#I'll be honest I'll write the fic for myself anyhow if I do write it

[cryptidplays]

I got a question for those who read My Time At Sandrock fanfiction (because I am considering writing a fic):

(I'm aware that 90% of my mutuals do not play this game so I apologize for the random poll. I'll be tagging it for the MTaS fandom)

[ryntaia]

I'm begging you please write more Yutaba! I'll pay you! Please write a first kiss scene maybe?

Hahaha, whoa there fam, you don’t have to pay me for anything. I don’t accept payments for my fanwork. It was Yutaba first kiss you’d like to see, yes? I can definitely do that. SmolTol first kiss is always fun. 

           It was summer, it was hot, and the air conditioning was broken.

           There was nothing more that Futaba Sakura needed to think about, nothing more that she COULD think of. Sweat ran down her neck in slick patterns, hair damp from the stress and legs sticky from her typical crouching posture. The thick green overcoat had already been tossed to the side in an undignified heap. The fans within her laptops whirred at top capacity and even with their specialized structure, the redhead couldn’t help but fear for the safety of the processers. This heat wave was not treating her precious electronics well.

           Her finger hesitated above the shutdown button, then sighed and switched on a de-compressor program. Moments later the machine was placed into sleep mode.

           Futaba leaned back. The lack of light and sound from her computers was almost stunning sometimes, even blinding; it took her eyes a second to adjust to just how dark the room was. Lightly she slid off her thick leather chair to pad over to the door and peak out; no reason, really, since she already knew Sojiro wasn’t home. Deep down she had the feeling that it was more to do with her door being open—she still hadn’t fully adjusted to that, even with her ‘Treasure’ now in her possession.

           Futaba shook the thought off as she quietly went down the hall to push the front door open with a light shove.

           Ugh, if the change of lighting from her computer to her dark room had been bad, the extreme sun that shone down on her was more than enough to make the girl throw herself against the wall in agitation. Slim fingers covered her violet eyes; her lip jutted out in a pout. Maybe going outside was a bad idea. Akira had work today, Morgana tended to stick with Akira when he was awake, and everyone else was sure to be busy...though she couldn’t fathom with what.

           “What are you doing, exactly?”

           Futaba’s expression fell into one of annoyance as she looked up, shielding her eyes with one hand—it wasn’t necessary. Leaning over the side of the plaster wall stood Yusuke Kitagawa, the ever aggravating artsy boy, with a large paper umbrella in hand. It was painted in intricate patterns across both the top and bottom. Futaba couldn’t fathom where he had picked it up.

           “What is that thing? I thought you were complainin’ about how you didn’t have any money, Inari.” Futaba snapped; the weather had put her in a foul mood. He didn’t seem to respond to her bait anyhow, choosing instead to lightly twirl the butt of the umbrella in the palm of his hand with a content smile on his lips.

           “Thank you for noticing it. I made it myself with a blank paper umbrella.” Yusuke replied. Futaba didn’t reply, just averted her eyes to the side as the boy let himself into the gate to crouch by her. The umbrella top lay out in front of her as her eyes studied it intently—the designs were simple, but they seemed to be people. Very simple representations of people, but people none the less. “I’ve been working on it for the last few months. It’s all of us.”

           “Huh…whaaaa?” Futaba sat up like there was a rail up her spine, looking at him in shock then snapping her eyes back to the umbrella. Raising on the back of her heels in an oddly catlike posture, she zeroed in on the group of eight people circling around the top of the umbrella—a boy with curls, a catlike being, a man with a skulled face, a woman in red, a biker revving a blue motorcycle, an elegant princess with poofy hair, a fox faced man, and a small green and red girl surrounded by slips of black paint. Keyboards, she thought.

           And all around it seemed to be their adventures, both under and on top of the paper. The Treasures gleaming brightly and stealing attention—a large round medal in the center of a crown, a sophisticated Japanese woman holding a baby, a briefcase stocked with money, a rocket ascending into space, a legislator’s pin, and…

           She stared.

           Long, flowing, gorgeous red locks across a slim frame with dead and cold eyes staring back—a sad but serious looking small girl with glasses shadowed by a massive black sphere. Lines of light ran across the sphere, forming into large eyes and a demented grin. The shadow version of herself raised her hands upwards to the being behind her, upwards to the truth, cutting through the lies.

           “I made it shortly after the battle with the Holy Grail.” Yusuke murmured as she stared at it, running her pointer finger across the dry paint of the surface. “To commemorate our victories as Phantom Thieves.”

           She said nothing, turning to the underside of the umbrella—it was more garbled than the circular structure of the top, but was just as recognizable. Lobsters on the beach, fireworks at Destinyland, large palm trees of Hawaii. Blinking, she realized that a section on the far end was blank. It was a rather large section, too, but their final celebration petered out shortly around the edges of it.

           “Why is there nothing here?” She asked.

           “Well, if I am to be entirely honest, I couldn’t figure out what to put there.” Yusuke admitted, raising the umbrella above them both with a quick snap of the wrist. The freedom from the tyrannical heat that it blocked out was soothing. “I suppose that part of the umbrella is for the future of the Phantom Thieves, whatever it may be. Even if we aren’t stealing treasures.”

           “…Y’know, Inari…” Futaba stared wistfully at the section she couldn’t see above her, her shadow standing imposingly. “…you guys already stole me.”

           “I believe that’s what you could call it, yes.” Yusuke said with a confused chuckle.

           “…Well, steal this.”

           For a small girl out of exercise for so long, Futaba was quick. Hand firmly resting on Yusuke’s knee, she pushed off her feet to awkwardly lay her lips on the older boy’s. His eyes widened a bit, hand tightening on the umbrella handle as she lightly kissed him. It didn’t last long; immediately her head dipped downwards and she lost her balance, toppling downwards—the artist’s free hand shot out to catch her and bring her back towards him.

           She didn’t want to face him but being pulled up into his lap, now nose to nose with him, Futaba had no choice but to look the tall student in the eyes. The annoyance she expected was not there; just a slightly amused but warm smile. She flushed brightly, unaware if it was because of her compromising position of because of the intense heat wave. God how she wanted to pass it off to the latter.

           “There’s always room on the umbrella for that part of the future, too.”

           She shoved his face away indignantly, face now as red as a tomato with eyebrows knit and a playful grin on her face.

           “No wonder you could never get Ann to model for you, Inari. Your pickup lines suck.”