’s what we’re all focusing on. He has more kills than you.”

“He hasn’t been initiated,” Jason continues. “He doesn’t even have a totem. He’s got three kills and--”

“And,” Bruce intones, “twenty-six people are dead.”

It should be more. One adult and five babies, a crowd of hundreds of people. Should be dozens upon dozens. Should be a fucking mess.

A twelve-year-old kid with blunt arrows and a spangly purple leotard. “And,” Jason says, as he shoves to his feet, “he’s too fucking old for this.”

- -

Jason was eleven when he watched a monster rip his mother into meat. He remembers the teeth.

He remembers her high-pitched, dying-rabbit shrieks, remembers that awful wet slurping. He remembers everything, every sound, the arc of blood, angle dropping rapidly, pressure failing. The way she looked at him, the way she stopped.

He remembers the weight of the knife from the kitchen, shitty and dull like everything they owned. The useless dredge of terror in his chest, all that stupid, howling grief.

Twelve’s too fucking old. A younger brain’s more malleable, sieves that shit right out of you, kicks it to the backburner of your subconscious mind. Jason knows plenty of White Masks who showed up when they were six or seven, and he almost wouldn’t clock them as Knights if he never saw them work.

But he can always tell the older ones. The cracks never quite fuse up right.

Black Masks are different, but they always are.

The point is, the kid had a chance. It’s just too damn bad his monsters showed up so late.

- -

“They’re gonna kill you,” Jason tells him. Out after curfew, unmasked with an uninitiated stray. Rules are for breaking, like laws and promises and necks.

If Bruce didn’t want him here, he should’ve nailed his bedroom window shut.

If the house didn’t want him talking to the stray, they should’ve nailed his window shut too.

“Loose ends,” Jason says.

The blonde shrugs. His name is Clint. His brother disappeared less than six hours after they brought him here, stole out sometime during lunch, and everybody’s shocked as hell except the brother he left behind. “Seems like,” he says, slow and kinda rambling, picking through his words, “everything’s been trying. But nothing’s done it yet.”

That white mask looks terrible on him, covers him from cheekbones to jaw, washes him out. He’d look better in black, but God knows Bruce wasn’t going to risk going to another circus. Look what happened last time.

Bruce Wayne, the so-called last of the Dark Knights, all his good, solitary intentions shattered apart at the feet of the bloodily orphaned Dick Grayson. And then Jason, and then Steph, and then Tim. Maybe Bruce will be the last in the end, but he has some graves to dig first.

“Take that stupid thing off,” Jason says, reaching for the mask.

Clint dodges away from his hand. Not like a flinch, like a habit. “Supposed to keep it on,” he says. “They told me. Coulson said. Whenever we’re out of our rooms, mask on.”

“Fucking Coulson,” Jason sneers. “What the fuck would he know? He’s new to being in charge. Yesterday, he was just one of us.”

“Hey,” Clint says, finally looking him in the eyes. “He’s nice.”

He says it soft, but those blunted arrows were soft too. He killed three monsters, saved dozens, and there was Jason, at damn near the same age, and he saved nobody, killed nothing.

Jason’s fourteen now. Sometimes he can feel the hunt like a shiver behind his eyes. He remembers, always, forever. The way his mother looked at him, the pathetic stretch of his open hand, the time he wasted screaming when he should’ve been going for a knife.

He keeps that monster caged in a stuffed bat, identical to Dick’s except for the red stitching. The first gift Bruce Wayne ever gave him.

Well, the second, if you count his life.

“That monster you couldn’t kill,” Jason says, “that big one. The mother. They’re gonna tell you they want you tame it. But it’s a lie. You’re too old. You’re an outsider. That’s not how the White Knights work. They’re gonna let it eat you.”

The Dark Knights are different, always have been. But White Knights fall in line. White Knights turn inward.

Clint looks at him, white mask blank and toothless against his face, erasing him until he’s just a pair of bloodshot blue eyes and hair so blonde that patches of it are still dyed faintly red. Three dead monsters, and a skinny wide-eyed kid. Just bait, Jason thought. Just a corpse still walking.

Looking at him now, there’s no bait, there’s no corpse. There’s a killer, staring back. The hunt that hums in Jason’s chest is an itch in his teeth. He feels like it’s humming in Clint, too. Not quite an echo, but a harmony, maybe.

Three dead monsters. It could be so many more.

“I want you to live,” Jason says. “We could kill so many of those bastards.”

Clint tilts his head. “I thought,” he says, still drawling through his vowels like he’s got time to waste, “that we were trying to save people.”

“Yeah,” Jason says, “sure. Whatever.”

That’s probably how the White Knights spin it. But Jason’s mask is black, and he doesn’t care how many people they save. The only person who mattered is already dead.

“C’mon,” Jason says, and this time, when he grabs Clint by the arm, he doesn’t dodge away. “I’m gonna teach you how to live.”

#writing #fic #asks

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