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sugairsstuff · 1 year ago

Note

hey… 💋 was wondering if you could write something for aragorn… you know who this is. you know what i’m asking for.

@theactofknowing yes i know who this is. here is payment. (p.s. they also write!)

(credit to @cafekitsune for the divider)

to bloom

aragorn x half-elf gn/reader

warnings: descriptions of nudity

summary: you and aragorn have known each other for years, resulting in the two of you inevitably falling in love with each other though never admitting it. though, it turns out all a love confession took was a bar of soap and you two bathing in a lake together.

Exhaustion has long since seeped into your muscles, the motion of placing one boot in front of the other becoming a rhythmic pattern you refuse to break for you know you won’t be able to pick it back up again.

Strong winds roll through the grassy fields, making a mess of your untied hair and causing your eyes to catch the billowing of a dark cloak in front of you. You raise your head slightly to gaze at the owner of the garment: reluctant heir of Gondor, unnamed leader of the little band titled the Fellowship the group of you have formed- and although commonly known as Strider, this part-elf is simply Aragorn to you.

The pair of you had been picked up by the group of hobbits you traveled with in Bree, helping them to evade the infamous Nazgûl and inevitably being brought along the daunting journey laid out for them. You had first met Aragorn years ago when he had first left Rivendell. You led a similar fate to Aragorn after you befriended him, leaving the safety of your current life for one of adventure alongside the ranger. Poets would say you were seeking meaning, you joke that you were bored.

The seed of friendship you and Aragorn had planted then was watered through the experiences you shared on your travels, the memories that wrapped themselves like vines around that bond holding you two together, and every laugh and secret you both managed out of each other in peaceful times. But then you two began to look at each softer, speak to each other quieter for the words were meant only for the two of you, touch each other in fleeting moments that may not have been accidents- and then that seed grew into a budding flower of more that you gathered up and have held deep within your chest. Though no matter how much you both watered the bond of your friendship since then, that flower has never seemed to bloom.

Aragorn finally looks over his shoulder to the rest of you, and everyone momentarily pauses as he lifts his hand to guide everyone’s attention to a forestry patch of land seated a few hundred metres south of the hill you all waited on. “We’ll take camp there for tonight. We won’t reach Lothlorien by dusk, and I haven’t seen a better place for cover yet.” he instructs. Nobody seems to disagree, not even the opinionated elf or eager dwarf who both wait at your sides. Once three of four hobbits start celebrating, enthusiastically asking who would hunt for dinner, you offer Aragorn a small smile and nod of assurance. He repeats the gesture and turns to lead the way, but not without a response to the impatient hobbits, “You all can hunt dinner for us tonight, how does that sound?” which silences them.

You hurry a pair of paces to match the long strides of Aragorn, who slows down when he notices exactly who is on his tail. “You look exhausted,” you tell him, amusement flickering in your eyes as you look to him.

“As do you,” Aragorn shoots back, his brows raised in subtle entertainment at your rather honest opening line.

You scoff lightheartedly and get to the point of your words, reaching down to the satchel at your side to unbutton the flap and reveal the contents. Aragorn leans over you to peer into the bag, finding four small bars of soap.

“From the travelling merchant we crossed earlier?” the heir asks, and you nod proudly as if this was a noble accomplishment on your end.

“I do not have confidence in myself to survive another day with the… natural aroma of our companions,” you jest, and pause, “or you.”

And to your pleasant surprise, Aragorn’s chin tilts back- outlining the sharp line of his jaw- as the man lets a genuine laugh escape his lips. “I would not say you are so innocent in the matter, either,” he says, the closed-lipped smile on his face not faltering as you send a warning glare his way.

You feel lighter as you walk alongside Aragorn the rest of the way to the tree border, smiling like a giddy child for longer than need be over the silly interaction. You and Aragorn maintain the front as the lot of you push further into the forest until Aragorn stops, glances around, and looks to you and Legolas for approval.

You turn to look over your shoulder, and when you see that the forest has become dense enough to block the border to the grasslands from your line of sight, you say, “I think we are far enough in.”

Legolas had already found perch on a fallen log, fiddling with the strings of his bow, and so you and Aragorn simply take that as a sign he agrees.

As the sun dips behind the distant hills, the shadows of the trees encompassing you all extend until the soft starlight slipping through the canopy dims them. Now, camp is set up, and the fire Aragorn once was stroking while Gimli cooked the hunted meal of the evening has been forgotten. Most of your companions have spaced out their places for the night, all but the hobbits who crowd next to their friend Frodo.

You gingerly place your things down nearby Aragorn’s, and when you offer to take first watch Aragorn’s volunteer to do the same comes not much later than yours. You both sit next to each other as you listen to the idle noises of your companions turn to quietness, and quietness to silence save for the surrounding sounds of the forest.

You catch Aragorn glance to you in your peripheral vision which tempts you to steal a glance back. When you do, you are surprised to see he has risen from the leafy floor he was sitting on and began crossing the few metres that separated the two of you. You stay sitting, craning your neck as Aragorn now stands a few feet in front of you. You tilt your head in questioning.

“There is a lake nearby, I saw it when I scouted the perimeters earlier,” his voice is low, quiet, though you see his Adam’s apple bob slightly as he swallows, “May I borrow the soap?”

Any hint of drowsiness has been stolen from your body, your heart beating rapidly as you nod to him. You do not like how the thought of the man doing the simple act of bathing makes your body blaze like a catching fire. You dig into your nearby satchel and hand him one of the square, neutral coloured bars. Aragorn turns the dry thing in his hand a few times before he turns and walks away.

You do not watch him go and rather turn back to your satchel to close the button of it, wondering why the crunching of leaves beneath Aragorn’s walking feet ceased so swiftly. Curiously, you turn to check, finding Aragorn returning your gaze.

Aragorn clears his throat. “Would you like to join me?”

You can only blink, feeling that flame return to your body as his words act like oxygen and spread its tendrils through you.

“Yes, I would,” you say, though the words come out more breathless than you had expected.

You feel Aragorn’s eyes on you as you stand, dusting off your trousers in the most awkward of ways before padding over to where he stands. He only looks down at you, the look in his eyes gentle yet unreadable before he quietly turns and begins to guide you to this lake.

“What of the others?” you ask, glancing back.

“I do not wish to bathe with Gimli,” Aragorn responds with blunt humour, looking back at you with a raised brow.

“No, I mean that we promised to watch the camp,” you correct, managing not to roll your eyes.

“The lake is not far. We will know if something happens.” he assures.

Although it may be easy for him to remain alert, you are not sure if you can trust your instincts once you are distracted with the sight of Aragorn’s bare body. Aragorn seems to see apprehension on your face, and makes a bold move of reaching back to brush his fingers against yours. Then, your fingers close around each other’s like lock and key, and Aragorn is gently pulling you until you reach a clearing.

The trees wrap around the small, oval lake like a wreath. The water is not murky, a sign that it is untouched, and instead when you peer into it you see both your reflection and the moon above.

When you turn to see what Aragorn is doing, unsure if you are welcome to begin undressing so openly, you see that the ranger has already begun to do exactly that. You heart leaps and your chest flutters so much that you think that bud in you is instead a cocoon that has just sprouted a dancing butterfly.

Aragorn already unclasped his cloak from around his neck, discarding it nearby on a rock that borders the lake’s edge. He disarms, setting his weapons on the same rock should he need them, then reaches for the hem of his tunic. The man pulls the fabric off of him slowly, revealing to you the muscles beneath that you have only been able to imagine until now. You gaze at him, following the movement of his hands until you see them stop. Your eyes flick up slightly and are met with an amused half-smirk on Aragorn’s end. That flame in you moved to burn in your cheeks as you turn your head away, seeing Aragorn slowly walk towards you in the edge of your vision.

“Do not be nervous,” he says quietly, his hand turning your jaw slowly so you meet his eyes again. You feel your heart in your ears as his attention moves lower, lower, lower, and then back. “Would you like me to help?”

You can only nod. He smiles and nods back before his hands move to the clasps of your cloak, working it undone with ease. He sets your weapons aside somewhere- too distracted to take note- before he pulls your tunic off of your raised arms. Aragorn takes a step closer, removing the rest of your undergarments before a turn of his head causes his lips to brush against the shell of your half-pointed ear, “Beautiful.” he murmurs, evoking a pleasant shiver that slips down your spine.

His hands, resting on each side of your waist, move downwards until they reach the band of your trousers. You kick off your boots in silent encouragement, and Aragorn turns his head further to look down at you properly. Then he begins to slowly drag the last few pieces of your clothing that kept you decent, and once you stepped out of them- Aragorn now kneeling before you as he set aside your aside garments- you heard both of your breaths hitch.

Aragorn rises again, your breaths heavy as you both glance in the direction of whence you came, checking that none of your sleeping friends have noticed your absences. You look back at Aragorn first and see how the moonlight betrays Aragorn as he slowly drifts his attention back to you, illuminating the red tinting of his cheeks. He takes his sweet time in simply looking at your body, and you hear him sigh softly- a gentle, sweet exhale. The amusing thought of him swooning over you like a damsel crosses your mind.

Aragorn seems to notice the light dancing in your eyes, and he takes your hand and leads you to the rocky edges of the lake. “After you,” he tells you, and you feel as his eyes never leave you as you descend into the water. You wade around, taking note that water in the area you stand reaches your middle, and watch as Aragorn strips himself of the rest of his clothing.

Shamelessly, you stare as he undos his trousers, slipping them off alongside his undergarment and blushing when he sees you looking. You offer a coy smile in return, reaching over the edge to grab the soap he left on it as he enters the water alongside you.

“You first,” you tell him, and he obeys by wading over to where you stand. As you dip the soap into the water, getting some of the substance on to your hands, you feel a little grateful that the water is just high enough to reach Aragorn’s waist. He remains where he is as you work the soap into his skin, your heart jumping each time he sighs when you press into a particularly sore muscle. His skin gleams with moonlight and sparkles with droplets of water that cling to the short strands of hair on his chest leading downwards. You wash his arms, focus on his shoulders, and when he turns around to let you do his chest your hands linger there.

“Friends do not do these things,” is what Aragorn decides to say to break the comfortable silence.

“No, they do not,” you agree, your voice wavering with uncertainty. You keep your gaze on his chest, cupping water in your hand as you rinse off the soap. You let him wash the parts of him below the surface of the water, grinning as you can’t help but steal glances. But he says nothing else, nor do you, as you quietly find a seat on a ledge in the rock. Aragorn moves to stand between your legs, leaning back so his head is nearly against your chest.

You gather soap on your hands once more, lathering the suds through his hair. You watch from above as he sighs and closes his eyes, giving in to temptation as he leans further back into you. You massage the soap into his dark oak curls, watching his eyelashes flutter against his cheek and the corners of his pink lips tug upwards ever so slightly. You tilt his head back a little more as you cup water into your free hand, pouring it along the back of his head and watch as it drags the soap off of his curls that resist straightening even when wet.

Before you have the chance to climb down from your perch on the rock, Aragorn reaches a hand to your calf. His fingers dance along the skin, as if exploring, and travel up until they reach your thigh. By then, he’s looking up at you, and you are looking down at him, and his face is so close to yours you know that you both are only trying to see who caves first.

And it is Aragorn who does. He tilts his chin only slightly, which is enough to capture your lips in his as you lean over him. Your hands move to drape around his neck as his continue their journey up your thighs. He lifts you by the waist, bringing you back down to the lake floor with him so that it is he who must bend downwards to keep kissing you. You press your chest into his, standing practically between his legs as you both run your hands over each other’s bodies. Aragorn leaves a spark everywhere his fingers brush- your waist, your legs, back, chest, neck- he is everywhere but it is still not enough.

You know now what it feels like to bloom as that bud deep within your chest comes to life as Aragorn’s hands find their final place on each side of your face. His thumbs stroke gently in a lover’s caress as he finally breaks the kiss, though he does not move far. The look he gives you as you both stand together- chests heaving and lips puffy red with adrenaline pumping through your veins- tells you that Aragorn has just discovered what that feels like too, for there has been a matching budding flower in him, as well.

“We are not friends,” Aragorn finally says. You have never heard his voice so soft, “we are more.”

#aragorn x reader #aragorn #aragorn x you #aragorn x y/n #lotr #lord of the rings #the fellowship of the ring #the fellowship x reader #the lord of the rings #tlotr

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hunn1e-bunn1e · 9 months ago

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神話 - "Ardent Dragon Rests Upon Resplendent Cliffs"

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

In which the Traveler and Paimon unknowingly come across a mysterious adeptus by the name of Sky Weaver while the two are exploring near the sparsely populated cliffsides of Mt. Mingyuan. Or; In which the long-forgotten tale of the adeptus Sky Weaver is uncovered by Aether from the lips of the various Adepti of the Nation of Liyue and the people who know them.

🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞

The cliffs of Mt. Mingyuan were a dangerous place for any person to fool around on, but even more so for a child. Yet it made for the perfect place for tuning into nature and taking in the sights of the surrounding terrain, such as a magnificent view of Yilong Wharf, Mt. Lingmeng, river Jademouth, and the distant silhouette of Chiwang Terrace, the ruins of Fort Charybdis and Lumidouce Harbor in Fontaine. The most notable sight that one could witness upon the cliffs of Mt. Mingyuan however, was a breathtaking view of the sky that suffered no light pollution despite the proximity to Yilong Wharf.

Although, for a certain ochre-eyed child, Mt. Mingyuan was the perfect place to sneak off whenever he wanted some distance from his family or to practice his passion for wushu dancing.

Gaming had once again climbed up the mountain, carrying with him the hollow costume lion head that was many sizes too large for him at his current age. The costume head is held over his own to prevent it from collecting stains by being dragged along the damp mud and grass as he walks. Occasionally it tips forward and obstructs his view, causing him to stumble to regain his footing and tip the object back to its original position.

Today was particularly different from other times he had come up the mountain. This time, instead of grinning with excitement and running up the familiar path to reach the grassy plateau-like area he usually practiced at, he frowned with tears collecting on his lower lashes as he glumly dragged his feet along as he walked. Earlier, not even an hour ago, Gaming had gotten into an argument with his father; the older man telling him that his dream was foolish and that he should focus on continuing the family tradition of being a tea farmer.

Now, here he was, curled up around the costume lion head with his back to the trunk of a tree. The dew that rested on the grass beneath him soaked into his shorts but he couldn't bring himself to care. The fur of the costume head was damp with his tears, the wetness causing the faugh fur to clump together in places.

“...Mortal child, it is dangerous to dwell upon this mountain unaccompanied is it not…?”

A soft but masculine voice just to his left gently called out to him.

Gaming flinches in shock as he whips his head in the direction of the voice. His red teary eyes widened in shock and confusion at the abrupt appearance of another person. Once the ochre-eyed boy really took in this person's features, however, his jaw dropped in awe.

A man, likely in his late twenties, who had long h/c hair with streaks of misty blue that were braided in certain places and seemed to reach his knees, long, thick lashes that hung over beautiful e/c eyes, and a peculiar blue symbol on his forehead. The man was draped in an elegant four-layered silk robe; the outermost layer being white with a navy blue and desaturated green bamboo leaf pattern. He was possibly the most beautiful person that the aspiring wushu dancer had ever seen before.

An amused chuckle from the mysterious and handsome man pulled the ochre-eyed child. from his thorough observation and reminded him of the question that was asked of him.

“Well, I'm not alone since uncle is with me now.”

Gaming answers, shyly averting his eyes from the stranger's face with pinkened cheeks at the embarrassment of being caught staring.

The man tensed for a moment –from what the brunette child could tell from the other's body language– at the word uncle, but quickly regained his relaxed but regal posture. It seemed that this enigmatic stranger wasn't too fond of strangers, how ironic.

“Uncle, you called this one? Is that not a term reserved solely for those that one trusts?”

The long-haired man asks with apprehension, worried that the child in front of him would find himself in trouble due to being too trusting.

Gaming giggled at the man's contorted expression, it was rare to see an adult become shy around him, so he couldn't help but find it a bit funny. He grinned at the stranger, his previous sadness momentarily forgotten as he focused all his attention on the man to his left.

“Well yeah, you're older than me and I don't know your name. Plus, you seem really nice. You wouldn't have asked if I was alone if you were a bad person. So, you're uncle.”

The ochre-eyed child chirped, giving the man a close-eyed smile so bright it could put the sun to shame. He pauses, however, eyes opening with curiosity as he asks the stranger a question.

“Actually, what is your name, uncle?”

The e/c-eyed man, still registering the child's first and very worrying statement, doesn't answer. He heard the question, but his mind was preoccupied with his increasing worry for the previously crying boy, so he paid it no mind.

“Mortal child, this one's name is not of importance at the moment. What this one concerns one's self with is that you trust far too swiftly.”

The robe-clad man expresses his worries, his face holding a mix of pity and concern as he takes a step closer to the boy; his posture growing more protective.

Straightening his back and stretching his arms above, causing the costume lion head to roll off his lap, Gaming stands from the damp ground. He sends a quick glance to the low-hanging sun to the west, letting him know that he should probably make his way back home within the hour lest he worry his mother. Picking up the costume head off of the grass, he turns to the beautiful stranger as he pulls the costume head over his own.

“I'll think about what you said, Uncle Měilì. I have to start heading back though, or mom will get worried about me.”

The brunette child smiles warmly as he balances the lion's head properly.

The man, now dubbed ‘Uncle Měilì’ raises a brow at the boy in confusion. That certainly wasn't his name. By reflex, he sweeps his gaze around to check if there are any other people present, but, of course, there aren't.

“Měilì? Is it this one that you are referring to, mortal child?”

‘Uncle Měilì’ asks the boy as he points at himself with an air of disbelief and amusement.

Gaming turns to him with a pout, annoyed at the robed man's question. The ochre-eyed boy had already asked for his name, only for the inquiry to be ignored. He huffed and turned away from the man as he began to walk back the way he came.

“You said your name wasn't important, so I gave you a nickname instead. I can't just keep calling you Uncle, y'know. Also, my name is Gaming, remember it, okay?”

He called out as he continued walking down the mountain, the costume lion head held up above his own with his little arms.

Stopping when he doesn't hear a reply, the child looks behind him to see no one there. Only a retreating spectral-like mist could be seen, sweeping through the sky in majestic arcs and swirls as it climbed up the mountain.

The cliffs of Mt. Mingyuan were a dangerous place for any person to fool around on, but even more so for a child. However, for a certain ochre-eyed child, Mt. Mingyuan was the perfect place to sneak off whenever he wanted some distance from his family or to practice his passion for wushu dancing. It also served as a wonderful place where the boy met someone who would be a shoulder to lean on in his time of need.

Mt. Mingyuan is where a young Gaming first met that mysterious adeptus known as Sky Weaver.

🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞

Footnotes:

Sky Weaver's appearance is heavily based upon the character Chuyi Flower Cake from ‘The Tale of Food’. I was actually going to add Cloud Retainer in at the very end, but changed my mind since this half chapter was already twice as long as the previous one. The word Měilì or 美麗 means Beauty, it's a simple nickname that I just grabbed on the fly.

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Genshin Masterlist and Series Masterlist!

If you want to be added to the tag list, please let me know! #thetaleofskyweaver @itztaki @sassy-cat-in-town @xharisrealm @lupicalbestwolf @pjmsies @just-here-reading @chibiduck @dellalyra @kiiyoooo @heavenlysilence0vx @2nd-number @yourfavoritefreakyhan @mshope16 @paastaboi @a-little-pebbl

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lovingpiastri · 2 months ago

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TRY HARD

ꪆৎ confessing to your loser best friend after years of torturous mutual pining turned out just like all the coming of age movies so unrealistically depict.

warnings: LOSER OSCAR!!!!, heavily inspired by juno mcguff & paulie bleeker, highschool au, swearing and use of y/n

the fearful football field that any outcast avoided like the plague , dodging invitations of attending late night friday games with no care to tie into the team spirit of supporting a sweaty team of gruesome brainless jocks who use two of their collectively shared braincells to form some strategy to win the game. they're neurons are simply replaced with the gallons of sickly protein powder they consume.

'bring it home', the brainwashed fans roar, disillusioned to the fact they will loose. and they loose hard.

perhaps you just found yourself in the stereotypically cliché coming of age that any other sixteen year old girl existed in whilst blood orange rang out in the background . perhaps you embodied the overly bothered adolescent that rejected the idea of the male protagonist engaging in friendships with anyone but her. that wasn't a perhaps that was an abso-fucking-lutely.

not to present you as insufferable but when the quarter back golden boy detected oscar's skill in something other than reading four hundred words per minute it shook the whole football team to the ground, crumbling a path for him to grasp that bizzarely shaped ball every practice and competitive game.

slowly but surely oscar's absence at your traditional friday night marathon of the big bang theory irked you more than you would admit.. all until you scolded him on your hamburger phone .

backtracking back to the annoyance and irritation you suffered from his sudden truanices escalated rapidly from the typical excuse of just missing your friend . afterall sharing a twin sized bed together since the age of ten when movie night over-ran was destined to have some underlying emotions laying beneath the horizon.

it all slammed you like a jam-packed bus in bio-chem last period of the day, the same lesson osc usually presented himself to the right of you. the one that tolerated your whingeing of how the science stools ached your 'grandma-back' to a pulp.

holy shit you're in love with him... HOLY SHIT YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH HIM!?!?!?

and this is where the cliché rom-com script makes its grand entrance , the ones you and osc would take the mick out of it. but now both of you would have to suffer the anguish of confessions rising above the horizon, much too frigid to talk about your feelings at all to the other. that's the price you pay, for falling for your best friends.

"piastri!" you call out , lungs deprived of oxygen after the non stop sprint you managed to pull off all the way from the science labs and across the yards of grassy terrain the football field consisted of.

"y/l/n? what are you- didn't you say- ... gosh." he didn't know where to begin, seeing you again after that vexatious phone call from a few nights ago was like a breath of fresh air and the oxygen wasn't allowing him to express his emotions through words.

"just let me talk," you step towards him , unable to make out his facial features from the enormously huge helmet that protected his noggin . the patterns of smudged eye black contoured across his cheeks didn't help either, it was a shame you weren't able to see his rosey fluster that erupted on his cheeks after minimal physical activity- calm down y/n!

"i-. . i think i'm in love with you?" you sounded out , the tone of your voice reaching a high you didn't know existed.

"you think?" his teasing tone was already making a come back, despite days of radio silence on both of yours ends. it was like not a flaw in the system occured.

"no- no i know i am !" you're voice reached a panicky rise, realising how your words sounded clear with uncertainty. certainly not how you were expected for this to roll out.

"you mean as friends?" oscar's usual mr. teasing master persona is replaced selfishly with a false hope , desperately reciting prayers in his head to make your confession be the one he's been anticipating since the beginning of freshman year. the year filled with vibrant brace brackets which he saw passed, because oscar still cherished you just the way you are. especially the moments you let him stick colourful magnets from recent vacations across the globe to your metal adorned teeth.

"no.. i mean for real . 'cause you're like the coolest person i've ever met , and you don't even have to try." this time a cheeky grin can be evident in your voice , your pearly whites shining in the spotlight as you stare directly at his face which looked more than silly carrying his well too big helmet.

"i try really hard, actually.." he says with a weak smile , beginning to pull off his tedious helmet to give you a better view of his facial expressions. "sorry- uhm can i kiss you or even a peck?" the anxiety was there, but it would all be at ease as soon as his chapped lips met with your vanilla bean lipgloss lathered ones.

"you don't need to ask osc." you immediately snatch his face down to reach your height, the palms of your hands drenching eye black but not a care in the world was present.

the kiss was tremendously sweet, your inexperienced arses were clashing teeths and tongues in the process but it couldn't be more perfect , you could've even sworn that the melodies of 'anyone else but you' by the moldy peaches were ringing out in the announcement speakers!

©lovingpiastri

#formula 1 #f1 #loving piastri #mclaren #oscar piastri drabble #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri oneshot

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awkward-walking-potato · 4 months ago

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can I request a stargazing with Logan Howlett and GN!Reader fic? He doesn’t do this stuff, but has taken interest in it because his significant other likes it. When he tries to say something during the viewing above the hill, he stops when he notices the readers’ euphoric and freedom-minded expression, so he decides to live in the moment actually enjoy it :o?

It’s in the Stars

The night was still, save for the rustling of leaves in the cool breeze and the distant sound of crickets chirping. Logan, or as most knew him, Wolverine, sat on the edge of a grassy hill. His rough hands rested on the picnic blanket beneath him, his eyes scanning the treeline with a vigilance that never quite faded, even in moments like these.

Beside him, you lay on your back, staring up at the vast expanse of stars twinkling above. Logan had never been one for stargazing. The sky was just another place to him—something to be watched for incoming threats, not admired for its beauty. But tonight was different. There was something about the way you looked at the stars that made him pause, made him want to understand what you saw when you looked up there.

“Logan,” you murmured, your voice soft, almost as if you were afraid to break the spell the night had cast. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like to change the sky?”

He grunted, not sure how to respond. Logan wasn’t a man of many words, and questions like that weren’t his forte. “Never really thought about it,” he finally replied, his voice gruff.

You smiled, and he could hear the amusement in your voice when you said, “Well, how about I show you?”

Logan glanced over at you, an eyebrow raised. He wasn’t one to indulge in fanciful ideas or flights of imagination. But the way you were looking at him—eyes full of something he couldn’t quite place—made him nod, just once.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the connection within you, the unique mutation that tied you to the very stars themselves. With each breath, you reached out with your mind, feeling the pull of the cosmos, the endless dance of the constellations. And then, with a gentle nudge of your power, you began to shift them.

Logan watched, his skepticism fading as the stars above began to move. Slowly at first, then more quickly, they swirled and shifted, rearranging themselves into patterns and shapes he had never seen before. Constellations twisted into new forms, telling stories that had never been told, painting pictures in the sky that only you could create.

He watched as you crafted a scene of freedom and beauty, a vision of the night sky unlike anything he had ever imagined. The stars, once distant and cold, now felt alive, vibrant with your energy and creativity. It was... mesmerizing.

Logan found himself relaxing, the tension that always lingered in his muscles easing as he let himself get lost in the moment. He wasn’t the type to let go, to just be in the present, but something about this—about you—made him want to try.

As the stars continued to dance, Logan looked over at you again. Your expression was euphoric, your eyes wide and filled with a light that seemed to rival the very stars you were shifting. There was a freedom in your expression that he envied, a joy in the simple act of creation that he couldn’t remember feeling in a long, long time.

He took a deep breath, letting the cool night air fill his lungs, and allowed himself to smile—a rare, genuine smile. “It’s... somethin’ else,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual.

You turned your head to look at him, and the smile on your face was worth more than any constellation you could ever create. “I’m glad you like it,” you said, your voice warm.

Logan nodded, feeling a strange sense of peace settle over him. He wasn’t used to this—to quiet moments, to enjoying the beauty of something so simple. But as he sat there, beside you, under a sky that you had made your own, he realized that maybe, just maybe, he could get used to it.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of the night.

“For what?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“For this,” he said, gesturing to the sky. “For remindin’ me that there’s more to life than fightin’.”

You reached out, your hand finding his, and for once, Logan didn’t pull away. He squeezed your hand, the roughness of his skin contrasting with the softness of yours, and together, you sat in silence, watching the stars tell stories only you could create.

And for the first time in a long time, Logan let himself just be.

#marvel imagine #x men imagine #wolverine imagine #wolverine x reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #wolverine one shot #deadpool imagine #wolverine

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trancylovecraft · 2 years ago

Text

(KNY) YANDERE PLATONIC! KOKUSHIBO x SISTER READER: You, Shibou. I, Kokoro.

YSIK Masterlist // Next chapter

A Cherry Blossom is a pretty flower, Blooming in the spring and representing renewal and joy. However it is quick to die out in the winter, Shrivelling up with it's beautiful colour following with it. Leaving the memory of it gone yet never forgotten.

The moon shun bright in the obsidian black sky.

The light that came down illuminated a small, yet well kept gravestone.

It was old, Ancient probably, Cracks were illustrated boldly into the corners and wrapped around the granite like spider webs. it seemed it was about to fall apart at the seams, yet held strong.

Flowers of all colour bustled around the bottom, Fresh, Newly planted.

A man sat on his knees in front of the stone, the only motion he made was the light breeze running through his hair, making his ponytail sway in the wind.

This was no man but instead a demon.

All six of his eyes lay transfixed on the carving written dead-centre on the tombstone, Carved with great care and precision to get it just right.

'[F/N] Tsugikuni'

The mans face was stoic and unreadable, but his eyes were filled with great sorrow and regret.

Kokushibo's arm reached out to the stone, Clawed hands tracing over the lettering carved out.

He asked himself

'How did it come to this?'

☆♡☆

"Michi-Nii!"

A young girl in a blue dragon-patterned haori called out from a distance, She could of only been about four or five yet her little legs were fast and let her catch up to her older brother.

Michikatsu turned around, Mildly surprised at his sister's sudden appearance he stopped in his tracks letting her finally reach him.

"[F/N]. I thought I told you to stay at home and help mother today, You know she needs someone to help her out." Michikatsu said, A little white lie.

His mother, While she wasn't in the best condition, Didn't currently need any help and even if she did little [F/N] would not of been able to do much about it. After all, She was still very young.

[F/N] heaved trying to catch her breath from all that running.

"I know Michi-Nii! but I wanted to come watch you fight!" [F/N] said excitedly, A big expecting smile on her face.

Michikatsu looked into [F/N]'s big puppy dog eyes and sighed. He just couldn't resist.

"..Well alright.. But for the record it's not 'fighting' it's sword training, I'm not fighting anyone, Just preparing for the day when I do, When I become a samurai!" Michikatsu said triumphantly.

[F/N] squealed.

"That's so cool! When I'm a big kid I wanna fight with swords and become a sam-u-mai!" She exclaimed.

"Samurai" Michikatsu corrected.

"Samai!" She responded.

"Samurai" Michikatsu said, Extra slowly so [F/N] could pick up the syllables.

"Samrai!" She said with complete confidence.

Michikatsu snorted and ruffled the girls hair, Who laughed in return.

"Nevermind, Let's get a move on then."

☆♡☆

The sun was high in the sky naming afternoon.

[F/N] sat on the grassy hill next to her brother, Yorichii.

They sat together watching Michikatsu over yonder train his sword swings by hitting dummies out in the field. She watched in wonder at his determination and focus to his craft

Yorichii was the middle child of the family, Michikatsu the oldest and [F/N] the youngest.

Yorichii was a mute. Never spoke or made any motion to communicate, However that never stopped [F/N]'s undying attempts of trying to.

This mostly just consisted of [F/N] following him around, Sleeping in his futon when she had a nightmare or just simply talking her little heart out to him, To which he'd always respond with a little smile and a nod, Showing that he was listening.

He was usually a daydreamer, But today he seemed just as transfixed as she was at their older brother's training.

"Yor-Nii, Where are you going?" [F/N] asked as she watched Yorichii wander down the hill towards Michikatsu.

As usual she got no answer, So she got up and followed him down.

Michikatsu was so fixated on his sword swings that he never noticed Yorichii standing behind him.

So when the physics of one of his sword slashes brought him back stumbling into Yorichii that snapped him out of his training fever.

"Yorichii? What is it?" Michikatsu said surprised. His brother had never interfered while he was training

Yorichii stood still and took in a deep breath, He clenched his fists as if bracing for impact. He opened his mouth.

"...I want to be a samurai like you!" Yorichii stammered not only in his speech but also in his stance.

Michikatsu's sword dropped to the ground with a clang!

A shockwave went through both Michikatsu and [F/N], Their brothers first words to them leaving them speechless.

[F/N] however was the first to speak up.

"Yor-Nii! You can speak! Now we can really talk to each other!" She proclaimed excitedly, Making Yorichii wobble when she jumped to hug him.

Michikatsu stood there, It was hard to tell whether he was shocked at Yorichii's sudden speech or the proclamation of his goal which happened to coincide with both his and [F/N]'s.

"Yorichii.." Michikatsu said just above a whisper.

Yorichii looked back at him with a shaky determination, it shook and swayed but despite the odds it stood strong.

Michikatsu's form deflated, Going back to his calm and stoic demeanour.

"Yorichii. You know what will happen when you're ten, Right?" He said quietly, Only hinting at Yorichii's fate as [F/N] had no idea.

Yorichii nodded. Only taking a glance down at [F/N].

"I know. But I still want to be a samurai, I want to be like you." Yorichii said, Still not given up.

[F/N] perked up.

"Me too! I wanna be a.. samurai too! Like Michi-Nii!" She said, Making sure to pronounce 'Samurai' slowly to pronounce the syllables.

"Hey, You got it right" Michikatsu pointed out, Mildly proud.

Yorichii looked down at [F/N] who still was hugging his waist, He smiled.

"Really? All of us want to be swordsmen?" Yorichii asked now a bit more reserved. He scratched the back of his head.

"Swordgirl!" [F/N] said confidently.

"Swordswoman" Both Yorichii and Michikatsu corrected at the same time.

"Swordgirl?"

This will take a while.

☆♡☆

A good few years have passed since then.

The five-year old little girl [F/N] had grown into a blossoming young woman and is now a little younger than her big brothers were back then.

She still wore a resized version of her blue dragon-patterned haori, The only thing that really stayed the same and came with her through her walk of life.

"You know [F/N], I could convince your father to buy you a new haori" Akeno Tsugikuni, Her mother said to her while running a needle through her haori, resizing the fabric to fit [F/N]'s bigger self.

"This is about the fifth time I've had to refit this old thing. I'm sure your dad would prefer you to have a new one, You are coming up on marriage age after all" She softly spoke to [F/N], But her eyes were fixed on the fabric, Stitching with care.

[F/N] shook her head nonchalantly.

"No, Mom. This was a gift from you, It was homemade. You can't just buy that kind of thing from a tailor." She huffed.

[F/N] sat on the edge of her mothers sick-bed, Her mother laid propped up so she could

Akeno smiled.

"Besides, I don't even think I'd want to get married. I like how my life is right now and you know I still want to be an onna-musha, right?" [F/N] said.

True, Even after all these years [F/N] still held onto the goal of becoming a Female samurai, An onna-musha.

However it seemed like a pipe-dream. With her father's influence and strength she had never picked up a sword, No matter how hard or surreptitiously tried to steal or borrow one of her brothers swords she was always caught in the end and given a right punishment for it.

Still, This never changed her mind on the matter.

"I see... Still haven't given up on that dream, have you?" She hummed.

"Well anyways, If you're so invested into my own sowing then maybe-" Akeno broke out into a fit of coughs, She dropped the needle in favour of covering her mouth.

[F/N] quickly rushed over to her side.

"Mom? Mom, Are you alright" She said, Lightly patting her mothers back.

Akeno stopped sputtering out coughs but still softly wheezed during breaths.

"I'm.. Fine, Sweetheart" She spoke, However her hoarse throat said otherwise.

"No, You're not! You don't need to fix my haori, We can continue later but right now you should lay down." [F/N] worried.

Akeno shook her head.

"I said I'm alright but.. could you go fetch me.. Some water?" She breathed heavily as if all the air around her had thinned.

[F/N] quickly nodded and rushed out the room to complete the task.

She swiftly opened the shoji doors to her house and made her way over to the water-well sat upon the hill. She hoped to the gods above that the well hadn't dried up in the early summer heat.

She reached the small little well and peered inside, The water in the well was plentiful. [F/N] sighed in relief and proceeded to wheel the bucket on the rope down the stony passageway.

CLASH!

[F/N] jumped at the sound, Letting the rope slip from her grasp she watched the bucket fall from its steady pace and hit the water with a loud splash!

"No!" [F/N] yelled. The well was too far down for her to reach the bucket. She cried out in frustration and looked over at the source of noise that dominoed the bucket falling.

Over in the valley beyond the hill was Michikatsu, Still out training with his sword. It was fairly early in the morning and judging by the sweat-beads on his face and the mess of his clothes [F/N] could tell he's been up training since six at least.

That's right, Along with her, Michikatsu had changed as well.

From the strong yet stoic young man that [F/N] had grown up with he had festered into a more strength obsessed yet quiet young man than what he had been before.

[F/N] knew the catalyst well, He was her brother after all.

Yorichii from that day he proclaimed his want to be a samurai, Had demonstrated an inhuman talent for the skill. A man who was working with their father had humoured Yorichii and decided to teach him a basic stance.

However to everyone's surprise, Yorichii had landed four blows on the man and swiftly defeated him. Which is something that Michikatsu never could.

From then on Michikatsu grew a bit darker, Maybe not noticeably. Not noticeable from her father, mother or even Yorichii. But [F/N] could tell.

She barely saw him anymore, Well it was more of she never talked to him anymore. She still watched him train, at least from afar.

An idea clicked in her head.

The bucket in the well was too far down for her to reach, Yes. However it wasn't too far for Michikatsu who was a foot taller than her.

She walked down the hill, Calling out for him.

"Michi-Nii!" She called out to him.

Michikatsu stopped swinging his sword and turned around to look at his little sister with an annoyed scowl on his face.

"What? Can't you see I'm a bit busy at the moment" Michikatsu hissed.

[F/N] froze for a moment.

"I just need a little help, the bucket in the well fell into the water" She explained softly, Scared to entice her brothers wrath.

Michikatsu groaned.

"Alright." He said simply and quickly headed over to the well. [F/N] followed after, Smiling.

"Thank you, Michi-Nii!" She said thankfully.

[F/N] grabbed onto his hand to hold it, But she was shaken off by Michikatsu.

"I told you to stop calling me that, It's stupid and childish" He said, grimacing.

[F/N]'s smile was put out like a light, But she nodded. Trying to respect his wishes.

They got to the well and Michikatsu fished out the bucket with ease and handed it over to [F/N] who bowed down in thanks but with much less emotion put into it.

With that, Michikatsu walked away without a goodbye. Off to go and continue training for the rest of the day and coming back home in the dead of night, Just to go to sleep and repeat the process over and over again.

[F/N] frowned but took the bucket of water back to the house.

Sliding open the Shoji doors she entered the house, remarkably more downtrodden than before.

As she walked the halls towards her mothers room she heard two voices arguing in a hushed tone.

"She doesn't want to get married."

"Too bad. She's coming upon marriage age and if she doesn't want to disrespect this family she will do as she's told and marry the man we've picked out for her"

The two voices, Her mother and father.

She slipped quietly behind the half-open shoji door, Intently listening in on their conversation

"She want's to be an onna-musha, You know." Her mother admitted.

"An onna-musha. Really." Her father responded, A tone full of disgusted shock ran through his voice.

"That girl is too weak to even tend to the horses. Not to mention the girl's only worth will be to marry her off to a nobleman. Her being a samurai along with the men would just be wrong" He said.

There was a silence not just between [F/N]'s parents, But her too.

She's known her father hadn't particularly paid attention to her nor did he show any affection but to think he thought this lowly of her was a gut punch to the stomach.

"Don't say that, Akuhei. She could be listening" Her mother said in a whisper.

"I hope she is. She needs to learn the truth sooner or later or she'll grow up and be delusional to the real world."

[F/N] let tears flow from her cheeks, Dripping down onto the floor.

If she couldn't even get a bucket out from a well, Could she really be a swordswoman?

☆♡☆

Something wasn't right.

It had been a good few hours after [F/N] had eavesdropped on her parents conversation and it had fallen into night-time.

[F/N] had long gone to bed but she wasn't able to fallen asleep easy. It was strange, No matter the situation she had always had no issue with falling into unconciousness.

She rolled and scuffled around on her futon uncomfortably. Could it of been the conversation earlier? No. Couldn't be that, It was something else.

[F/N] rubbed her eyes and got up from her futon. She shuffled on her sandals and quickly draped her newly-sized blue dragon haori around her figure for warmth.

She decided to go for a walk to clear her head.

[F/N] walked softly in the darkened hallways of her home, The soft moonlight illuminated her pathway through the house. She was lost in her own thoughts from the events of the day.

Her father's words, Michikatsu's attitude, Her mother's illness. It all swirled in her mind like a hurricane.

"..I like my life how it is right now"

The words she had told her mother. A lie.

She hated how everything was right now. Her dad saw her as an object to be bid on. Michikatsu acted like she was nothing but a burden to him and Yorichii was nowhere to be found.

Besides, Even if Yorichii and Michikatsu weren't talking either they were obviously the more important in the family.

They were the Sun and the Moon, Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi.

[F/N] wasn't a celestial deity or a celestial body, She was just the terrestrial afterthought. Yorichii and Michikatsu were both skilled and talented in their own rights, They were fawned over by the girls and even some of the boys in the village. They were praised and respected.

[F/N] wasn't even allowed to leave the house.

Now that she thought about it, There was only was her and her mother.

Her mother.

While walking she had stopped in her tracks. Light shone in through the hallway from an open door.

Her mother's door.

[F/N]'s brow quirked. Was her mother up this late as well? She should be asleep, She was very ill after all.

[F/N] peeked through the doorway, Her eyes widened.

Yorichii stood over the bed, Her mother layed motionlessly on the bed.

"Yor-Nii?" [F/N] asked.

Yorichii turned around, A strained look in his eyes. His jaw stood locked tight as if there was something painful he had to say.

"Mother has passed on" Yorichii whispered.

What?

No, No. No no no no no. That couldn't be right, No. It couldn't be right.

[F/N] stumbled over to her mother, Shoving Yorichii out of the way to whom backed off.

"Mum, Mum. Wake up, Hey. Hey, Do you hear me?" [F/N] cried, She grasped onto her mother's limp hand, She shook it in futile attempt to wake her.

"Mum you can't, Mum please." Tears started rolling down her cheeks now, Her breathing laboured.

"Yorichii, Please did you try-"

She turned around, Yorichii was nowhere to be seen.

He had left.

He had left and hadn't even bothered to try and comfort her.

She stared in shock, Not believing her situation

She was brought back by a hand squeezing her own.

She snapped her head back down to her mother, Whose eyes lain weakly on [F/N]'s. A soft yet painful smile appeared on her face.

"Mum!" [F/N] choked.

"[F/N]..." Akeno whispered. "Come closer.."

[F/N] Nodded and leant down closer to her mother, Kneeling down now to listen closely. Her eyes never leaving her mothers

"I never wanted to be married... My father had sold me off at a young age as well." Akeno started.

"I had a chance.. Once.. To leave this place, To get out of my marriage but do you know what happened?" She asked, Looking mournfully into the eyes of her youngest, Who was now choking on her sobs and tears rushing out from her eyes.

Akeno didn't wait for an answer

"I didn't take it.. I was too afraid." A sad smile came upon her.

"My life had ended right there since I never took that chance.. And the only good thing to ever happen after that... were you three."

"[F/N].. Yorichii.. Michikatsu. My beautiful children" Akeno let tears roll down her face now, Reminiscing on her life that was flashing before her now.

"Please.. You now have a chance. Get away while you still can.." Her other hand wiped the tears off of [F/N]'s face weakly, However her hand started to fall.

"Run.. and I promise I will see you again, The kami will reunite us... I love you, [F/N]" She whispered, Her hand falling to her side and the others grip becoming limp. The light in her eyes fading.

"Mum... Mum! No! no no!" [F/N] sobbed, Shaking her mothers now lifeless corpse she collapsed to the floor and cried out for her mum to come back, to speak to her.

"Run, You still have your chance"

Her mothers voice rang in her head, It echoed throughout her entire being.

And with love and tears, She kissed her mother on the forehead and closed her dead eyes. Akeno's face displayed rest, peace.

She said her final goodbye's to her mother and left the room to go back to her own.

And with a heavy heart and a rucksack full of essentials, She climbed out her rooms window and left in the dead of night.

☆♡☆

[F/N] trudged through the woodlands.

It was now daybreak, The sun rose upon the distance and shown through cracks in the tree's.

Through all that time [F/N] never stopped walking, Never took a break. The only thing on her mind was escape to a better place.

It was only once she appeared upon a clearing did she stop walking.

In front of her was a rundown Shinto shrine placed upon the mountainy and rocky terrain of the woods.

It had obvious that people hadn't been here in decades by the dust, cobwebs and poor conditions of all the archways and cracked stone lanterns lining the pathway up to the shrine entrance.

Back in it's heyday it would of been grand. A massive shrine that could of held a good few hundred people, As there was a large amount of corridors and a second floor.

Not to mention the vast courtyard [F/N] now found herself standing in.

She breathed in the highland forest air, Took in the birds chirping and the warm light of the sun on her skin.

She looked upon the sign hanging from the archway.

"Inari Ōkami"

The kami of Foxes, Agriculture, Fertility, Tea, Sake and Swordsmiths.

[F/N] frowned at the state of the shrine, Thinking of it as a great disrespect to Inari.

Another thought ran through her mind.

Home. A rundown one for sure, But nothing she couldn't fix.

And that's what she did.

For the next ten years that's what [F/N] did. She fixed the Archways, Refilled the stone lamps, Rebuilt the structuring, Cleaned up the cobwebs and dust all until it looked newly built.

Everyday since she came across it she would give offerings to Inari Ōkami. Ranging from nuts and fruit she would pick up while scavenging to Flowers and pieces of jewellery.

She'd light candles in their honour, Pray to them not for good fortune but for the reformation of the shrine.

She'd grown attached to the shrine, So much so that she had completely forgotten her goal of becoming a swordswoman in favour of being the sole shrine-maiden.

And in that time she had finally bloomed into a beautiful young woman and if anyone should come across her they would describe her as such.

Not that anyone came along though, The shrine was in the middle of nowhere and [F/N] had seen no one in the past decade.

As [F/N] got up for another day to tend to the shrine she wondered what her brothers were doing now.

☆♡☆

[F/N] carried her basket full of fruits, Satisfied from a successful scavenge.

She headed back up towards the large archway that was there to greet people into the temple. It use to be covered in splintered wood but thanks to the efforts of [F/N] the archway was restored with a fresh coat of paint and smoothing of the wood.

When she got up there she stopped, Her eyes widened.

The massive wooden doors to the thick stone wall gate were left wide open.

She was sure she had closed them when she had left.

Her body stiffened and her palms became sweaty.

Who could be in her shrine? Nobody came up the mountains and the nearest village was a good few dozen kilometres away on the far other side of the forest. No one who was just wandering could come across the temple.

[F/N] slowly put the basket of fruit onto the ground, Making sure not to make a sound.

She unsheated her Kaiken from her obi and slowly made her way inside to the courtyard, Which seemed empty.

But she looked upon the main building and just like the gate doors the shoji to the main building were left wide open.

[F/N] confirmed her suspicions. Someone was definetly here.

She made her way inside, Checking the main hallways she found no one around however that never made [F/N] let down her guard.

THUMP!

[F/N] flinched. The sound of an object knocking over came from just down the hall she was facing. Gripping her Kaiken tighter she moved forward towards the sounds

As she got closer, She heard a duo of voices arguing.

"Stop moving, Brother."

"Argh, If you'd let me do it by myself this would go much faster."

"No. You're injured, let me do it."

Wait..

"I'm told you I'm fine. It's just a cut."

Those voices..

[F/N] lowered her Kaiken. She stood, legs shaking. Heart pounding as she slowly called out.

"Michi-Nii? Yori-Nii?"

A sudden shuffling was heard in the room across from her.

The semi-shut shoji doors slammed open and out first came Michikatsu, Who had a semi-wrapped bandage around his arm with Yorichii following close after.

They were in their twenties now and were much older and their faces had changed a lot. But no matter how much they had physically changed [F/N] recognised her brothers, Who both now had surprised yet unrecognisable expressions in their face.

[F/N]'s mouth was open, Her eyes wide and sparkling with recognition.

"[F/N]..." Yorichii said.

"Yori-Nii! Michi-Ni-" She was cut off by the sudden arms pulling her into a tight hug. Michikatsu had moved so fast that she didn't see him move.

"[F/N].." He stuttered, Swaying back and forth while hugging her.

"Nii-san.." [F/N] cried, Gripping the back of his purple hexagonal hakama tightly as she buried her head into the side of his neck.

"You've grown so much.. And look at that" [F/N] grazed the hilt of of his sword, taking in the craftsmenship.

"You've both become swordsmen. I'm so proud, I wish I could've been there to see your ceremony" She whispered.

Michikatsu never responded to her words, instead going into a speech of his own.

"[F/N].. I lost you. You disappeared out of nowhere.. I searched for you for years.." Michikatsu was lost for words. If [F/N] didn't know better she could of sworn he was crying.

"I'm sorry, Michi-Nii. I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I went" [F/N] whispered.

The bear hug grip on her got tighter.

"Never. And I mean never leave me again. You have no idea what you put me through... You better promise" He scolded. [F/N] nodded vigorously.

"I promise."

☆♡☆

"So this is where you've been living for the past ten years?" Michikatsu asked, Looking around the haiden.

The place was a massive hall dedicated to worship of Inari. at the very end was the main worship shrine, Which was bustling with hand-woven straw baskets filled with offerings and lit candles in Inari's honour.

"Yeah.. When I ran away ten years I came across this place and made it my home. Been like that ever since." [F/N] smiled, Proud of the hall.

It was indeed very pretty, The new refurbished decorations of flowers, candles and banner-work created a grandiose appearance. The wooden pillars supported the tall height of the room and had beams at the top connecting them all with baskets filled with flowers hanging from them.

The entire room looked like it was built and cared for by an entire team of shrine maidens, Not a single dust spot to be seen.

Yorichii and Michikatsu stared in awe at the work.

"And you maintained this place all by yourself?" Yorichii asked, Genuinely in wonder at the décor.

"Well.. Apart from the occasional seller I meet when I'm scavenging for food nearest the road.. They sell me candles, Banners and other things needed for maintenance.. It's all done by me." [F/N] explained.

"It's.. Impressive. To think how you learned all this.." Michikatsu said.

"I get all my information from the shrine's library, From then on you figure it out on the way." [F/N] responded, Completely humble to the praise she received.

She turned around to her brothers with a smile.

"What about you two? Tell me what's been happening, And how'd you get that cut?" She asked innocently, Pointing to Michikatsu's bandaged arms

The two twins looked at each other, Having a silent conversation with each other. Contemplating what they should tell. Both of them very apprehensive, they shared a knowing look between them.

[F/N] frowned.

"..Is it not something you want to tell me?" She asked.

"Well.. It's hard to believe but-" Yorichii started.

"It’s just a mistake from sword training. Don't you worry about it." Michikatsu finished.

Yorichii looked over at him, Surprised at his sudden interruption.

[F/N]'s eyes narrowed. She felt curious but decided to drop the subject.

"Well anyways.. I need to go retrieve my fruit basket from outside and do my morning rounds around the shrine. Feel free to have a look around, Just please don't touch anything " [F/N] said, bowing her head low and heading towards the exit.

"Hold on, I'll come with you" Michikatsu said, He went to follow after his sister but was stopped when a hand pulled him back.

"Go on ahead, [F/N]. Michikatsu-Nii will catch up." Yorichii said. [F/N] nodded.

She said goodbye in the form of a hug, Michikatsu then Yorichii.

Michikatsu shot Yorichii a scorning look.

"What do you want?" Michikatsu hissed, The usual irritation of his brother turned up a notch.

"We need to tell her, Nii-san. So we can help her set up wisteria around the place." Yorichii argued.

Michikatsu gritted his teeth.

"Wisteria would be a good idea. But we don't need to tell her about demons, I mean look at her! She's still young" Michikatsu said, exasperated.

"She's eighteen, Nii-san. More than old enough to know about demons, about how to protect herself." Yorichii countered.

"She won't need to learn how to protect herself If I'm there to do it for her" Michikatsu hissed.

Yorichii's face scrunched up. He took a step forward towards Michikatsu and stood steady.

"Nii-san, I know you and [F/N] were attached by the hip when she was young but you can't always be there for her, She's strong enough to survive on her own but not strong enough to survive a possible demon attack, So we need to inform her. She won't let us plant wisteria around the shrine without a very good reason " Yorichii argued, His point stood stronger than he did.

Michikatsu's teeth gritted and his face was a visage of concealed anger like they were standing in the eye of the storm waiting for the inevitable onslaught.

"You always need to know better, Don't you Yorichii?" Michikatsu spat in a low tone.

Yorichii was surprised at Michikatsu's sudden animosity towards him, He was confused. This had never happened before.

"What do you mean to imply by that, Nii-san?" Yorichii asked, Slight worry coming over him for his brother who seemed restless.

Michikatsu suddenly became aware of his sudden outburst, His shoulders dropped from their previously stiff position. He sighed.

"Nothing... I shouldn't of spoke out like that." Michikatsu said, Quickly bowing his head to Yorichii he began to leave the shrine hall.

"Where are you going?" Yorichii called after him.

"To go find [F/N]. And make sure she's alright" He responded, Leaving the hall in search of his little sister.

☆♡☆

Michikatsu looked around the shrine for [F/N].

He walked the halls, checked the empty rooms, searched the courtyard, looked around the perimeter of the shrine and scoured through the shrine's impressively large and overflowing gardens but turned up empty.

He was frustrated. Where could she be? The forest surrounding the temple was fairly thick and shading and who knows? A demon might of been able to cover itself in the foliage and maybe she had left the shrine to pick up her basket only to come face to face with the monster and-

Michikatsu couldn't think anymore about it.

Sweat beads started forming on his head, What if she ran away? She couldn't, she sworn to him that she'd never leave him again. She couldn't of done that to him! What if she wasn't happy to see him and took the chance to leave while he was being lectured by Yorichii?

Yorichii.

Did she favour him over Michikatsu? When you were hugging him to say goodbye he could of sworn you had hugged Yorichii just a little bit tighter than him, Smiled a little bigger, Looked a little happier.

As he searched the halls for a second time he felt another burst of envy rise up in him, Something that had been occurring more and more lately.

His thoughts stopped when he stepped on an uneven dip in the ground. He felt around with his foot and outlined a frame of sorts.

He looked down to see he was standing on a rug. He then looked up realising that he was at the end of the hallway.

He reached down and pulled away the rug revealing a trapdoor, Assumedly leading down to the basement of the shrine.

A basement? Shrines don't usually have basements, He thought to himself.

He noticed the padlock on the handle was unlocked It was also spotless without a trace of dust, Indicating that it was used often.

He opened the door with a small creak of the wood. It revealed a short stone staircase which lead down to a low-ceiling hallway.

Michikatsu raised an eyebrow. He looked left and right before going down the stairs slowly. One step at a time.

He got down to the bottom of the stairs. The ceiling was certainly low as it grazed the top of Michikatsu's head making him feel uncomfortable in the small passageway.

He walked along the tunnel, each of his footsteps producing a faint echo as he went along. The tunnel was comparably cold to the early summer heat from up top.

At the end of the passageway was a wooden door, It looked old and rigid. Looking at the rest of the shrine this was a surprise for Michikatsu as the rest of it was pristine and in perfect shape compared to the derelict looking door.

He reached the door which he now realised was opened just a slight amount.

He pressed his ear to the door, Listening intently.

The sound of cloth on metal sounded on the other side. It was a sound he recognised well, It was polishing of a sword.

He pushed the door open to find [F/N] sitting on her knees with a strange looking sword in hand, a dry cloth in the other.

"Michi-Nii!" [F/N] jumped in surprise and dropped the cloth.

She sat in a much wider room than the hallway. The stone walls were filled with holding frames and shelves, The majority of them empty but still a good few holding rather precious looking trinkets.

At the end of the room which was facing the door and [F/N] held a sort of table harbouring a headpiece stand, Which was obviously suppose to hold the sword in her hands. It was also home to a kitsune mask hanging above it with eyes that looked like it was staring right through him.

"How'd you find the room?" [F/N] said rather surprised.

"Never mind how I found it. Why are you here?" He asked sternly, As if he was scorning a misbehaving child.

"Why am I in a room inside my own shrine?" [F/N] scoffed lightly.

"More of why didn't you tell me where you were, I was worried and I couldn't find you anywhere." He asked more forceful in tone.

[F/N] seemed confused at his reasoning but chalked it up to him still being a little shaken by their reunion.

"...I'm sorry... Coming in here to tend to the artefacts here is apart of my weekly rounds." She explained. A meek look appearing on her face.

Michikatsu sighed.

"Alright then. But please, Tell me next time you wander off into some hidden basement." He said in a softer voice leading to [F/N] calming down.

"What is this room anyways?" Michikatsu asked, Examining the room.

[F/N] peaked up, A sparkle of excitement in her eyes.

"Oh! Well according to the blueprints and builders logs I've found in the library this room was specially built to hold the shrine's treasures. Oh! Wait, hold on!" [F/N] exclaimed.

She reached over to the table in front of her and pulled out a fairly tiny roll of parchment paper, Unfolding it she displayed it to Michikatsu who looked down reading it.

"Apparently one of the noble-clanswoman paying for the building of the shrine here had a really steamy affair with some hot-shot samurai who use to gift her a TON of gifts" [F/N] explained with a passion, Her eyes held a glint of story.

"So to hide them away from her husband she built this little hidey-hole so he wouldn't discover them" She finished.

"What happened to her?" Michikatsu asked, Entertaining her passion.

She only shrugged though.

"No clue, The rest of the parchment was torn and I haven't found the other half..." She said, Disappointment filling her voice.

Michikatsu nodded and looked towards the sword in [F/N]'s lap.

"I can understand the other little objects around here but a sword?" Michikatsu said dumfounded.

[F/N] shook her head.

"No! No. The only two items in the room that weren't a gift was this sword and the kitsune mask hanging over there" She said, Pointing towards the kitsune mask hung by rope.

"Then what are they doing here?"

"They're the shintai that were suppose to be worshipped here at the shrine." [F/N] stretched over and tugged the hanging mask off the rope and presented both it and the sword to Michikatsu, Signalling him to take it.

As he did she told him to be careful while holding them.

The sword was nothing similar to any Katana he's wielded, Nor was it like anything he'd seen in the country. Instead it was built like a very large medieval English sword with the only hint of Japanese influence being the blue hilt which resembled the typical katana.

One side of the sharpened blade was covered in a sort of second sharper metal which glimmered azure in the dim light of the room.

The mask however was oddly designed compared to the usual festival mask. It was made of porcelain and its eyes were carved in a sort of wide eyed stare, The whites of it being a dark black and the pupils sapphire.

Thick cerulean marks adorned the mask, Swirling around the mask and centring at the bullseye of the mask. Except for the ears which were deeply patterned with swirls and flower-esque designs culminating at the covered tips.

The two items radiated a sort of energy from both which Michikatsu couldn't place.

"They're twin artefacts. It's said in the shrines folklore that they belonged to Inari Okami themselves gifted to them by their father, Izanagi. And from the heavens above they dropped them on accident and both the sword and the mask fell to here, The mortal realm" She explained with low wonder.

"The sword is named very bluntly as "The Soul Sword". It's called that because it's said by the previous shrine maidens that when a person is killed by the blade the soul of the person is absorbed into it and prevented from passing onto the afterlife. An eternity in the blade." She told as if it was rehearsed, It probably was.

She pointed to the Mask

"The mask however isn't named but it's said to warp the body of the user to their desire, Disguising themselves completely." She said.

"And does it work?" Michikatsu asked, Studying the mask.

"Haven't tried. It's a sacred artefact of the shrine. It would be a disrespect to Inari if I did." She stated.

Michikatsu examined both of the artefacts as [F/N] rambled away on the tale of the two, They were very well kept.

"You really know a lot about this stuff. Don't you?" He said more of to himself.

[F/N] nodded.

"Yeah. I guess it's just something I'm passionate about" She muttered.

Suddenly, Their conversation was interrupted by a voice upstairs calling out.

"Nii-San! [F/N]!" Yorichii called out from up above them, Voice faint and muffled from the thick stone walls.

Michikatsu groaned being mildly annoyed at being interrupted by Yorichii. [F/N] perked up however.

"That's Yorichii. Better go see what he needs!" She said. [F/N] grabbed both the sword and the mask from Michikatsu's grasp and settling them back with care onto their designed positions, As well as rolling up the parchment paper and putting it under the table

She dusted off her beryl coloured haori and got up from the tatami mat she was sitting on.

"Come on, Better not keep him waiting!" [F/N] said making her way out without waiting for Michikatsu, Who quickly followed after.

They made their way back up the stairs to find Yorichii a few metre's down the hall. He was standing there watching them come up with an arm stretched out, A crow perched neatly on it with a small roll of parchment paper tied to its neck by a string.

"What is it, Yorichii?" Michikatsu asked eyeing the crow.

"Oyataka-sama has summoned us to the headquarters, Urgent meeting." Yorichii said, a tint of unhappiness in his voice.

Michikatsu's face scrunched up in resentment, Obviously not excited by the news.

[F/N] frowned.

"..You've got to leave?" She asked looking up at Michikatsu who looked back with her with an expression saying that he didn't want to. But Yorichii's voice maintained importance.

"..I suppose so.." He said reluctantly. Not wanting to leave his sister alone. His eyes expanded with an idea formed in his head.

"Why don't you come with us, [F/N]?" Michikatsu asked going to stand next to Yorichii. The crow once perched on his arm squawked once. And with a flap of its wings it took off out an ajar window.

[F/N]'s palms suddenly got sweaty at the thought. Her shoulders felt heavy and slumped down with her face portraying one of heavy adversion

She shook her head, Michikatsu's face fell.

"It's not a long trip if that's what you're worried about, If you get tired we can get a horse or I could carry you-" Michikatsu was cut off by [F/N]'s hum of disapproval.

"It's not the trip. It's just I really don't want to leave the shrine unattended y'know?" She asserted. Evidently after spending an entire decade in it's walls she had grown dependant and attached so much to the point she couldn't journey far out of it.

"You can leave the shrine for a few days. Just please come with us, It'll be fine." Michikatsu reasoned, a small ounce of anxiety rising up into his chest at the thought of her being left.

[F/N] shook her head again.

"No, I'm sorry. But it's not forever, You can still come visit!" She spouted in an asking tone, Waiting for him to confirm.

Michikatsu shared a look with Yorichii. Yorichii's look told him he agreed with their sister while Michikatsu's only told of aversion.

However feeling outnumbered in the situation he reluctantly sighed and agreed to [F/N]'s proposal.

With a heavy heart and bag of food [F/N] prepared for their journey, Michikatsu spared one last look to see her before heading out into the forest.

☆♡☆

In the five months that passed from that day forward were probably the happiest days of [F/N]'s life.

Every few days her brothers would come and visit her at the shrine after a mission and they'd stay for around two days before the crow came along and the process started all over again.

She'd even arranged them their own little rooms and the crow would come in advance to announce their arrival so she could prepare them food.

It was nice to be reunited with her family after a decade of solitude. The routine they got into was nice and became sort of domestic.

Though, Over the months [F/N] couldn't help but notice a sort of tension between Michikatsu and Yorichii however it was one-sided. Only Michikatsu initiated it while Yorichii was none the wiser.

It seemed more aggressive as the months went on. Michikatsu focused more on his training similar to what he did when they were younger. He'd have more hostility towards Yorichii and weirdest of all he seemed much more clingy and possessive towards her.

However [F/N] didn't like to think of it. While she knew it was there and she knew they'd have to talk about it at some point, She decided that it'd be better to wait for the right time to bring it up.

Everyday [F/N] would get up at around seven in the morning to do her rounds, Collect food and pray to Inari for an hour or two before going out to the main wooden shrine steps to sit and wait for her brothers to return.

When they did they would eat together, They'd tell stories of their mission no matter how surface level and vague they described it. They'd train outside in the courtyard while [F/N] watched from the steps in awe at their skill.

She recalled back to her childhood and her dream of becoming a samurai like her brothers, While it was true she now favoured the shrine over that old fairy-tale it didn't mean that she still didn't ponder over it often, Daydream while she brushed the floors, Envision the swing of a sword when she spun the brush around.

However of course, It was just a pipe dream. Just a silly pipe dream. But often she asked herself: Why not both?

[F/N] watched Michikatsu from the steps as he practiced sword swings in the shrine courtyard, Taking occasional glances at his sister to make sure she was watching him. The thought ran throughout her head. While she hadn't picked up a sword before other than The Soul Sword (Which at times, She lightly swung it around before setting it down. Then right after feeling ashamed for using a sacred artefact she proceeded to pray for forgiveness at the altar)

She was sure she could try.

While Michikatsu was swinging his sword she had got up from the step with a stumble. She wobbled a little and grabbed the handle bars to steady herself.

She took a deep breath and slowly walked down the stairs which suddenly seemed like a herculean task.

She set her sandal-covered feet onto the courtyard with an unnecessary effort and started walking towards Michikatsu who was only a few metre's ahead of her.

With every step she took her body seemed to get heavier. It felt like weights were being tied to her ankles every time she lifted her foot.

The distance seemed to widen between her and her brother. Her eyelids seemed to get heavier too.

And with another single undignified step her knees collapsed on her. She fell down to the floor with a thump! as her body relaxed and crumpled over on the ground.

Her eyes got blurry as she saw Michikatsu rush over to her tired body and listened to him shout out something she couldn't hear

She closed her eyes and untensed her body. Falling into the pitch black void of unconciousness.

☆♡☆

[F/N] lay motionless in her bed.

A wet cloth lay over her forehead and a light blanket was lain on top of her.

It was two months since that day she collapsed. She was carried by Michikatsu and was rushed to the nearest village where she was seen by a doctor who gave her the diagnosis.

It was her mothers illness, Turning out to be hereditary and passed down onto [F/N]. However this seemed to be more severe and had developed into later stages quickly.

The doctor had said that she should be put in bedrest but despite Michikatsu's yelling and paranoid yelling there was no cure.

The first few days consisted of Michikatsu being hunched over her bed refusing to leave her side. Over the two months he had grown even worse than he did before.

He was angry before. Competitive, Hostile, Aggressive you name it. But now?

Now he was paranoid, Jumpy, Clingy piled on with all of those traits before.

Yorichii couldn't get through to him, He didn't hide his ire towards Yorichii now and hissed insults at him whenever he tried to speak to Michikatsu.

The first month was Michikatsu searching for a cure. He'd travel from village to village trying to find a doctor who could cure [F/N]. He scoured the Shrine's libraries and had gone mad trying.

Four days ago he had told [F/N] that he was going out again and that she was not to leave her bed unless she was going to get food or do her prayers, Which [F/N] had begged to be allowed.

He had stocked up enough food and water in the pantry for his trip when he left.

He told her that he would be back in two days, It was four now. Yorichii had been with her the first month but after he was called out on a very important mission he never came back.

When she asked Michikatsu what happened to him, He wouldn't tell her.

To say [F/N] was worried was an understatement. Michikatsu was never late, He'd always sent his crow to let her know even if he was.

Suddenly she was aware of a loud creaking. The main shrine gates.

Michikatsu must be back, [F/N] thought. A rush of excitement ran through her and overpowered the cold sweat of her sickness.

She'd gotten up from her futon and wrapped herself in her blanket to prevent the cold winter air from bothering her too much.

It was snowing outside. A blizzard had grown strong while she had slept earlier. Before when she was well in the health department she had prepared well for the winter and could survive during it, Making the inside of the shrine warm all throughout the season.

Now however that she depended on her brothers who were nowhere to be found the cold permeated the hallways and stung the tips of her fingers and nose.

She shivered and slid open the shoji doors to hobble through the hallways towards the courtyard, Ready to greet Michikatsu.

However when she quietly opened the door she wasn't greeted by Michikatsu. But instead two strange men with swords standing in the snowstorm. who hadn't seem to notice her yet

"This is it? Seems rundown." One of the men said

"According to his crow this is where he has been staying for the past few months. He must be here, Someone must pay for what he did and hiding here won't prevent what's coming to him." The other growled, Anger etched onto his features.

[F/N], A little insulted at her shrine being called run down, Made herself known by letting out a loud cough.

"Who are you? And what are you doing at my shrine?" The girl asked

The two looked up at the source. Their hands jumped to their sheathed swords as they looked up at her in antagonism.

They slowly approached her, So much so that they were now standing under the wooden porch roof.

[F/N] stumbled back in a way of getting distance between her and the men.

The one that called her shrine rundown stepped forward. He bowed down in respect to her.

"Greetings there. We're sorry to trouble you but we're looking for a man. His name is Yorichii Tsugikuni. He wears hanafuda earing's and his hair in a ponytail. Have you seen him anywhere?" He said.

Swords. Right. These must be Yorichii's colleagues. [F/N] relaxed slightly.

"Oh, You two must be his co-workers!" She exclaimed, Relief flooding her system.

She curtsied in respect.

"My name is [F/N] Tsugikuni. I am his younger sister, Unfortunately I haven't seen him for a month or two and I don't know where he's been. Apologies." I sighed.

The two men looked at each other.

"Sister? You're his sister?" The angrier one said, A hint of hostility in his voice.

Suddenly a chill ran up her spine, Something was wrong.

"Uhm.. Yes." [F/N] said with caution. Though she was tempted to lie, It just wasn't in her nature.

The angrier man now referred to as Man A gripped the hilt of his sheathed sword tighter.

"Well. I don't know if you know this but two months ago your brother... Messed up, Per se. Causing a great loss towards the demon corps..." He said. His words implied something unknown to [F/N]. The corners of her lips twitched. Demon corps? Messed up? The meaning eluding her.

"A lot of people got hurt. Including our father." Man A sneered. His face the exact visage of vengeance.

Man B behind him wasn't as such but still held a face of stone.

The realisation of what was happening hit [F/N] like a freight train. Her hands grew sweaty as they quickly rushed the shoji doors.

"I... I am so sorry to hear that. B-But unfortunately my brother isn't here right now... I've got to go tend to the haiden. Please, Come back later." Her voice trembled and shook despite how much she tried to keep her tone steady and confident.

As her hands tried to quickly shut the shoji doors the metal of a sword stopped the doors from opening fully.

[F/N] yelped and stumbled back from the door. The two men forced their way into the shrine hallway. [F/N] felt her back hit the wall.

"I'm sorry about what is to happen. But Yorichii Tsugikuni needs to pay for what he did and the death of his sister will bring about our revenge. Please forgive us." Man B said finally unsheathing his sword.

Run.

[F/N]'s feet grew light as she took off down the shrine hall, The two men hot on her tail as she careened round the corners and throughout the shrine.

She felt her heart pound heavy in her chest. Both from the almost paralysing fear and the illness coursing throughout her system.

Her legs felt weak but carried on. Her pace just a little bit faster than the men behind her despite all odds, She unconsciously thanked the hours she spent out in the woods running around for resources.

Tears burst like a dam from her eyes and flew from her eyes as she sprinted. Choked sobs periodically interrupted the heavy breaths she took from running.

The faster she ran, The more corners she turned the more thoughts ran rampant throughout her head.

Exits? Only the main gate which she was currently running away from and were closed on the way in, It takes too much time to open those doors and the men would catch up to her in no time. Convince them to stop? Impossible. The men seemed determined in their goal and no amount of talking would change anything. The hidden room? On the other side of the shrine and she didn't have the key on her

[F/N] had gained a bit of distance from the men at this point, Having shook them off her trail for a very short amount of time.

She ran to where her heart took her, To the place she felt safest.

The offering hall which use to look bright and full of flowers, baskets of food and was spotless now was empty and cold. The candles went long unlit and a bit of dust built up and went into the air when she slammed open the doors, Making her cough.

[F/N] ran to the altar with her legs trembling. She fell to her knees in front of it crying her eyes out. Her body positioned into its usual prayer formation as she choked out her sobs.

"Please! Inari. I-I'm going to die... I haven't asked for anything from the day I've got here... Please spare my life.. L-Let me live! I don't want to die, Inari. Please.. Please.." [F/N] broke down in front of the altar as she chanted please over and over again like a sacred sutra.

She wailed quietly in front of the shrine letting all her emotions out from her eyes.

She never noticed the men standing behind her as she prayed. Their expressions serious and unaffected by the girl's unheard prayers.

Man A raised his katana. Holding it in his grasp he raised it high above his head.

And with a yell he swiftly brought it down.

Blood splattered the offerings room. Drenching the two men and the girl below, The blade going straight through her back.

☆♡☆

Cold.

It was so cold.

The men had left her there bleeding, How long ago she didn't know.

She had made her way out of the shrine. Past the main doors, Past the entrance gate and the pathway and out into the main part of the forest.

The blade had went right through her chest out the other side, She gripped it tightly while the blood stained her dragon-patterned haori colouring it crimson.

It was a miracle she had got this far out into the blizzard. The tip of her nose had frozen and her jaw chattered letting out cold air.

She weakly turtled into her haori for warmth however it proved futile.

The white snow behind her left a red trail as she walked.

Soon enough it was too much.

Soon enough, She collapsed.

☆♡☆

Quickly throughout the forest, Kokushibo ran quickly up the mountain through the unrelenting blizzard, Which never stung him in the slightest.

It had only been a few hours since he woke up from consuming that man's blood. His appearance now changed from the transformation which took three days to complete.

He carried a vial of that mans blood in one of his hands. He remembered the deal vividly in his mind.

Strength for him, A way to become stronger. Stronger than his brother. A way to avoid the eventual fate of all those who bore the demon slayer mark.

And a vial of that man's blood to save his dying sister.

He ran like hell. Snow crunching from the rapid footsteps behind him.

He stopped however, When the faintest scent of blood invaded his senses.

All three sets of his eyes widened.

He picked up his pace again. Now heading toward the smell.

His heartrate picked up. It couldn't be. It can't. [F/N] was alright. She was okay. Even now after becoming a demon, He still felt possessiveness affection towards his sister.

He came to a halt.

His heart dropped to his stomach as he tried to comprehend the sight in front of him. His eyes widened and his jaw slack open.

There in the snow, Lay a body curled up in a fetal position.

Snow had built up on it. It lay motionless buried in the snow.

He recognised it as [F/N].

"[F/N]!!" He yelled, running over to the body.

He fell to his knees in front of her and shoved off all the built up snow.

He pulled her body so her head was laying down on his lap. He shook her gently.

"...[F/N].. Wake up. Come on." He whispered. His shaking now growing more frantic to her lack of response.

He looked at the vial in his right hand.

Opening her mouth he popped open the seal and poured the red liquid into her mouth.

He watched it pour onto her tongue and down her throat. He waited for the reaction.

However, Nothing came.

He waited and waited. Nothing.

He felt his eyes water and flow out from them as the dawning realisation hit him.

He was holding his little sister's corpse in his arms.

He couldn't protect her. She had died and he wasn't there to protect her.

He yelled, Screamed and cried. In anger, Frustration, Sorrow, Guilt and mourning for his loss. He couldn't do anything.

However when he finally noticed the stab wound he realised this was murder. He could do something.

He carried his sister's body in his arms and pulled her close to his chest as he quietly grieved for her.

He brought her body back to her beloved shrine and set her down at the head of the shrine where she loved the most.

He'd deal with her body later. But for now he had to get revenge for the death of his little sister.

Using his blood demon art to make a sword he gripped it tight.

He set off into the blizzard already with a scent on the targets.

He looked back once at the shrine. The last remaining parts of his humanity dying in there with his sister

And with that he left. Never to look back again.

☆♡☆

It was five hundred years ago.

Kokushibo began reminiscing when he sat in front of her gravestone. What he did that night.

He had gotten his revenge, The two slayers slowly tortured and then eaten by him. Their screams and their pleads for mercy when they showed [F/N] none.

He had started with the fingers and toes, Then he moved up to the lower limbs, Slowly he ate them alive. He made one of them watch him while he ate, All before he moved onto them.

He made them confess who killed her to which after a little persuasion they admitted easily.

They got the worst of it, He didn't even eat him after the torture. Just left him pinned to a tree bleeding out. He had put him up high only giving him the options of freezing to death, bleeding out or dying from the fall.

The memories rewound in his head like a film. Flashing memories of when she was born and he got to cradle her in his arms. All the way up until he only held her lifeless corpse, Killed too soon.

He had mourned for a long time after that, Never really getting over her death, Not even now as he set down the new flowers on her grave built near the house they grew up in.

He couldn't bring himself to consume her body, He could never. It was too much.

He got up and dusted himself off, Just like she use to do.

He turned away and walked into the night, Melding into the shadows as he went off to find his next meal.

☆♡☆

The morning rays shun down on the Ubuyashiki Estate. Flowers in full bloom with wisteria ripe in the air.

Birds chirped and grasshoppers hummed in the bushes. The neatly trimmed and well kept garden a fit home for them

The Hashira had gathered and stood in front of the porch awaiting the arrival of their master. They talked amongst themselves in the meantime.

Mitsuri, The Love Hashira tugged on the hand of another. A soft smile gracing her face.

"Fujimori-san! You should really come out with me sometime, It's been ages since we've done something together!" Mitsuri teased lightly.

Fujimori laughed lightly from behind the kitsune mask with cerulean markings he (he?) wore. The medival english looking sword positioned in front of him pointing downward, His two hands gripping the katana-like hilt.

He was tall and muscular but had more of an athletic build. He had tattoo's from his neck to his lower arms describing pictures typically seen in shrine art.

His blue dragon-patterned haori that was draped around his lower arms lightly wove in the wind along with his [H/C] locks tied into a ponytail.

"What do you mean? We went on a mission together last week!" He chuckled.

Mitsuri huffed and lightly gripped his hand

"When I mean spend time together I mean like we should go to a hot spring or go out to eat together or-" Mitsuri continued rambling on as she listed off possible activities they could do together.

Fujimori, [F/N] listened intently onto her as she talked.

She (She? She.) however was only thinking of his visions: A sick woman, A woman with fox markings and a man in a purple hakama.

She'd need to figure it out later.

Next chapter

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liabutterscotch · 4 months ago

Text

“Let my flute be the last sound you hear”

My Kny Oc, Naila Hano, (or Naira for Japanese pronunciation) I drew her years ago and came back to tweak up her design a bit bc the idea of her controlling vines made me giggle silly me (but I did rename her last name to “Hano” which means leafy fields and also drew a leaf earring to compensate it✨) Her family also lived besides a farm and grassy fields so ig imma say

Lore (which no one asked for and in which I’m still working on):

She’s a demon slayer (not a Hashira cause I degrade my ocs originality lol) with Resonance Breathing as her ability. It was derived from Thunder Breathing!

The breathing style would be to harness the power of vibration, frequency, pressure, and sound in her combat techniques with the custom made flute katana! I wanna include her whistling high pitch vocals, but she’s still training her lungs to reach that level lol.

Her 4 breathing technique forms are Acoustic Waves, Resound through Declaration, Vibrations of Fate Reverberate, and Echoes of Rippled Vengeance.

I’m gonna flat out say her ability is almost similar to Uzui Tengen’s sound breathing style, and Zenitsu’s capability to hearing from a distance, the only difference would be that she can use her flute to detect wavelengths from almost a kilometre away.

The Sword/katana has holes patterned across it, so when she swings it horizontally the holes create Rythm and whistles.

Her personality is passionate yet quiet, she’s determined but chooses not to speak when not necessary if that makes sense (think of un-depressed giyuu ig). It would fit her reasoning to not speak so frequently and loudly too as her vocal/breathing training consists of her screaming (to the point you can’t hear it, like a dog whistle) 💀💀

Lastly (from what I conceptualised) I’m still thinking whether I should make her a Shinobi, or just a demon slayer who got inspired by theatre and opera singing? Hmmmmmm yes decision making we love 👵

IF YOU READ ALL OF THAT TY 😭💐✨💓

#art #digital art #cute art #demon slayer #oc #kny #kny oc #kny oc art #kimetsu no yaiba #original character #original art #original story #oc artist #oc artwork #oc art #ocs #my ocs #anime oc

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mysteria157 · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter Three

Pairing: Black Fem!Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

CW: Profanity, Slight Angst (mentions of death), Fluff, Comfort

Word Count: ~5k

Summary:

Suffering from haunting dreams and a raging cold, you find solce in Toji's challenging yet comforting presence.

Authors Notes: Hello! Thank you all for waiting so patiently! It took me weeks to finally get out of my perfectionist mindset and just...write so everything flows together. This chapter is shorter than my usual, but to me little moments help with character development. And this is going to be a very, very slow burn lol.

As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy and thank you for your support!

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Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon | Header: created by myself (fanart from Pinterest)

***You***

The cold air is deceptive; it nips at your skin, raising goosebumps despite the warm inviting appearance of your surroundings. Tall trees—oaks, hickories, and basswoods—clutter densely, forming a barrier that shields the land from the outside world and cages bittersweet memories of the past. You’ve followed your father through these woods before, navigating rocky hills and leaping over thick, ingrown branches to reach another unmarked spot for exploring.

Deep purple hues of the twilight sky cast elongated, eerie shadows over the forest, and they fold over the tall grass like dark, unnatural fingers. This definitely isn’t real. Everything around you right now brings painful memories—but they’re are not as sharp as what you feel in reality.

In reality, the ache is persistent, pulsing weakly in your veins, flaring up with every fleeting memory of your father—his infectious laugh, his hands putting you on his shoulders as you walked to football games, or the early mornings spent huddled together, his hand guiding your binoculars to focus on a bird in the distance.

This is definitely a dream.

You know it also from the feel of the grassy meadow beneath your toes, the blades soft and ticklish against your ankles, the usual worry of ticks far from your mind. Vivid wildflowers—yellows, pinks, and blues—sway in a nonexistent breeze. The dirt path that once led to your father’s house has vanished, taken over by the soil and grass, erasing years of footprints.

The house he dreamt of building, a two-story structure crafted by his own hands, now stands as nothing more than a decaying skeleton. There is no roof, only stretches of drywall reaching towards the twilight sky, as if trying to reach the heavens and falling short.

As you walk further across the foundation, the environment shifts around you, the air folding in on itself and twisting like the patterns in a kaleidoscope. Your fingers trail along the phantom walls that spring up, and your feet glide over the conjured glossy finish of hardwood floors. This empty space is a blueprint nestled deep in your memory: bedrooms that will give privacy, a living room that will host family gatherings, a fireplace that is now roaring in orange and yellows.

“There you are,” a familiar voice calls to you, sending a jolt through your heart that tightens your chest as if you’re about to cough. As you turn the corner, reality morphs once again, unfolding into a meticulously designed kitchen with forest green cabinets adorned with brass knobs, a deep porcelain sink and shiny stainless-steel appliances. The surreal surroundings are dizzying, blurring and swirling in your vision. But the figure you know—his broad back turned to you, shoulders stretching and pulling as he wipes something in front of him—that grounds you, preventing you from drifting away.

“It finally came in, take a look.”

He radiates an intense warmth as you stand beside him. Even with your arms barely touching, the heat feels suffocating, instantly causing you to break into a sweat. Just being next to him makes your throat constrict, choked and searing, it’s nearly impossible to speak. But with each stroke of his hand on the new granite counter top, sweeping a fiberglass cloth, his love and comfort are palpable in the stiffing heat, settling on your skin to relax you.

“Looks good huh?” He’s proud, and even though you don’t have the strength to look up at his face, you know he’s beaming. “Once it all comes together, it’s gonna look beautiful.”

His words stir a deep-seated guilt within you, so fierce it makes you want to scratch at your own skin, as if to physically scrape away the emotional turmoil the festers beneath the layer of your dermis. You press your toes into the hardwood, cross your arms and dig your fingernails into your arms. It’s hotter now—god you’re burning up. Your body prickles with beads of moisture as you watch him tirelessly wipe over an already clean surface.

It’s incessant, and with each swipe the guilt rises further, urging you to flee from a conversation that will never happen. You don’t really know about an afterlife but if there is one, does he know what happened? Is he rooted in the present, watching you occasionally to see what you’ve failed to do? Is he disappointed in you?

Maybe if you focus on his steady motions, close your eyes, and just breathe, you might find yourself back in your room when you open them again. After all, none of this is real—it will never be real. This kitchen, these rooms, the wooden floorboards, and the beautiful roaring fireplace. The remnants of all of this are written on a blueprint somewhere, collecting dust for the last two decades.

He calls out to you again, his voice oddly distant though he stands right beside you. He sounds weary, as if he’s struggling to breathe, and when you glance at his hand moving across the counter, it’s no longer vibrant and almond-brown but ashen, marked by blown-out veins. Lifting your eyes, you meet not the father you remember, but his final, frail image—his sunken skin, his life slipping away too soon, anchored to the world only by the fragile thread of a nasal cannula.

“You okay, honey?” he croaks, concern etched in every syllable.

You open your mouth to speak, but fear grips your entire being, squeezing you like you’re a piece of fruit to be juiced. The terror is paralyzing, and you find yourself unable to face him any longer without crumbling into tears. A deep, ragged breath cuts through the silence, rasping painfully in your throat as you stammer, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t—“

Your eyes snap open, sticky and heavy with exhaustion, wincing against the harsh glare of sunlight that peaks through your maroon curtains. The embers of your dream fade into nothingness and unforgiving reality slides into place with ease. The heat of the dream is replaced by a chilling dampness; the sheets cling to your sweaty skin, and the fiery soreness in your throat reminds you of your still raging cold. When you swallow, it feels like sandpaper across raw flesh.

It’s been almost a year since you’ve dreamt of your father. It’s not that you don’t like to dream about him; actually, you cherish every memory, even the painful ones. But dreaming of him in the house—his house that has remained untouched since his death—it consumes you with regret for the role you’ve been unable to fulfill. You don’t have the time. You don’t have the money. All things that are out of your control but still hold you by the throat.

It’s too much for your mother, and you don’t blame her. The love she has for your father never really left. It lingered in her second marriage and came back full force in her divorce. So she stays away from all things related to him when she can.

Your eyes wander to the corner of your office desk where the old property deed lies, rolled up and bound by a simple rubber band. The edges are brown and dusty, much like the blueprints in your dream.

Why do you even keep it there?

Maybe it’s a reminder of him, just something physical you can glance at every day even if it hurts. Maybe it’s there to spur you to make that thousandth trip to city hall—the one that always ends in tears. Maybe, with these next few days off, you can try again. You’ll be stronger this time, more aggressive with the bald-headed piece of shit that always gives you trouble.

Or maybe not.

The flare of your throat is harsh enough to push away any other thoughts. There’s a frustration that always comes with getting sick, it makes simple things extreme when there is no need for it. Your body is too hot and also too cold, your throat burns with every swallow no matter how many throat drops you take, your lungs spasm with the tiniest breath to cough, your nose is so congested that it makes you regret taking breathing for granted. It’s overstimulating as hell.

You wince against the harsh sun again, turning your head further into your pillow before your eyes fall on your nightstand. There’s a tall glass of water and two pills. You don’t remember setting them there, but you sit up to throw them back anyway and down the water quickly. The coolness soothes your throat and with each swallow, the haze of last night lifts.

You know Toji brought you home because your car is out of commission and he refused to let you take the bus. He helped you out last night—literally carrying you up to your apartment because you were so achy and exhausted you could hardly stand. You remember him leaning casually against the brick wall of your complex, that insufferably charming smirk playing on his lips as he watched you go through every stage of defiance for help.

“I’m not getting any younger, princess.”

That name. You hate that name.

It was a taunt that made you eventually give up, too damn tired to snap at him. You gave in to the warmth of strong muscles and the scent of detergent, cologne, and something that’s just Toji. You remember the lack of strain in his neck, the ease in which he breathed as he took step after step like you weighed nothing, and the analytical gaze of jade irises beaming in the night as he took in his surroundings. It almost felt like he was assessing the area, checking every corner when he hit another flight of steps to make sure no one was lurking nearby.

As you think back, your hands automatically press against your cheeks, warmed by the flush of memory as your blood pumps faster in your veins from the rising shock. Toji had drawn you an Epsom salt bath to soak your muscles, rolling his eyes as you feverishly barked at him for privacy to undress. That gruff attentiveness continued as he watched you like a hawk as you slurped down the bowl of canned soup he warmed, and then gently nudging you to bed with a press to the small of your back. Even his firm grip on your arm as he wielded a syringe of cough syrup—which you tried to refuse—is clear in your mind.

“You’re burning up, stop fucking fighting me! What kind of doctor won’t take medicine?”

“This doctor. I would rather lick the floor than taste cough syrup. It’s just a cold. Go away,” you remember protesting, delirious with a stubbornness that has only gotten worse with age.

He had pressed the tip of the syringe to the side of your mouth, eyes narrowed and annoyed. “Open your mouth and—OW, why are you biting people! Girl, what the hell?!”

“Fuck,” you groan now, your hands digging into your eye sockets as the memory plays like a broken record behind your eyelids. You bit him like a fucking maniac. Who does that?! You remember giving in because you felt bad but still…

As a kid, you were the same—so against the taste of medicine that your mother had to pin you down.

But now? At the ripe age of too damn grown? You’re mortified.

Your hands slide down your face as you sigh in the silence, which feels heavier than before. Did he leave last night? You can’t remember anything beyond smacking your lips to get rid of the cherry taste of cough medicine and rolling over to pass out.

Your body isn’t as achy as last night as you climb out of bed. You slip into dry clothes and throw off your bonnet, ruffling the curls loose before you snatch up your phone and leave the room in search of him. The air in your apartment, usually so familiar, now carries a subtle disturbance—a reminder of his increasing presence. Only the distant chirps of cardinals outside punctuate the silence. As you enter the living room, you notice Toji’s black jacket casually draped over a kitchen stool and his car keys abandoned on the counter.

Your fuzzy socks muffle your steps as you approach the counter, where a covered glass bowl sits alongside a small note. You hate the lurch of your heart skipping as you snatch it up, your movements fueled by a mix of dread and anticipation.

Make sure you eat it all.

You can practically hear his gruff voice through the words, rough and serious, a subtle layer of care that’s unique to him. The thought makes you snort softly, relief washing over you with the distant thought that…he didn’t leave. But that relief is a push and pull, it’s frustrating to you because you’re unsure of what you want, even though you want more and moreof it. More of him.

As you pop open the lid of the container, the steam hitting your nose, your phone rings, your eyes rolling on reflex as you look at the caller ID. It’s a work day for your cousin, you can tell by the sleek reading glasses she only wears to comb over legal documents. Her shiny kinky hair is pulled up into a neat bun with not a strand out of place, edges laid to perfection, dark lip liner with a clear gloss on full lips, and she looks professional and uniquely Rene. Dark brown eyes narrow at you, the corners pointed in a cat’s eye with fresh black eyeliner, her expression tightening. Your mind automatically conjures the phrase you know she’s about to say.

“What do I have to do—”

“—to make sure you’re not dead,” she finishes in real time, her voice a blend of concern and familiar exasperation. “I was texting you all night.”

This is a well-worn interaction between you both; you work for days on end and disappear from the world, Rene reels you back in with stern care that rivals your own mother.

Your fingernail idly traces Toji’s handwriting from his note. “It was a rough night. My car wouldn’t start, I had to catch the bus and it made me late, and then work was just a nightmare. I’m sick, everything hurts, and Toji had to pick me up—”

“Why don’t we back up a little bit,” she interjects, elegant eyebrows arching up in wicked surprise, your well-being entirely forgotten because your cousin is a nosy bitch. “Toji was there? Where is he?” You shoot her a glare, irritation flaring because you refuse to give in to her curiosity. She holds up her hands in defense, her full lips curving into a smile. “Damn, a bestie can’t ask a question these days? That’s tough.”

Your gaze holds firm, challenging her. She meets it in a well-known game you both play, her eyes widening comically and it’s enough to break you both, laughter filling the kitchen.

“This is why I don’t tell you things,” you lie, coughing into your elbow. “We are just taking it slow. Nothing crazy. I didn’t need his help anyway. I could have taken the bus and taken care of myself. It’s just a cold.”

She laughs again at your bullshit and you sigh in defeat. There’s no point in trying to sugarcoat things with her. Nothing crazy, you say even though can’t even get your thoughts together when it comes to him. You could easily hang up the phone, but annoying or not, you haven’t talked to Rene in days. It’s nice to hear her voice again. Your mother is overseas often for work so calls aren’t as frequent. As for the rest of your family? You’re just…not as close to them.

Rene’s still running cackling keeps your mind from wandering again.

“Alright, it’s not funny anymore,” you snap as you grab a spoon from a kitchen drawer, turning back to Toji’s leftover food with a frown.

“I’m sorry! Really! But come on, it’s just classic you—the baddest bitch I know, but here you are, refusing any chance of help even though you want it so bad. Hard-headed as hell,” she chuckles, her voice warming with the years of friendship between you.

You pause, spoon in hand over the steaming bowl of soup, struck by the truth in her words. Stubbornness is your armor and you rarely let it slip, only few know what’s behind it. Even though she teases, it hurts. It hurts because it carries history—reminders of every instance you’ve pushed help away. It wraps around those jabs from your family, from the men you’ve been with.

Mean because you demand respect so you can weed out those who aren’t worth your time.

Defensive because you’ve been hurt too often.

Uncompromising and fierce, and that’s anyone who tries to get too close—never stays.

You clench your teeth together. “Rene, I’m not—” you start to protest, but the latch of the front door opening makes you raise the spoon in alarm.

It's Toji.

He walks into your home as if he owns the place, his presence so commanding it seems to fill every corner, snuffing the lights and sucking the air from the room. His gaze sweeps through the space, and when his emerald eyes finally settle on you, you feel the weight of his attention.

His shirt is stained with grease, and raven locks, messy from the July humidity, sticks to his forehead and sides of his neck.

“You won’t get far if you’re trying to stab me with that,” he teases, nodding towards the spoon in your hand. Though his tone is light, the underlying seriousness suggests he’s not entirely joking. He’s strong enough to disarm you and you wouldn’t mind a big man like him trying to—

The spoon clatters against the granite counter top as you slap it down and force your mind to shut the hell up.

He takes only two steps before he’s standing in front of you, analytical eyes scanning you in seconds—a look so intense that it feels like he’s trying to memorize you and understand hidden layers you’d rather keep concealed. Alarmingly thorough and you’re still trying to process him being this close, his proximity bringing an electricity you feel even before his lips press a soft, almost possessive kiss on your cheek, like he’s been waiting—itching for contact.

Rene’s startled cough cracks through the phone, mirroring your own internal shock. Toji is making your fever worse because it’s hot as hell now, the hairs rising on your neck as you gape like a fish.

“W-what are you doing…” you begin to ask, but the words die in your dry mouth when he pulls back. His eyes linger close to yours—too close and sliding across your nose, your cheeks, your lips. He still smells like cologne, but now there’s sweat and a muskiness of exertion and outdoors that makes your head swim with dread and desire.

“Where’s your toolbox?” he asks, putting a leash on your thoughts before they run away from you.

You clear your throat and step back, trying to reclaim your space, to fortify your defenses, do anything so you don’t fall apart. “Um, coat closet down the hall. Top shelf.” Your tone is steadier than you feel, pointing mechanically to your hallway.

You look down at your phone when he walks away, exhaling a breath you don’t realize you’re holding. Rene’s watching you with an amused, knowing look, eyebrows rising and falling suggestively. You can’t stand her because you want to laugh and groan at the same time.

“Girl,” Rene chimes, voice dripping with insinuation and not low enough because she doesn’t care who hears her. “I’m sure if you take him for a ride again, you’ll feel a little better.”

“When she’s not sick,” Toji calls from the hallway, your eyes widening at the implication of him listening in. “That kind of ride takes a little work.”

You gawk at the empty space of your hallway. Rene hollers and you hope to god she gets written up for being too loud.

“I know that’s right, Toj—”

You hang up and slam the phone down with more force than necessary.

Toji returns with the toolbox, smirking and completely unphased by his remark and just how unsettled you look by it. He motions with his head to the bowl of soup in front of you.

“Eat.”

It’s a command, gentle but firm, and you bristle not just at the directive, but at your own conflicting impulses—to bare your teeth and snap at his attempt of care or to melt under his attention.

Toji doesn’t wait for an answer, just studies you a moment longer, seemingly satisfied with what he sees, and disappears out the front door. The quiet buzz of the cardinals outside fills the silence he leaves behind.

You’re left standing there, a hand squeezing your phone on the counter like a vice, your mind struggling to remain upright in a storm of emotions that he stirs up within you. Unsettling and soothing, your chest fluttering like butterflies wings against your rib cage. Maybe it’s just a heart palpitation, this intensity—this feeling. Nanami can do an EKG when you return to work in a few days. And he better be there, because he’s the very reason why you had to pick up so many shifts in the first place.

Rene’s giggles still echo in your ears as you exhale a shaky breath and grip the metal spoon in your hand again.

***

“What are you doing?”

Your question cuts through the ambient city hum and the rustle of trees surrounding the parking lot of your complex. Toji is hunched over the hood of your car, hands deep in it’s guts, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

The summer sun beats down on you both, yet you’re wrapped in Toji’s jacket to cover your exposed legs. It was the first thing you grabbed when you rushed out of the apartment but it’s too big, the hem brushes against your knees, the sleeves dangling past your hands. You push them up again, feeling simultaneously protected and vulnerable under his gaze as he turns to face you. The jacket feels like a shield, but also a reminder of how much space he’s beginning to occupy in your life.

“Your starter is bad,” he grunts, showing you a car part smeared with oil. It looks expensive, way more than an oil change, and panic flares in your belly briefly as the numbers fluctuate in your mind. If it’s too much, it’ll probably be weeks before you can take your car to the shop.

You’re a doctor, but doctors don’t start making good money for…awhile.

“How much do you think it will be for a new one?” You sigh, mentally calculating the number of zeros the mechanic is going to throw at you. At least Toji saved you some money for a diagnostics test.

“I already ordered the part.”

The admission hits you like a truck.

You gape at him, fumbling and overwhelmed. “You didn’t—I could have done all of this myself. I don’t need your help, Toji.”

The words taste bitter as they drip from your tongue, a defensive reflex from years of self-reliance. Of course you’re grateful, but the frustration that he’s seen a need you hadn’t voiced, that he’s filled it without asking, that’s what stirs the deep discomfort. It’s not just the help—it’s the intimacy of it, the presumption that he can anticipate your needs.

The weight of his jacket on your shoulders no longer feels comforting.

His reaction is immediate, a flash of annoyance flickering over his features, the scar on the side of his lips twisting as he frowns and snatches a rag from the hood of the car.

“So, what, you were going to trust some corner-shop mechanic to rip you off?”

His accusation is justified, and almost instantly, that phrase parrots in your mind.

Let me be nice to you. Let me be nice to you.

“Yep, that was the plan,” you retort, your voice lacks conviction, weak and drowned out by the steady thump of your own heart as he walks closer. He drags the rag between his knuckles, collecting the dirt in the seams.

“You want me to let some old fuck tear your shit up? Even though I know what I’m doing? Not happening.”

His assurance should be overwhelming, but you find yourself irresistibly drawn to it. He moves closer, and instinctively, your muscles tense, your toes curling inside your fuzzy socks and blue Crocs. With every inch that disappears between you both, your mind fires with mixed signals: go back to the safety of your apartment or surrender to the magnetic pull of him. God, you’ve only been awake for two hours, but the emotional whiplash just might knock you back out.

“You told me to earn you, so I am. You need to let me.”

His directness, unyielding and raw, hits you harder than you expect. It’s not just his physical presence that’s imposing—it’s the sheer force of his will, loud and insisting that you realize he’s not leaving anytime soon.

Your reactions and reflexes are not completely intentional, but it isn’t easy to just change who you are. The defenses around you are lined with hard-learned lessons. Your armor and shields to keep yourself safe are all you know. Letting go is like disarming a trap designed to protect you—it requires careful, gentle hands. And you’re terrified that Toji’s large, scarred hands will be too rough.

But you recognize that you can’t tell him to try, and you not do the same. That’s not fair to him, or to whatever this dance is that you are both trying to learn the steps to.

As Toji wipes the sweat from his brow, he unwittingly smears a streak of grease across his forehead, drawing your attention. “If you really feel like you need to repay me, then I don’t know—spend a day with me.”

You lift an eyebrow, surprised at his suggestion. “A whole day?”

Toji nods. “When the part comes in and you’re feeling better. No long ass shifts. No PI cases. Just you and me.” He offers a half-smile, white teeth glimmering in the sun and the look is as disarming as it is dangerous.

Your interactions with Toji, even limited, have always been charged with an intensity you’ve avoided and craved. The meaning behind the car repairs and taking care of you, it’s not just surface level. There’s more to it…he’s trying. So now it’s your turn.

You sniff through a congested nose and clear your rough throat, grabbing the rag from his hands and standing on your toes to reach his forehead. You don’t get very far, but Toji leans down so his forehead is closer to you, holding back a snicker at the height difference. You wipe the grease away, locked on the task because you can feel his stare.

“An entire day with you sounds…ominous.”

“I’ll make sure to feed you,” Toji responds, a comforting rumble that unexpectedly makes you laugh. A small smile blooms across your face and the tension in your stomach eases. You feel a little better, still on a tightrope but you can see the other side. With the grease now gone, you sink back to your slightly achy heels, unable to look away now that you’re both eye-level. “I’ll throw in a thirty-minute lunch break.”

“Make it an hour. Don’t try to short change me,” you challenge, playfully. His eyes, emerald and sharp, scan your face with open curiosity, and you wonder if you’ll ever get used to his intense focus. You press the rag into his white shirt, deliberately looking to the dirt on the fabric to ground your thoughts. “How’s your finger?”

His laughter vibrates through him, a melodic bark that makes you bite the inside of your cheek, and you watch his abdomen tighten under his shirt from the motion. Toji’s fingers brush against yours as he takes the rag from your hand, his touch making your heart jump. The scars on his knuckles catch the sunlight, and you’re struck again with the curiosity of how they got there.

“I’ve had worse.”

You can’t tell if that’s a joke…or if he’s serious, but you don’t have time to ask because his lips press against your cheek, stealing another unasked kiss that leaves you momentarily off-balance. You swat at him in reflex as if he’s a fly in your ears, swallowing a stuttering response that you’re glad doesn’t filter into the air.

“You’re burning up. Go lay down,” he murmurs, almost gentle now. “I’ll finish up here and head out.”

You can stay.

It’s what you want to say. The words are on the tip of your tongue, pressing against the back of your teeth, but you curl the muscle back and purse your lips, offering a tight nod before you turn and walk away.

Your Crocs squeak against the concrete, your pace quickening because you can feel Toji’s eyes on your back, watching you. You’re burning up from the summer air and the jacket that’s around you. But there’s an underlying, electrifying warmth that pulls a small smile on your face, your hands rising to your cheeks to quell the heat flush that you know is not from your fever.

Thanks for reading!

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