#initial d fic

[keferon]

Two Peas in a Pod: part 2/?

*slips another piece into your mailbox*

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Jazz was still feeling a little woozy from his donation in the dark hours of the morning. Blaster had breakfast changed from the usual to something that felt more like a treat, probably a reward for his good behaviour, and to help his body recover. Fish heavy in proteins, fat, all that healthy stuff. Something that normally he would have tried to savour, but he wolfed it down from excitement. Too many questions ran through his head, and most he couldn't bring himself to voice.

The mer, the mer would pull through. Blaster told him about how he had saved their life with his blood. Praised him high and low. Because Blaster knew how Jazz felt about seeing blood, about how hard blood tests were for him, and that was only a tiny vial. Not three big bags of it. Jazz hadn't seen how much they had taken – because he had kept his eye closed until they left in a hurry –, and hearing about it made him dizzy for other reasons, but he honestly felt real proud of himself.

It was a new feeling, different from other moments of pride – like when he figured out the lock codes. Yeah, this gave him butterflies and the drive to help more.

Blaster laughed when Jazz offered that the vets could take more if the other mer needed it. His handler didn't think it would be, but he would pass it on to the vet team.

Jazz's morning checks were a little off, expected with having a little less fluids and feeling off-balance, but it was kept short and quick. Blaster told him that if he learned anything more, he'd tell him next time he came by and then hurried back down to the staff area. Blaster was needed elsewhere, understandably as there weren't many mer experts here, though he did leave Jazz his waterproof stereo if he wanted to play some of his favourites.

But, the orca mer was far too busy causing a whirlpool from the laps he was swimming. He was too excited to sit still, and embarrassment be damned he started practising old vocals. He didn't remember much of his mother tongue, and he was pretty sure that his pronunciation was off, that or had one hell of an accent. Echo-speech was even more rusty. And once he had gone over and over what he could recall, Jazz began to really worry. A few sentences and handful or so of words was all he had? Gods, I hope I can at least make a decent first impression. Blaster said they were just like me, so hopefully, that will give me some starting points.

More than he cared to count, Jazz would swim into the shallow waters of the medical bay and hope to see something through that window. But no one ever came close enough for him to hear any news of the mer. He couldn't even see anything on his radar, wherever they had done treatment, it wasn't in the hospital ward. It almost felt like he was being purposely kept in the dark.

And just when Jazz was starting to worry that things had taken a bad turn, a group of staff turned up around four pm. He wasn't able to ask any questions, or rather they refused to answer. Shooing him away as they got to work. Starting with closing the gate to the bay to 'keep him out'. Jazz could easily climb those walls, but that wasn't the point. Even if the gate window was closed, he could pick up that they were setting up the water hammock. But it wasn't until he heard the cautionary beeping of the hoist lift approaching that it dawned on him – the mer was coming. Now.

"Jazz," Blaster called, "… Jazz," he blew the training whistle and finally got his mer's attention. "Stop pacing and get over here."

"But–" Jazz looked back longingly up the wall.

"Jazz," his tone dropped to a firm one, and Jazz begrudgingly swam over to the pier. The human crouched and made sure that they held eye contact before he spoke. "I need you to promise me that you will stay in your enclosure."

He sunk a little, trying to play into his cuteness, but being far too anxious to really pull it off. "What do you mean?"

"Jazz," now warning him. Blaster knew full well that he was more than capable of getting into or out of places he shouldn't, bloody Houdini mermaid, "this is serious. Things are going well, we want to keep it that way. Which means keeping things calm and feeling safe. You're excited, I get it, we all are. But in about an hour, they'll be waking up and – from past experience seen with wild Mers – they will likely freak out. And the last thing we need is you hauling your tail over that wall and making things worse. Understand?"

The beeping was louder how and the hiss of hydraulics caused Jazz to look up. The arm of the lift was visible over the wall. They're here!

"Jazz," Blaster hopelessly called for his attention once more.

Within moments, a massive bundle was carefully raised, the staff calling out and coordinating. Jazz's gaze was fixed on the black and white fluke poking out, it was the only part of them he could see, and his heart began to race. Once they became hidden by the wall again, Jazz moved back to pacing by the gate without even thinking. Listening to people hopping into the water to unstrap the mer and call back n' forth. "Careful, careful! – Watch the head! – Someone give me a hand over here! – We're clear on this side! – Keep the head up!"

Really starting to sound like a broken record, Blaster chirped the whistle and called out to him again. The expression he wore must have been pretty pitiful because the look on Blaster's face dropped. "If I open the view port… will you promise me that you will wait, that you will stay in your enclosure?"

"I promise," he answered hastily, placing his hands on the gate, over the panel that would slide open.

"And that you will wait until everything is in the clear, till the staff come to oversee the integration. There will be no rushing things and no asking staff when we will open the gate."

"I promise," he repeated, trying not to beg.

Satisfied, Blaster pulled out his radio, "Blaster to Control; when the team is out of the Mer enclosure's medical bay, open the view port. Jazz's stress is mounting without a visual."

"Can do," came a quick reply.

Though, opening the panel was not. Several minutes went by, the hoist had cleared out, and much of the staff had returned to their other duties. Only two remained double-checking the mer's breathing and pulse. The moment that the last of them left, Jazz heard the lock disengage, and he retracted his hands as the panel shifted and began to slide open. The window was too small to get more than his hand – maybe up to his elbow if he wanted to push it – through, and sat just at water level– any movement sending water hopping to either side. But it gave him a clear view of the surface area inside.

Oh.

Oh. Jazz stopped breathing. While the mer's body was mostly supported by the fabric of the hammock, cradling them on their side, effectively hiding most of them from Jazz's angle. Propped up on a soft floating platform was the mer's head, face towards the gate. Sharp features and elegantly shaped finials, with flattering lines of their markings complimenting the peaceful expression as they slept. The butterflies from earlier came back stronger than ever, his heart thundering as words fumbled from Jazz's lips, "he's beautiful…"

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-GLC

Orca Prowl really is just-- too fucking pretty, omg, I'm living through Jazz in this moment like when I first saw your designs of him.

I'm more than happy to continue writing for you, you bring me so much joy. I screamed when I saw how much you liked it. If you have any requests you would like me to add to the story, leave it in the tags or comments ♡ I now plan to continue until the tsunami and a bit afterwards, maybe more, we'll see~

Upd: There is a next part!

Previous

Oh. MY GOD. OKAY ALRIGHT OKAY ALRIGHT OKA

I'M ABOUT TO START PACING IN CIRCLES JUST LIKE JAZZ OVER HERE KDLCNFJFLFB PL E A S E THIS IS SO GOOD. The tension?? You can fucking TASTE it IT'S SO GREAT GLC I LOVE YOU

The way it all starts at night and then you (as a reader) have all this additional time to boil in your anticipation?? So fucking great. Like you can really feel how little power Jazz has over the wholse situation. The plot is moving but he doesn't have any saying in it. Well. Yet heheh

Anyway haha. Im normal and I made some art>:D

[jessicas-pi]

For the ask game, "arranged marriage+secret identity+eloping aka basically eloping with someone you're already engaged to, but you didn't *know* you were engaged to them. Back home their parents are facepalming in exasperation because *both* of them just eloped with *each other*" AU with, of course, Sabine and Ezra. Please

I was a little stumped on this at first, but then I got INSPIRATION and speedwrote half of this in one night! And then I procrastinated for six months before writing the other half also in one night! 😅

btw, this is set in my Jedi Get Hitched AU (here's links to part one and part two for reference), which was not originally a sabezra au... but when it comes to me, if I am given the opportunity, anything can be a sabezra au (and a very long one, apparently... oops...)

--

Ursa Wren would like to state, for the record, that it was incredibly difficult to arrange a marriage alliance with the Jedi Order, and people really ought to start giving her a little more credit for pulling it off.

She wouldn't have considered it at all, except that clan tensions were rising (again), and as there had already been one recent Jedi-Mandalorian intermarriage, Ursa concluded that it really would be handy to have a lot of space warrior monks with laser swords as one's in-laws, should things come to war.

So, she got to work on it.

First, there was that message to the Jedi Council—and their reply, which explained that the Council's role in a Jedi marriage was really more of a permission thing than an arrangement thing and that the Jedi did not actually set up marriages with politicians and planetary rulers, it was just that they had an unfortunate habit of falling in love with them, so they wouldn't be arranging any betrothals or anything of the sort, but that if some day in the future, either of Ursa's children should form a mutual affection with one of the Jedi Order, they could certainly consider it.

Then Ursa had to go about trying to ensure that one of her children did form a "mutual affection" with a Jedi, which she started by bringing her family to Coruscant for a vacation and finding an excuse to tour the Jedi Temple. Tristan, she dismissed after just one afternoon visiting the Jedi Archives to explore their section on Mandalore—he went out of his way to be antagonistic to the Jedi, and the visit ended with a sweet-faced, doe-eyed twelve-year-old girl slam-tackling him to the ground in a blind fury. There was clearly no future alliances to be made regarding him.

But Sabine, Ursa considered. After all, she was more inclined to get along with the Jedi in general. And that Padawan that gave them a tour did seem a little smitten...

Perhaps it was coincidence and perhaps it wasn't—perhaps, indeed, someone on the Jedi Council had a sense of humor about things—because when a Jedi was requested to attend a peace conference on Krownest, who should show up but this same Padawan and his Jedi Master?

The Jedi Master made eye contact with Ursa , and shot her a wink with a nod towards his Padawan, who was gaping goggle-eyed at Sabine.

Oh, yeah, she thought, giving him a subtle nod of acknowledgement and the hint of a smirk. They know.

The conference lasted a few days, and Ursa instructed Sabine to take an interest in the boy. He's our guest, she'd said, and the rest of Clan Wren certainly isn't going to make him feel welcome. Do me a favor and take pity on the boy, would you? Make him feel like there's at least one person in the fortress who wouldn't wring his neck if they got the chance.

Sabine had rolled her eyes and saluted sarcastically, because she was fourteen and sarcasm was her language, but Ursa observed that she did her best to help the Padawan. By the last day, she and the boy were even passing notes to each other.

When the conference was over, Ursa slid into the shadows with the stealth of a well-trained Nite Owl, and watched the two. The boy broke away from his Master and slipped up to Sabine, darting through the crowd. He was only by her for a second—just long enough to stuff a scrap of flimsi into her hand and blurt out, "Call me!" and add on a "Please!" as he tripped backwards into the bustle of people, heading back to his Master.

Ursa saw Sabine eye the paper with a look of incredulous amusement, and her heart sunk. That flimsi was headed straight into the wastebasket, no doubt of it. So, Ursa acted quickly.

"I hope you're not going to keep that," she said dryly, stepping up to look over Sabine's shoulder. Her daughter jumped, crumpling the flimsi in her hand as if she could hide it. Ursa just arched an unimpressed eyebrow at her. "Take my advice, and don't bother being friends with a Jedi."

As Sabine's choice of friends was something Ursa nagged her about often, Ursa thought the idea was particularly genius. There was no way Sabine was getting rid of that number now—if only out of sheer spite.

It turned out, that was all Ursa ever needed to do. Sabine and the boy did the rest.

By the time she was sixteen, Sabine had casually brought up going to Coruscant "to see the Mandalore collection in the Jedi Archives" again at least four times, and when Ursa and Alrich did arrange the trip, the blue-eyed boy just so happened to be the one giving them the tour again. Ursa did not miss the way he and Sabine seemed to isolate themselves, standing side-by-side with their heads together for brief moments of whispered talk, interspersed with giggles.

When she was eighteen, Sabine actually insisted on going to Coruscant once again, this time specifically to see the boy. Apparently, that cockroach of a Sith had managed to escape his holding cell in the Jedi Temple, and on his way out, he badly injured the boy's Master. Sabine said—with no room for disagreement—that Ezra needs all the friends he can get right now, Mother.

(Ursa pretended to be very inconvenienced by it all, and announced that Sabine would have to go on her own.)

(Sabine clearly didn't mind.)

When she was twenty, Sabine brought up the idea of her attending an art school on Coruscant. Ursa allowed it.

When she came home, at twenty-two, there was a look in her eyes that spoke volumes—a look that said that home wasn't quite home anymore, that it was missing something, that it was missing someone.

There was something else different about her, as well. She wore a blue, crystalline jewel on a leather cord around her neck.

When Ursa asked what it was, Sabine explained—hastily, with a light flush and a little stammering—that it's nothing, really, just an old lightsaber crystal. Further questioning revealed that Ezra was the one to give it to her, and that it was his old lightsaber crystal, from the first lightsaber he made.

"Fascinating," Ursa remarked, wearing a mask of disinterest, and then bustled off to send another comm to the Jedi Council—this time asking them if there would be any problem with her daughter and that Jedi of hers marrying.

Their reply was short and concise.

Thank the Force, we were beginning to think you'd never ask.

~~~~

Sabine hadn't meant to fall in love.

She was the eldest child of the ruling family, and that meant she would need to marry logically. She could fall in love with her spouse once the vows were said and they were a team. Before then, it had to be all business. She wasn't going to get caught up in a romance with someone she could never really be with, and she wouldn't break her own heart.

But some things were just out of her control.

Her feelings for Ezra Bridger were one of those things.

Sabine didn't know when she started falling for him, but she realized it halfway down, and tried to find a way to stop it, but there was nothing to slow her fall, and she plummeted.

She fell and fell and fell, until the night before she left to go home, when Ezra gave her his old kyber crystal—and a soft kiss.

She ought to have pushed him away, but she didn't. Like a sentimental idiot, she'd melted into him, kissing him back, as fierce and heady as he'd been tender and sweet. And when both of them were so out of breath that they had to break apart, he'd whispered to her in a dazed wonder— "I think I love you."

Sabine hit rock bottom at full speed and shattered.

She couldn't live without him. She knew that now. He'd woven himself into her soul, and the idea of leaving him just then made her heart throb with regret.

But she had to go home, so she went, and he was in her thoughts every second of the way.

He was still in her thoughts at dinner that night—with the ghost of his embrace keeping her warm and the feel of his kiss still burning on her lips—when Mother brought up marriage.

Sabine barely heard the words her mother said. She knew this was coming. It was a surprise it hadn't happened sooner.

It would have been a mercy if it had happened sooner. Sabine wouldn't have known what she had to lose, then.

What she had to lose.

The thought brought a lump into her throat, making it hard to swallow, and her eyes started to sting.

Sabine rose, and asked to be excused, and didn't wait for an answer. She went back to her room, and because it was what she always did when she needed to talk, she called him.

"Mother thinks it's time for me to get married," she said.

"Oh."

Ezra's voice was hoarse and a little broken, and it broke her all the more. She said nothing in reply—her words were gone.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked her softly.

Sabine would have said that there was nothing he could do at all. But the kyber crystal strung around her neck was warm to the touch, and as she traced her fingertips lonesomely along the smooth planes of its surface, an idea came to her.

It was an idea so reckless, so wild, so entirely irresponsible that it was impossible.

But Sabine could work with impossible.

"Well," she said. "There is something."

----

Caleb had commed Hera last night and asked her to be here for this discussion with Ezra. Apparently, the Council had reached out to Caleb last night with a message from Countess Wren, wherein she said that she was pretty sure it would be agreeable to all parties concerned if her daughter and Caleb's Padawan tied the knot, and that they might want to be quick about suggesting it before the two just up and eloped together. Caleb had messaged Hera, then, asking her to help him explain the situation to Ezra—who had spent the last eight years stubbornly and consistently insisting that he and Sabine were only friends, and might need some persuading to own up to his own feelings.

But when Hera showed up at the boys' quarters in the Temple the next morning, Ezra was nowhere in sight, and Caleb was slouched back on the couch, wheezing with laughter.

"Love? What is it?"

Caleb was laughing too hard to answer, and he just held out a piece of flimsi to her, indicating that it was the source of his amusement.

She took it and sat down beside him, reading it twice through before the meaning of it fully sank in.

Dear Master, Do you think the Council will be very annoyed that I got married without their permission? Like, I already said the vows and everything so it won't make me call off the elopement if they will, but it would be nice to know that Master Windu won't give me the Eyebrows Of Disappointment look when I get back from the honeymoon. See you in a couple weeks! Ezra Wren (née Bridger)

Hera huffed a rueful laugh under her breath.

"Well. That simplifies things."

[eggtoastt]

Yo @lyonface! I could not be happier with the request you made because I'm an absolute SUCKER for ryoutaku. I had to stop myself from biting more than I could chew for this..

Happy Xmas!

@initialdsecretsanta <----- eyy ty too :)

[greenswing]

Woah does anyone remember this dude from the manga that never made it to the anime.... Asakura Shotaro or something....

[debestest]

Hiii, this is my @initialdsecretsanta gift for @hewoweens !! I tried to write about the Takahashi brothers being silly together, I hope you enjoy, and happy holidays! 💙

[lenkusov]

fuck it, i wrote an Initial D oneshot fic

Minor spoilers for Third Stage warning, also some spoilers for Extra Stage I guess but that was kinda just fanservice anyway. I did use my (objectively correct) headcanon interpretation of Impact Blue and the Night Kids where Mako and Sayuki are a bi-lesbian situationship, while Takeshi and Shingo are absolutely bangin but also deep in the closet. Multiple POVs, no sex, lots of mutual pining and ish though.

The crowd in the trailhead pulloff thrummed with a dozen quiet conversations, occasionally punctuated by a line of RedSuns or a pair of outsiders screaming through the wide turn beyond the guardrail as they made use of the open practice time before the race. The auras of the cars seemed, to Mako at least, a lot more restrained than was usual - most trying to leave space in the oncoming lane for the spectators headed up the mountain.

Sure, they might be practicing, but she knew that as soon as 10pm drew near, the mountain would go still and silent as all the junior racers tried to find any parking spot left with a halfway-decent view. The galleries were packed tonight, fans sitting on every meter of retaining wall and hanging off every section of guardrail, some sitting on the roofs of their cars or even climbing onto the trail's bulletin board shelters to see over the crowds in the pulloffs. Many had given up on even FIDNING parking, hiking up the trails or riding one of the packed buses that grew farther apart as the hours grew later. She and Sayuki had seen Akagi Pass crowded before, but the upcoming battle of legends had drawn numbers that rivaled even professional rally events.

She was just glad that they showed up early, claiming a spot at the wide turn preceding the final hairpin section, the view from here was good and the lot wasn't as crowded as the pulloffs at any of the hairpins, or the lot at the top of the mountain filled with the usual groupies trying to grab the attention of the Rotary Brothers. Naturally, they weren't the ONLY team to have picked this spot either - at the other end of the pulloff, the familiar black outline of the R32 Skyline and the pair leaned against it was hard to miss, despite the way they reflexively stepped away from each other whenever someone looked their direction.

Impact Blue and the Night Kids had hung out a lot over the fall and winter, finding a lot of common ground that DIDN'T involve getting beaten by Akina's eight-six and going on a lot of "double dates" to ski lodges, hot springs, family restaurants, and other things of the sort. Shingo and Takeshi always seemed to be more interested in each other than either of the girls, which was fine by them, except for the awkwardness when Shingo and Sayuki worked behind her back to set her up with some glasses-wearing twink in an MR2 so his parents would stop asking so many tough questions.

Yeah, he was nice and all, but they never did more than hold each other's hands, and he even had the audacity to want her to quit street racing when her biggest dream in life had been to go pro! She'd scared the hell out of him with that run down Usui, even without Sayuki's navigation skills, and she hadn't seen or heard from him since. As much as she was still somewhat hurt about Iketani ghosting her last summer, she figured he would at least understand her dreams instead of trying to tie her down in the name of 'safety'. Miyahara had probably just snap-oversteered in the rain and gotten cold feet or something.

Mako sighed to herself, and leaned back against the Sileighty's fender. Sexuality and street racing were both equally complicated, she figured, but at least racing ONLY came with stigma from people she didn't care about anyway, and she could talk about the intricacies of it with someone besides Sayuki and the Night Kids. During the last winter, after they'd all gotten more comfortable with the other teams' presence and with the help of a couple rounds of hot amazake to shake off the chills, Shingo started getting a bit more handsy with Takeshi than was socially appropriate, which prompted Sayuki to do the same to her, and it turned into a game of gay chicken in the booth at the back of the ski lodge's restaurant.

After Takeshi finally managed to shake a little bit of sense into Shingo, they all adjourned to the upstairs porch of the lodge where there were fewer bystanders to send them dirty looks, talking until well after the sun set about each other's sexual preferences. Turns out, Nakazato and Shouji only maintained their rivalries to keep the more novice drivers from spreading too many rumors about them, neither of them really had more than a platonic attraction to girls but they both kept trying to find someone to be their 'beard' to deflect the heat. Mako and Sayuki's situation was different, they were both bisexual, leaning pretty hard towards some very specific men but they always ended up coming back to each other. After they'd met in high school, they moved in together, and while neither of them would ever say they were anything beyond 'friends' or 'teammates' it wasn't particularly well-hidden that their relationship went deeper.

Eventually, the discussion shifted towards the sexualities of OTHER street racers who they'd never seen with girlfriends, and how all the best drivers seemed like they were probably not straight. Those Emperor dudes all looked like something out of a barazoku magazine, they all drove matching cars, and despite positively reeking of testosterone, none of em ever seemed to have an interest in women unless it was to beat them at street racing - the group all agreed that those Lan-Evos were definitely just trying to draw attention away from the abnormal amount of 'bro hugs' they gave each other.

Takeshi brought up Purple Shadow, a team in a neighboring province who he'd heard rumors of for years. "God Arm" and "God Foot" had been out and public longer than anybody in their group had been alive, and from the amount of gory details on their relationship Mako heard the Night Kids ramble off, she was pretty sure those two's nicknames came from how absolutely shameless they were with their kinks. Their openness kept both of them from going pro, but they still maintained contacts with a lot of professional teams - the teams wanted their skills, but their sponsors wouldn't touch an openly-gay driver with a ten foot pole. Shingo explained that was why they always had to act like rivals in public, any gay rumors would keep both of them from ever getting a spot on a pro team once they graduated college.

It was then that Sayuki brought up the two they were going to be watching race today. Apparently, on their double-date with Iketani and Fujiwara, no matter how much Sayuki tried to get a response out of him - even going down the waterslide with his head in her cleavage - the most he ever gave her was a cute amount of blush and a look of public embarassment. Word on the street was that Takumi had blown his engine trying to beat one of those Emperor jerks on Akagi, nobody really knew why he was racing against the same team AGAIN or why he went to Akagi to do it, but the fact Ryousuke's challege to Fujiwara had been 15 red roses ("forgive me for challenging you") and he'd dressed for the race like he was going on a first date carried a few Implications™ with it. It didn't help either of them's cases that the kid always seemed to get flustered around the elder Takahashi, blushing harder than anything Sayuki had ever managed to achieve with him last summer. Mako hadn't exactly been paying attention to the others that day, but from what she remembered, she had to agree - that kid definitely had a crush on Ryousuke, almost as bad as her own, but it seemed like HIS crush was actually being reciprocated. On the porch that day, they had to agree - if their crushes ended up with each other instead of with them, that'd probably be even hotter than the alternative. And more likely to happen.

Sayuki's fingers snapped in front of her face, jerking her out of thoughts.

"Earth to Mako, get your head outta the clouds before the race starts! It's 9:55, and that guy with the radio said the Eight-Six just started up the hill!"

Before she could say anything back, the squeal of tires and the roar of an unfamiliar engine made the crowd fall silent. It didn't sound like the Eight-Six she remembered racing, not even close - it was smooth yet angry, revving as high as a motorcycle but at a deep, thrumming pitch that belied its larger displacement. Whatever engine that kid had in there, it definitely wasn't road legal, that's for sure.

Headlights appeared at the hairpin opposite their pulloff, and the familiar frog face of the Panda Trueno whipped around, going much faster uphill than a naturally-aspirated eight-six had any right to. It screamed through the wide turn, people scrambling to clear off the guardrail as the rear bumper missed their kneecaps by a few inches. The scream of the engine morphed into a roar as it accelerated off into the night, leaving everyone stunned - none of the races with the new engine had been widely publicized, only the last race against the SW20 had been planned far enough in advance for anyone to videotape it, and even the copy-of-a-copy-of-a-copy bootlegs full of smearing and static were hard to get ahold of, so few had even SEEN the new engine in action. Everyone had still HEARD about it, though - heard of the eight-six FLYING down Iroha like it had wings, trading passes with the SW20 multiple times and winning by a nose at the last possible second. The footage that Takeshi had showed her at his and Shingo's dorm room was even more unbelievable than the rumors.

Even as the wailing and screeching of Akina's Ghost faded up the mountain, the crowd remained near-silent except for a few hushed whispers. Mako took advantage of the crowd's distraction to pull Sayuki down into a passionate, but brief, kiss behind the Sileighty's fender, watching the Night Kids' arms wrap around each other's shoulders from the corner of her eye.

________

From the overlook above, Ryousuke watched those familiar headlights flicker and dance through the trees, tinged lightly green by the spring foliage. He'd waited months for this night to come, counted off the days, coasted on the vivid memories of that passion-fueled night on Akina. He could still smell the burning rubber from their tires, the acrid oil-smoke of his FC blending with the sweet-and-sour exhaust of the eight-six, backed by the green humidity of a late summer's night. The smell of adrenaline sweat and overloaded deodorant wafted off Fujiwara as they stood, barely 3 feet apart on the road shoulder after the race, the kid looking up with those big doe eyes at him and a bright red flush in his cheeks as Ryousuke praised his driving skills, trying to convey to the cutely-oblivious teenager that the racing world's bigger than Akina and his skills are worthy of recognition.

Very few people could get to Ryousuke's heart the way Fujiwara Takumi did. Fujiwara was the only one alive right now, anyway. The thought of Kaori turned his emotions sour for a brief moment, but he pushed the dark thoughts away as quickly as they'd appeared. That Dream was long gone, he'd gotten over it, and it had made him a stronger person and a faster street racer. The fact that Fujiwara showed up out of nowhere one day and inertia drifted into his life, as oblivious to his skill as he was to the effect he had on Ryousuke, made the void in his heart ache in a way he hadn't felt in years. This time, he kept promising to himself, he would put his feelings and greed behind him. This time, his Dream would not become a nightmare.

The headlights disappeared out of view as they approached the final climb to the peak, and Ryousuke composed himself as he strolled back to the parking lot. The RedSuns were keeping the crowds at bay along with the handful of faces he'd recognized from Akina - they'd showed up well in advance, as usual, while Takumi seemed to love making him shiver in anticipation as he showed up at the last minute with dramatic timing. He approached his FC, starting it and checking the gauges, ensuring the temperamental 13B-T rotary was properly warmed up in advance of the race, stepping out as the eight-six pulled up beside him.

Takumi stepped out, dressed as understated as always in his t-shirt and jeans while shrugging out of his blue windbreaker, and stood there staring into his eyes. Ryousuke stared back, his cable-knit turtleneck keeping the chill off for now, but knowing he'd soon be sweating right through it once the race kicked off. The tension in the air was palpable as they exchanged eye contact, waiting for each other to make the first move.

Takumi scratched the back of his neck, the first hint of a blush forming under the streetlights as he broke the silence.

"Uhh, I guess this is it."

Ryousuke let out a brief chuckle. "It sure is, Fujiwara. How do you want to run this race? I seem to recall you asking me to take the lead, so I assume that means we're going to run cat-and-mouse. However, if you pass me on the first run, I'd still like a better look at your driving, so if you're okay with it, I'd like to make at least two runs. After all, if you decide to accept my offer, I would be your team leader and I'd love to see your style up close…" he said, ending with a small smile, never breaking eye contact.

Takumi's blush deepened. "S.. Sure, I'd like that too. To tell you the truth, I don't really care who wins or loses this race, I just wanna… make sure I'm good enough for you, I guess. And I… I wanted to race you again, it felt too much like cheating last time when we raced on Akina and it's been eating me up ever since, cause you've always been nicer to me than any of the other street racers and I feel really guilty about it for some reason… If that makes any sense."

"That's understandable to me, Takumi," he replied, "Your home course always puts you at the advantage in a race. Tell me, why did you want to race me on Akagi this time? If you wanted it to be fair, we could have raced at a different pass, like Usui or Myogi. On Akagi, one of us still has the upper hand, although with that Group A engine under the hood and how much your skills have improved since our last race, the playing field might not be as uneven as it would normally be for me. After all, Sudo Kyoichi is only other person I've raced on Akagi in years out of fairness."

Takumi seemed a bit thrown off. "Wait, how did you know I have a Group A engine? I mean, it does sound different, but nobody except Wataru and some of the guys at the gas station know about it?"

Ryousuke bit back a laugh, ignoring the fact the kid hadn't answered his question. "Takumi, I know a lot more about you than you think I do. An acquaintance of mine in Tokyo, Nakai, was the one who sold the engine to your father a few years ago. When I heard your new engine for the first time I knew exactly what you'd gotten your hands on, and I'm glad you're putting it to good use. They made 5,000 of those engines, but as far as I'm aware, there's only one other person who drives an eight-six with one, and he's racing on the circuit."

While Takumi tried to untangle his tongue and process what he'd just said, Ryousuke stepped forward and placed both hands on his shoulders. "With that engine under the hood of your eight-six, and with as much as you've improved since you raced my brother last summer, I think you've got the potential to do great things. You've already beaten me before, and I have no illusions about being able to beat you tonight. My goal with this race is to show you how much you've grown as a driver, Takumi, and… I also simply want to race with you again. Not to win or lose, but just to drive."

Ryousuke released his shoulders and stepped back to his FC, leaving Fujiwara stunned and blushing at his touch. The slam of his door shook Takumi out of his paralysis, and he hurried into the eight-six to turn around and pull behind the FC.

Fumihiro counted off their start, engines revved, tires squealed, and they flew off down the mountain in perfect lockstep. The sounds of their engines was harmonized, the hiss of the FC's blowoff valve and the pop of the eight-six's exhaust as they clutched in to change gears were like percussion in cadence. The FC carved a perfectly practiced line through every corner, the eight-six flowing along in its wake in a delicate vehicular ballet through every corner. They drifted in parallel through the hairpins, alternating lead positions and driving abreast on the straightaways without a care for who won or lost.

Their cars were extensions of their bodies, and their driving was an intimate dance. The passion for speed, for the roar of engines and the scream of tires, the adrenaline flowing without the stress that usually came with a battle like this, the White Comet of Akagi and the Ghost of Akina soared down from the mountain in pure automotive bliss.

The bottom of the mountain came too quickly for either of their likings as they crossed the finish line neck and neck, whipping their cars into opposing J-turns at the bottom intersection and burning a heart into the pavement in rubber. The trip back to the top was more subdued, neither of their cars being tuned for the hillclimb, but neither wanted to leave the other behind. They whipped their cars around in a heart once again, the eight-six pulling to the front, and didn't even wait for Fumihiro to count them off before they were headed back down again.

________

They lost count of how many runs they'd made, but by the time they threw on their flashers and crept into the pulloff at the bottom, it was well past midnight. Their engines were running on fumes, their tires were worn down to the belts, almost all the spectators had gone home, and they were sweat-drenched and exhausted as they stumbled out of their cars on wobbly legs. They leaned against their respective vehicles in the orange glow of the streetlamp overhead, the fiery passion in their eye contact not dulled in the slightest despite how worn out they both were.

They stood in silence for a while, no sound but the ticking as their engines cooled down and the slowing pants of their tired breathing, before Ryousuke broke out of his trance and reached into the door pocket for a smoke. Before the 3rd run, Ryousuke had slowed down at the top long enough to pull his sweater off, leaving only a thin undershirt clinging to his body with sweat, and Takumi couldn't help but stare as Ryousuke dragged slowly on his cigarette. His own T-shirt was soaked as well, the outline of his racing harness darkened into the fabric. They both looked haggard, but to each other's eyes, it was one of the most beautiful things they'd ever seen.

As Ryousuke blew out another smoke-filled breath, Takumi made his move, stumbling toward the older man and grabbing his waist with both hands as he buried his face into Ryousuke's neck, tears welling in his eyes. The forgotten cigarette dropped to the ground as Ryousuke returned the embrace, wrapping his hands around Takumi's shoulders and half-burying his face in the brunette's hair, one hand coming up to gently card his fingers through it. Neither of them spoke a word as the adrenaline wore off, sweat drying in the cool spring air.

Takumi loosened his grip, and Ryousuke allowed him to pull away. Takumi's hands stayed on Ryousuke's hips, Ryousuke's hands on his shoulders, looking into each other's eyes through the sweat-soaked bangs glued to their foreheads.

"Yes."

"Mmm? Yes to what, exactly?"

"Yes, I'll join your team. If there's any way I can be close to you like this again, I'll do whatever it takes."

Ryousuke cracked a smile. "Takumi, you gave me the best race of my life tonight, you know that, right? I haven't felt this good in years, I wouldn't give you up for the world."

Takumi's arms reached up under the other's shoulders as he stood on his toes, bringing Ryousuke's head down into a kiss. Ryousuke reciprocated, opening his mouth and flicking his tongue against Takumi's lips until they loosened, passion to rival their race flaring up between them, electricity arcing between tongues, bodies pulling tighter as Ryousuke stumbled back against the door of the FC. Takumi dragged one hand out of Ryousuke's hair, rubbing up and down his back, stopping to massage any knots felt in the sore muscles from their races, while Ryousuke pulled one of his hands free to grab Takumi's ass, pulling him up into their kiss. They were only dimly aware of the two cars that stopped in front of them, brakes squeaking and headlights shining through their closed eyelids.

They were rudely jerked out of their reverie by the honking of a car horn.

________

The Sileighty pulled out after the R32, headed downhill. Most of the spectators had long since left already, filing down the hiking trails or taking the opportunity between runs to pull out of their parking spots, but the Night Kids and Impact Blue had stayed until 12:30 in the morning. The races had been a sight to behold, the auras of the Comet and the Ghost blending together as if they were one and the same while they performed their intimate dances up and down the mountain. That last run had the steel belts of the tires kicking up a fantail of sparks, so they figured the pair had given up and called it a draw after fifteen minutes passed and neither of them came back up the hill.

During the first run, Takeshi and Shingo had locked their arms together, holding hands in anticipation as the pair came flying around the curve, then reflexively pulled away in mock disgust as soon as the race passed by, but as spectators dwindled they got bolder, pulling into tighter and tighter embraces every run until they eventually gave up and slipped into the backseat of the R32. Mako and Sayuki got the hint, climbing into their own car for a session of heavy petting, sitting up whenever they heard tire squeal to look out the window and watch for a few seconds as their crushes flew past. Mako climbed over the front when she heard the engine turn over and saw the lights of the R32 flash on through the rear windshield, Sayuki following behind, and pulled out to follow them down the mountain. She was curious what those two would be doing at the bottom when they got their.

"5,000 yen says they're making out, I had my doubts about them before but seeing the way they handled those cars in sync tonight, they gotta be madly in love or something."

sigh "Sayuki, you really gotta stop reading so many of those yaoi doijins, just cause they're both high level racers doesn't mean they're gay for each other."

"Whatever, you're just saying that cause you still think you have a chance with Takahashi Fuckin Ryousuke of all people. Puh-lease, you aren't the only girl who can drive fast."

Around the bend at the bottom, two sets of hazard lights blinked out-of-sync as the FC and the eight-six came into view. Between them, the two drivers were locked into a VERY passionate-looking kiss, groping each other completely oblivious to the 4 sets of eyes on them as Takeshi slowed the R32 to a stop in front of Mako. Without saying a word, she reached into the ashtray and pulled out a wad of tollbooth money, counting out five ¥1000 bills and passing them over to Sayuki, who immediately reached through the neck of her T-shirt and shoved them into her sports bra.

The passenger window of the R32 rolled down, and through the rear windshield, Mako saw Shingo reach across to double-tap the horn (to Nakazato's chagrine).

"Hey, why don't you two lovebirds get a room? You're lucky I don't have a camera on me, otherwise I'd show this to all of Gunma!"

The pair immediately disengaged, Takumi looking like a deer in the Sileighty's headlights for a moment before immediately clenching his fists in anger as soon as he recognized the face hanging out the r32's window.

"Fuck off, Shouji, I know you two tap each other almost as much as you tap guardrails!"

[suddencolds]

Purely Instinctive | Ki//ller Pet//er

Extremely competent assassin who handles every difficult situation inventively and with ease? What if he fell ill... 😭 (4.2k words)

This is a little different from what I usually write, but I've been reading Ki//ller Pe//ter on Webt//oon (link), and... um, this fic practically wrote itself. This might be the most self-indulgent thing I've written this year. Let's not talk about it 😭

For the sake of the fic, all characters are in their early twenties (aside from Peter, who is obviously a lot older). If you haven't read the series, they're all assassins who work for an organization called the Gl//ory Club. That's pretty much all you need to know :)

—

Here's Peter (under his current identity, Sun-Gu Kim) and Yuna:

—

The drive to the warehouse is unusually quiet.

The mission is simple—find an international spy, currently en route to escape via a ship which departs from the harbor at 6am, holding onto highly classified documents which he’s not supposed to have. The moment he steps foot off of Korean land, he will become much more difficult to apprehend—the ship the target is planning to take is a large cargo ship, its whereabouts easily tracked, but the Glory Club bounty has specified that the target will most likely part ways from the cargo ship on a small rowboat. There’s no telling at what point he’ll split off from the cargo ship, or where he’ll be headed next, which means:

They have only two hours to apprehend the subject before he becomes substantially harder to track down.

Yuna reaches up with a hand to rub her eyes. Of course, serving as part of Glory is no 9-5 job—she hadn’t expected volunteer missions to always take place at predictable times. But they’d gotten assigned to this particular mission on short notice, which meant that she’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep, tops, before having to drag herself out of bed for this.

They’d been whisked out on Sun-Gu’s motorcycle—the St. Petrus V4, she recalls. Somehow, Sun-Gu had known exactly where to head. How he’d known, with the entire city laid out in front of him, Yuna isn’t entirely sure. But he’d explained that the target’s trajectory would probably not be a straight line to the harbor—that would be too easy to intercept, and Sun-Gu had assured the target would be aware there would be someone on his trail. He’d probably avoid main roads, then, where there would be a higher chance of getting stopped by the police. Then, out of all the remaining routes from his last tracked location, it would only be feasible to get to the dock on time through six of them.

The rest had been intuition. Sun-Gu’s familiarity with the city is impressive. He barely glances at the street signs as he drives, the night warm and stagnant, his motorcycle dialed to silent, and not for the first time, Yuna wonders how he seems to know all of this.

Speaking of Sun-Gu—

Something is different about him tonight. Yuna probably would not have noticed, had she not spent the entirety of the motorcycle ride sitting behind him. He’s incredibly subtle about it. But it’s there, nonetheless—a slight change to his demeanor. Something nearly imperceptible, something she can’t quite pin down.

Had Yuna not known better, she might have attributed it to tiredness. But in the couple months she’s known Sun-Gu, she’s never seen him tired. He sleeps, like the rest of them, of course—he is only human—but for him, the transition between sleep and wakefulness seems like more of a formality. That is to say, he wakes up immediately alert, and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him tired.

It makes her wonder, a little, if there’s a reason to it. If there was ever anything in his life which mandated being a light sleeper, that required him to be up at a moment’s notice. Either way, it’s not the reason why he’s—off isn’t the right word. Different is more suitable. Typically, he’s in better spirits. But Yuna has seen him pissed off, and this isn’t it, either.

Sun-Gu parks the motorcycle just outside of the warehouse, unclips his helmet in one swift motion, and—after Yuna gets off—takes her helmet from her and stashes them both under the motorcycle seat, which Glory has designed to be self-locking. Then, without waiting to see if they’ll follow, he makes a lap around the periphery of the warehouse.

The Dokgo brothers have tagged along too—they’re being quiet, now, which perhaps is mercy enough. Probably Sun-Gu had given them a challenge to shut up, and they’ve taken it in good faith. Now, even when they have something to comment, they keep their voices to a whisper.

“What do you think he’s off doing?” Biggie says.

Junior shrugs. “Maybe taking a walk, to relieve some stress.”

“He’s looking for signs of entry,” Yuna tells them. Then, because she can’t help it, and because she’ll be a little pissed off if they’re the ones who end up jeopardizing the mission—“Remember what he said about being quiet?”

“Ah, shit,” Biggie says. “I am quiet. Maybe you should be quiet. Have you considered that?”

She ignores the both of them and heads over to the spot where Sun-Gu stands, now, his eyebrows furrowed. A slat that’s out of place. He pushes it, and it budges.

Underground, the ground rumbles underneath them, and then settles to reveal a trap door. 

Sun-Gu beckons for them to follow him, but he doesn’t wait up for them. Yuna quickens her pace to keep up. The trap door leads them down, down. The air underground is much cooler—Yuna finds herself wishing that she’d brought a thicker jacket.

Ahead of her, Sun-Gu—

Takes in a sharp breath. But no, it’s not just a breath. As she watches him, he lifts a hand, pinches it to the bridge of his nose. His shoulders jerk forward, though only slightly; his back muscles tense. All in all, the entire display is soundless.

Yuna’s feels her eyebrows creep up. 

This is certainly… new for him. But she doesn’t have time to think on it right now.

When they get to the bottom of the steps, the stairway opens out into a deserted hallway: cement walls, cement floors. It’s dark, and cavernous. This whole place feels empty. It’s a little creepy, really. Why Sun-Gu suspects that their target is hiding out here, Yuna isn’t sure. It seems counterproductive to hide out somewhere like this when, according to their intel, the subject has limited time already to make it out to the harbor.

That is, unless Sun-Gu suspects the intel that they were given might be wrong.

Sun-Gu switches on a flashlight he’s carrying and heads deeper in. It’s not until he stops, looking down the hallway to survey his surroundings that he hesitates, only for a moment. He lifts the collar of his shirt over his face, his shoulders tensing.

“Hh’—nKTtt-!”

The sneeze is practically soundless. That makes two times in one night. Something is definitely up, then. Yuna looks around. Perhaps the underground space is dusty, or perhaps it’s not well-ventilated and it’s grown mold, and he’s allergic. Except, the air down here feels remarkably dry—not the sort of environment mold would thrive under—and the floors look suspiciously well-maintained. It wouldn’t make sense for it to be something else, either—some other universal irritant. Sun-Gu is the only one here who’s sneezing. 

Yuna isn’t sure she’s ever heard him sneeze before, out of the months that she’s known him. Could it be some existing condition, then—not a product of their environment, but something from earlier?

“Man,” Junior mouths, from somewhere. “How much longer are we going to have to head down these hallways? They all look the same.”

Yuna turns to glare at him, puts her finger to her lips. “Longer if you aren’t quiet about it.”

“I don’t like this,” Biggie mutters. “When can we get to the fighting? All the lead-up is boring. It feels like we’re in some kind of horror movie.” Yuna squeezes her eyes shut, prays that they’re far enough from Sun-Gu—and, by extension, the target—that they can’t be heard. 

Sun-Gu stops, abruptly. He holds a hand up behind him, as if to say, stay back.

Yuna doesn’t know what he’s noticed, at first. But a moment later, she hears it—the click of a latch being undone, somewhere overhead.

Above them, a small trap door opens, and then pulls shut. A cylinder drops from the ceiling, leeching violet plumes of smoke. On instinct, Yuna pulls her shirt up to cover her nose and mouth.

Tear gas, she realizes—or something chemically similar. It’s some sort of aerosolized compound, meant to render them both less capable of seeing and—partly by extension—less capable of fighting. Her eyes tear up almost immediately, so much that she can barely keep them open. Her lungs burn in protest as she takes in a breath.

They’re in a long corridor. There’s a finite amount of smoke coming from the canister—if they wait it out, it will inevitably thin out. So this was more just a distraction, then. A flashy entry. Just enough time for whoever they’re up against to—

It takes her a few seconds to spot the figure through the smoke. 

She thinks back to the files on the subject. Medium, reddish brown hair, pale blue eyes. 182 cm. Trained in combat. The stranger in the hallway has their face obscured by a gas mask, their hair hidden under a hood, but she can tell by the musculature of their exposed arms that they appear to be well-trained. In their right hand, they are carrying a long, slender weapon. From one end—attached to a metal chain—is a sphere, lined with spikes, each of them carved down to a sharp point.

It must weigh half a ton, from the way it drags the chain down, but the figure wields it easily, as if it weighs absolutely nothing.

“That’s our guy!” Junior yells, at the same time as Biggie shouts, “Stop right there!”

Both of them charge forwards. It all happens in a split second. The figure adjusts their grip on the weapon to turn the wooden handle of it outwards. Then, before either of the brothers have a chance to react, they’re swung outwards by the sheer momentum of the rod. Biggie hits the ceiling with enough force that the concrete above them rumbles, the impact spiderwebbing the ceiling above them. Slabs of concrete rain down from the point of contact. The figure drives Junior straight into one of the walls at an awkward angle which renders him almost immediately unconscious.

Yuna can feel her own heart pounding in her ears. She slinks back into the darkness, pressing herself to the ground so that hopefully, the stranger will forget that she is there—or that she is even a threat to begin with. Seeing what they’re capable of, she isn’t sure she could do much in this situation to begin with.

How long has it been since the last time the path split off into multiple routes? When Yuna turns to look, the hallway before them and after them seems to stretch on and on. An endless concrete tunnel, with the white, sterile lighting of a laboratory space. Nothing to shield themselves with, and nowhere to hide. It’s a strange location to pick a fight in. What exactly was this place built for? 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the figure says to Sun-Gu, grinning. Half of their teeth have been replaced with gold tooth crowns. When they grin, the gold catches the light, winking. “Thirty seconds, huh? Your teammates couldn’t even hold their own for that long? It’s a damn shame. I didn’t even get to use the weapon as it’s intended to be used.” They tilt their head, staring down at Sun-Gu with a look of contempt. “I guess you could thank me for being merciful. But if I’m honest…”

Their smile darkens into something sharper, something hungry. “I just didn’t want to stain a flail of this quality with anyone’s blood but yours.”

Was this entire mission a setup, to get Sun-Gu into one place? Is the subject really in possession of any classified documents at all?

Sun-Gu twists away—not to evade, or not in preparation to attack. His shoulders hunch forward, his expression twisting. He coughs, roughly, down towards the ground. It’s the kind of cough that suggests that he’s been coughing like this for some time now—harsh and throat-scraping. 

That’s when it registers for Yuna.

He’s ill. It seems painfully obvious, in hindsight, now that she’s realized it. 

During the motorcycle ride here, he’d been careful not to touch her, Yuna realizes. Sun-Gu is always careful with his own space—he has an awareness of it, even outside of combat, that she thinks would be unusual for most. Even with small things—the ways he gestures, the way he holds himself—she gets the feeling that none of it is accidental. 

When she looks at him now, she notices—a slight, near-imperceptible flush to his features. He’s breathing a little more heavily than normal. Instincts he can hide. Instincts he can cover for. But there are some things which no amount of physical awareness can hide.

He has a fever, then. That’s probably why he hadn’t wanted her to touch him. He’d known that if she’d made contact with his skin, she would’ve felt it, and she thinks he probably hadn’t wanted to raise any concern.

Sun-Gu is here, on a mission, fighting a well-trained stranger on his own, equipped with nothing but a pocket knife, with no armor and no with no reinforcements. On any normal occasion, Yuna might trust him to be able to hold his own—she’s seen what he’s done, alone against a crowd of hundreds—but this time, it’s different, because Sun-Gu is unwell.

The figure looks surprised, at this. “Ah,” they say. Yuna can’t help but think they look like a predator, honing in on their prey, only to find that said prey is already bloodied and limping. Like someone surprised—but pleased—to find their job already done for them. “Don’t tell me you’re already not in tip-top shape? That’s a shame.”

Sun-Gu coughs, again, his chest shaking. Yuna feels a pang of worry in her chest. He really does look unwell—and he hasn’t said as much of a word to deny it, which is telling. She looks around for anything to help him with— If she were to call for reinforcements, she thinks it would take too long for them to find them all here, underground, in the elaborate array of tunnels.

The weapon they’re holding is heavy, which affects its maneuverability, and to some degree, its speed. But Sun-Gu’s knife is much more of a close-range weapon, which means that while Sun-Gu will have to get up close to them to even make a mark, the stranger would be theoretically able to fatally wound him while standing a meter away.

The figure presses forward. With the swing of one hand, the metal ball and the chain arc outwards neatly, directly towards Sun-Gu. For such a heavy weapon, Yuna is surprised to find that this person wields it with impressive speed. It’s nearly too fast for her eyes to track. Sun-Gu evades, easily, but the figure swings again, and again, and again. At this speed, it almost looks as though they’re slicing the air into shreds.

If Sun-Gu were to be hit, his body would stop all of the momentum at once, and the spikes would easily puncture skin, drive themselves into tissue and skin and bone. Worse, Yuna realizes, if the weapon makes it to Sun-Gu’s body—even if it’s lodged in a relatively nonfatal area—the figure will easily be able to drive it directly into a vital organ. That means that if Sun-Gu fails to dodge cleanly on just one occasion, this fight will be over.

That’s another thing, too. Sun-Gu’s radius of attack is limited by the length of his own arm. But the figure can stand in one place and swing the weapon anywhere that the length of their arm, the long rod, the chain, all put together, can reach.

“If I had a little more patience, I might even have waited for you to get back to full health, so that this could be a more memorable fight,” the figure says.

Sun-Gu’s breath hitches. His opponent is not kind enough to pretend not to notice. They drive forward, intending to use the moment of temporary weakness to their benefit, just as Sun-Gu jerks forward with a forceful, “hHh’EEZschHH-uH!”

Sun-Gu evades, but only barely. How he is able to predict the trajectory of the metal ball, even distracted, even with his eyes closed, Yuna isn’t sure. But it’s clear that he isn’t done, and by the time his eyes are already falling shut for another. He’s afforded a sharp, desperate breath, before his shoulders jerk forward again. “hH’nGKt-! Hh… hh-IIIH’DZSshH!”

He coughs, after, as if the sneezes have somehow irritated his throat further.  

The stranger grins. “...But I suppose having your head as a prize would be consolation enough.”

They sweep the chain in a wide arc, directly for Sun-Gu’s neck. Sun-Gu crouches for a moment, then takes a running leap up into the air, righting his trajectory with one foot to the wall to land behind them. He’s put his knife away, Yuna realizes. But there is nothing here—no props, no furniture—for him to repurpose into a weapon.

“Sorry,” Sun-Gu says. The expression on his face is not one of remorse. It’s one of clear, bitter irritation. He’s annoyed, she realizes. “You’re right. I’m not feeling my best today.”

It’s an admission, loud and clear, but the way he says it, it doesn’t sound like an admission of weakness. Up until now, he has been observing, Yuna realizes, as he’s done before—passively taking in the stranger’s fighting style, their handling of their weapon, their habits, their tells. 

“So,” Sun-Gu says, flatly. When the stranger swings again, Sun-Gu snags hold of the chain while it’s in mid-air, and—as if it’s weightless—yanks the stranger towards him. He takes hold of the chain with his other hand, testing its weight. The smile on his face is utterly cold. “Let’s get this over with quickly.”

—

Afterwards, when they leave the warehouse, the sun is starting to rise. Yuna finds a text from Glory Club on her phone from an hour ago, presumably from the chairman. It’s curt: Do not proceed. We have reason to doubt the motives of the group which supplied the intel. Ironically, there was not enough reception underground for their warning to reach them in time, but she thinks that Sun-Gu must’ve realized much earlier. 

Biggie and Junior are a little worse for the wear, but other than that, neither of them is concerningly injured. Biggie claims that he doesn’t have a concussion, but he doesn’t put up too much of a fight when Yuna insists that when they get back, their first stop will be to the medical ward to get fixed up. 

Speaking of Sun-Gu: he is quiet, which is not unusual. Sun-Gu has never been the most talkative person, but Yuna suspects that today, there’s more to it. 

“I can take us back,” Yuna says, trying not to make it sound pointed. It’s usually Sun-Gu who steers, but Yuna has enough experience with the St. Petrus V4 to handle a forty minute trip on paved roads, and enough experience too to know how to speed just enough to stay in control of it.

“It’s fine,” Sun-Gu says, flashing her a distracted smile. “It will be faster if I drive, because I won’t have to navigate.” He retrieves his own helmet from the seat compartment. Yuna spends a moment to watch him. He isn’t injured, nor does he look any less alert—he’d gotten out of the battle without so much as a scratch to show for.

But there are little hints, here and there, to exhaustion. The way he clears his throat before speaking, so quietly she can’t tell except for the slight bob of his throat, the slight furrow of his eyebrows. The way he pauses to clip his helmet, shielding his face with one hand from the gleam of the rising sun, as if his head is already hurting. The way he looks relieved to be sitting down, the way his hand lingers, a little shaky, on the motorcycle handles before he steadies it, looking faintly annoyed. 

Of course, for someone like Sun-Gu, where—on the battlefield—any sort of slight miscalculation could be the difference between life and death, where trusting his body to function exactly as he’s used to is crucial for his success, Yuna isn’t surprised that any sort of bodily inefficiency would be an annoyance, even more so for Sun-Gu than for most.

At the same time, as she stares at him, she has to wonder—just how long has he been unwell? Had she not been awake during the battle—had she been unconscious, then, like the other two—would she even have noticed? How many times in his life has he been ill and just proceeded? Yuna doesn’t know what his relationship to Peter is—whether he’s a long lost cousin, or someone who trained under him before, or something else. But she knows, from the way he fights, that he must’ve had years of combat experience even before he joined Glory. No one is born with that amount of expertise, that level of near-inhuman intuition.

In the past, when Sun-Gu found himself in life-or-death situations, had he proceeded like he is now—as though everything were normal? As though any affliction he was suffering through privately was not even worth the attention of his own team? It makes sense, she thinks—that he wouldn’t broadcast any weakness openly, especially for any potential adversaries to listen in on. But if he’d been so careful to hide it from all of them, how would he take it if she acknowledged it out loud?

“Is something wrong?” Sun-Gu asks, watching her now. 

“No, nothing at all!” Yuna says, quickly. Think, she tells herself. She returns his smile, a little sheepishly. “I was just thinking… I’m a little hungry. Do you think we could stop at a convenience store on the way back?”

Sun-Gu blinks, a little surprised. But then he nods. “Of course,” he says. 

She fiddles with her own helmet until it’s securely on. Then she gets onto the motorcycle, behind him, and waits for him to take off.

—

True to his word, Sun-Gu stops at a 24/7 convenience store on the way back. But when Yuna asks him if he wants anything to eat, he waves her off with another smile. “Not enough time has passed after that fight,” he says. “I’m still too worked up to eat something.”

Bullshit, she thinks, but she steps inside the store nonetheless. Inside, it’s heavily air-conditioned, pleasantly cool. She picks out a sandwich from the fridge for herself, and one for Sun-Gu, while Biggie and Dokgo—who have followed them here on their scooters—load up on containers of cup ramen and ready-made hot fried chicken. Yuna snags a bottle of water from the fridge. Then she’s sure no one is looking, she takes a blister pack of aspirin off the shelves, along with a travel pack of tissues, and pays for it through the self-checkout station.

Biggie and Junior are still inside by the time she’s done shopping, so she heads outside, the plastic bag in hand.

She finds him still seated on the motorcycle, his helmet still on. He’s sitting ramrod-straight, his shoulders stiff, his head ducked slightly to avoid the sun. To anyone else, he might look alert—perhaps even nervous—but Yuna knows better. It looks as if he is doing everything in his power not to fall asleep.

His breath hitches. He gasps, his body jerking forward with a loud, “hHHD’TSHhh-Uh!”, which seems ridiculously unrelieving for how loud it is, and sighs, tenderly massaging the bridge of his temples. So the headache from earlier hasn’t gotten any better, then. 

She watches him for a moment longer—watches him duck forward into his arm with another ticklish sneeze, and emerge with a liquid sniffle—and wonders when this had all started to feel like second nature.

Caring about him, that is.

When he hears her coming, he looks up to her. “Done with breakfast already?” 

“Not yet,” she says. “But I got you a sandwich.

“Ah, thanks,” he says. “Though, didn’t I say—”

“You’re not hungry right now, I recall,” Yuna says. “You can save it for later. But I have something else for you too.” 

She hands him the aspirin and the bottle of water. Sun-Gu stares down at them for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I am not injured,” he says, at last.

“I know,” Yuna says, casually. “The aspirin is for your headache. That’s been bothering you all morning, right? It might help with your fever, too, but I think the best antidote for that would be some proper bedrest.”

For a moment, Sun-Gu just stares at her, his eyes a little wide. Then he laughs. “You really don’t let anything past you, do you, Yuna?”

“That’s right,” she says, crossing her arms. “So you were trying to hide it.”

“Not exactly,” Sun-Gu says. “I just didn’t deem it worth mentioning.”

“Three to five days of bedrest, and lots of warm fluids!” Yuna says, jabbing a finger into his chest, accusingly. “That’s what people recommend for illnesses like this. Not a killer mission first thing in the morning!”

“You are very prudent,” Sun-Gu says, looking mildly amused.

“You don’t think it might’ve helped to mention your illness to someone you trust? The chairman, or even me?”

“I fail to see how that would’ve made any difference. It’s not as though the mission could have waited.”

“Fine, then.” Yuna says. “You might not agree to take it easy. But I’ll keep noticing as long as you keep being irresponsible.” She means it as a threat—that in the future, if he ever dares to be so reckless, she’ll be the first to notice. And if Yuna thinks he should be resting, instead of on a mission, she’s not going to keep her mouth shut about it. 

But when she looks over at Sun-Gu, he is smiling. 

[dipplinduo]

Chapter 20 of Sweet & Sour Dipplins is here!

Idk why but Tumblr is being super glitchy about the link, so just click here for the update.

And so the countdown begins...tick tock tick tock tick tock... :)

[sailorsenshishitposter]

Kento Nanami x Reader

Kento Nanami:

You love hard working men, your favorite thing in the world is bread and you would love to take a relaxing vacation trip if you had some time off.

First Date:

You exited the bakery, holding a fresh sandwich in your hand. You found a bench to sit down on and then nibbled some of the bread. You then began to notice some birds near you. "Hey little guys. I bet you're hungry." You broke off a piece of your sandwich. "Here. Take some." They happily chirped back, thankful for some crumbs. Everything was going fine until you noticed a young boy coming towards your way.

He was holding something. Some sort of stick maybe? He then began to try and swat the birds. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? STOP IT!" He continued to slash, smiling while doing so. Before you could do anything, someone had stopped him. It was a large blonde man. You couldn't help but blush from how attractive he was. 'He's more packed then the bakery...'

You then stopped your drooling as you noticed that he was yelling. "-and if you think about trying this again then I'll make sure to not only to inform you parents, but the police as well!" He then let go of the child and they dropped to the ground and scrambled off. "Pardon me, I didn't mean for you to see that. If you'll just excuse me." You grab his hand. "Wait! I'd like to ask you something actually. What do you think of meeting up at the bakery next time? Let me pay as thanks for saving those birds!"

You then learned the man was named Kento Nanami. You grew closer over the next few months and began to learn more about each other. He had left his previous job to start teaching. Adorable. Despite being stoic he was really just a big softie. You thought it was sweet that he cared for his students as they were his own.

One day you received the worst call imaginable. It was your boyfriend. All you knew was that there was a fire and that he was in critical condition. You made it to the hospital as fast as you could. He was in stable condition but his body had been badly burnt on one side and he had lost partial vision. The nurse then left the two of you alone. You would ask why she had stitches on her forehead but you were far more concerned about the man laying next to you.

You went to the untouched part of his face and placed a kiss on his forehead. "Don't worry. We'll get through this, I swear! I promise that we'll both go to Malaysia once you're in better condition!" Once he was stable enough, the two of you talked with some investigators. It turns out the arsonist was well known to the police but they had no leads on him yet. They showed you a photograph and asked if you recognized him. Nope. You would definitely notice someone if they went around looking like Frankenstein.

------------------------------------

It was now six months later and Nanami was ready to be discharged. You helped push his wheelchair, understanding that this new way of life would not be an easy adjustment. You looked down at his face. "I'll always love you." He shed a few tears and you brushed them aside. You were definitely booking tickets to a five star hotel in Malaysia tonight.

Just as the two of you were crossing the road, a large vehicle came heading your way. "TRUCK KUUUUUUUN!!!" the driver shouted. Wait a minute. You recognized this guy. This was the asshole that did this to your boyfriend! He then began to sing. "GAS, GAS, GAS, I'M GONNA STEP ON THE GAS!"

You tried to react but it was now too late. Nanami pushed you out of the way, sacrificing himself. You survived but at what cost? You looked back in horror, only seeing Kento's lower remains and you began to sob. The man got out of the truck and looked directly at the reader. "I guess he's half the man he used to be! That's all folks!"

[takumifujiwaraswfe]

We're getting close to 100 followers, sooo. Would you like a special? If yea then pls request me some ideas and we'll pick the best one together<3

[lyonface]

New Initial D fic: Room No. 8

After the landslide success of Gunma's local racing expedition, Project D, its leader and its dual aces decide to burn the remaining days of their summer together on a trip to Okinawa. It's Ryousuke's last hurrah before diving deep into his residency at university, while his brother, Keisuke, is interested in trying all the bar spots and meeting new people, and Takumi is simply looking forward to his first real vacation that he can remember in a long time. After all, once they've returned, Takumi and Keisuke will be preoccupied responding to recruitment letters. None of them could know what would be in store for them, and, over a year later, the three men are forced to contend with the consequences of what fate has dealt them.

Rating: E

Pairings: RyoTaku, KeiTaku, RyoKei, RyoTakuKei

Fandom: Initial D (x Room No. 9)

Warning: This fic contains sensitive content where our characters are being forced to harm one another in order to escape and survive. The story is split in half with one timeline set during the traumatic events and the other set over a year afterward. Both timelines will update simultaneously and narrative point of view changes between each character for each update. Make sure to read all content warnings and tags before proceeding!

Room No. 8 (八号室)

[twilighthomunculusart]

Initial D: Mecha Stage makes a comeback!!

“Oh come-on, don’t be shy. After all, the only way to enter is to prove you have what it takes to defend this little show by fighting me,” the gravel of his voice grated Kyoichi in a particular way. He rolled his shoulders to feel for his mech and his mood.

Kyoichi gave no response. Eyes intently studying Hawk as it gesticulated before him.

Kyoichi turned on his communications,“If proving myself is what it takes to join your barrel of buffoons, so be it. What are the stakes? I defeat you?”

“No one has defeated me in a fight since I learned to walk,” he chuckled menacingly, “No. I decide based on how well you perform,” his opponent sneered at the potential of innuendo and the crowd giggled.

“Fine by me,” he stepped into the main circle, finally getting a good view of his audience.

[toffiendfee]

Creation

Several people actually asked for it, so here we go! The evil doctor Ryousuke fic I wrote years ago, polished up a bit to fit my current writing style more.

It's ryotaku, sort of. The bad kind. Content warnings for non-consensual body modification, unrealistic medical procedures, and everything else that comes with an evil deranged surgeon doing some evil deranged surgeoning.

~~~

Takumi awoke laying on his stomach on a steel table, the metal cold against his bare skin. The air around him was similarly cold. He was completely naked save for what felt like a thin sheet that covered his hips and thighs. He shivered in response to the cold, movement that made him notice the tight leather straps around his wrists, neck, torso, hips, and legs, that kept him firmly bound to the table. In addition to that, a strap of leather around his head acted like a gag. He tried to wriggle in his bonds, but found that he couldn't move much at all.

Only then did the panic truly settle in. Where the hell was he?

He heard a voice from behind him, but couldn't move his head enough to see the speaker. Still, he recognised the voice immediately.

"Ah, you're awake. Good."

'Ryousuke-san?'

"Don't be scared, Takumi. You'll be so beautiful when I'm finished with you."

Takumi had no idea what that was supposed to mean – but he did not like it. He didn’t like Ryousuke’s tone of voice, and he especially didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t move.

He heard Ryousuke rummage around somewhere next to him where he was still unable to see. A moment later, he finally stepped into Takumi’s line of sight, holding something in his hands.

It was a pair of rather large, pristine white wings.

"I took them from a swan, a beautiful specimen. Only the best for you, after all."

He smiled then, a strange, wistful smile – Takumi had never seen such an almost feverish look in his eyes before, and it sent shivers down his spine.

Ryousuke leaned down and brushed a gloved finger down Takumi's cheek. "I will give you the wings you deserve."

Surely he couldn't mean--

But Takumi's worst fears were confirmed when the other walked over to a small table Takumi hadn’t registered before – and on it, a metal tray with surgical tools.

Ryousuke picked up a scalpel.

"Let's get started then, shall we?"

Takumi tried to scream at him through the gag, but out came only garbled noise.

"Hush now, beautiful one."

Then Ryousuke’s hand was on his shoulders, holding him down, and Takumi felt the cold of metal right before the blade cut into his skin.

He screamed – tried to scream – but Ryousuke paid him no mind.

Again and again, the cold burn of the scalpel seared into his back, shallow at first, then deeper, cutting into his flesh, merciless like the hand that directed it.

The pain was excruciating and Takumi tried to arch away from it, but his bonds held him in place. Blood, hot and coppery, ran down his back and dripped onto the table as Ryousuke worked.

'Please... Why are you doing this to me?' Tears started running down Takumi's face, just as hot as his blood. Sobs followed soon after, making breathing even harder for him as he started to feel light-headed, from the pain, from the lack of oxygen, he didn’t know. 'Stop... Please…'

His soundless pleas were not heeded, and even if they hadn’t been soundless, Takumi was grasped by the horrible certainty that this man he trusted so much wouldn’t listen.

Worse still, he heard him laugh – quiet, breathless, happy.

Takumi realised that he wasn't going to get any mercy. With a desperate wail he slackened and tried to endure the pain as best as he could.

...

It went on for what felt like hours. Takumi fainted a few times, but was always brought back to his living nightmare by a new sharp stab of pain.

Occasionally, Ryousuke said something to him. Explanations that Takumi had no capacity to understand, not half-conscious and half-delirious with pain. Words of praise that made his skin crawl and sent cold shivers through his numb body.

His back felt like it was on fire. The worst part came when Ryousuke attached the wings and – from what Takumi had been able to grasp – connected the muscles and nerves to Takumi’s own. Pain, electric and intense, erupted from his shoulder blades.

Takumi groaned, too exhausted and throat too sore to scream, and sank back into sweet unconsciousness.

...

When he woke up this time, Ryousuke was placing down his blood-soaked tools before turning to admire his handiwork. Takumi whimpered softly at the strange additional weight on his shoulders. The pain had shifted into a blunt, overwhelming ache. Everything else felt completely numb.

"Don't move too much, beautiful one. You'll damage the stitches," Ryousuke said, voice oddly soft.

He washed his hands of Takumi's blood and crouched down next to his head. Fingers gently carded through his hair, and Takumi sobbed. All he could think, all his mind was capable of, were pleas.

‘No more, please, please, let it be over...’

He would do anything to not experience any more of this pain.

"Look at you," Ryousuke whispered, "So beautiful. Perfect… now you are truly perfect..."

He finally removed the gag, but Takumi could do nothing more than groan and take shallow, raspy breaths. His throat was irritated and sore from all the screaming.

Ryousuke left his side for a moment before returning with a glass of water in his hands. He carefully placed a straw between Takumi’s teeth so he could drink. Takumi did so gratefully.

He didn’t even feel when Ryousuke undid the leather straps holding him down, much less did he try to move. The hour-long torture had sapped all strength from his body.

Ryousuke pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, and Takumi let it happen.

All he wanted was to not feel any more pain.

[fadefromthelight]

part 3 - acquiescence

[imunbreakabledude]

ok what if i said:

this "annie + elena mourn maeve" fic IS gonna be multiple chapters

and

I'd like to post chapter 1 tomorrow??

[sysig]

Hey. Read Roundabout. Love Awesome. (Patreon)