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roosterforme · 1 year ago

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The Curveball Part 6 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Bob fears that things with Molly are a lot more physical than emotional for her. But when Molly gets a visit from Casey, it helps her recognize just how strong her feelings for Bob really are.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing, 18+

Length: 5400 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story accompanies Batting Practice!)

Check my masterlist for more! The Curveball masterlist

Thank you to @mak-32 and @teacupsandtopgun for the beautiful banners!

Bob checked the time while he made dinner and smiled. Molly would be over soon. She never gave his key back, and he never asked for it back. It had been on her keyring for a few weeks, and he loved it when she let herself in and called his name.

He heard the key in the door and froze, closing his eyes to let her voice wash over him. "Bobby?"

"In the kitchen, Mo," he answered. She looked perfect to him even though she came right from work. And Bob wanted her immediately. But the way she always initiated sex with him as soon as she saw him was starting to become a red flag. So he held back. Or he tried to. But her arms were around his waist, and her lips were on his neck, and she was whispering something dirty.

He was the one constantly whispering that he loved her. But she hadn't said it back. Not once. And now, in spite of himself, he was getting hard for her as she took his hands and guided them up the front of her scrubs top and inside her sports bra.

Immediately his brain told him something new and exciting was going on, and then Molly said, "I got something for you." He ran his thumbs across her nipples. The little bars he liked so much were gone, which sent him into a state of panic. But as she peeled off her top and her bra, Bob's heart started pounding. A strangled sound escaped him as he looked at Molly's nipples which were now sporting delicate gold rings with charms hanging from them. Glasses charms.

"Honey," he moaned, dipping his head down to taste her there before he could even comprehend what he was doing. And a moment later, when Bob was laying on his living room floor with his pants pulled down and Molly riding him, he thought perhaps he was part of the problem.

As he fingered the tiny glasses charms and enjoyed the look and feel of her bouncing on his cock, he realized that he couldn't keep his hands off her for more than five minutes. When he was with Molly, he wanted to be with her in every way. And he still didn't even know what this relationship was. But he knew he could make her cum. He was good at it. Loved doing it.

She collapsed on him, shaking and moaning his name, and he thought he'd gladly do anything to hear her say she loved him.

"What's for dinner?" she asked. "Something healthy?" she added, climbing off of him and letting his cum drip onto his abs. She knelt down to lick him clean, and then he got to his feet as well. Bob was just in awe of her.

"Pasta and salad," he replied, and she kissed his chin and looked up at him with the softest eyes. He wished he could better understand this balance they had which was far skewed in the physical direction. But when she looked at him like that, he felt like everything was okay.

The following day, Molly had to work a day shift. It was Saturday, and Bob was exhausted at the tee ball game. She kept him up half the night with her hands and mouth and pussy all over him. He had literally no idea how Molly was going to manage an eight hour shift when he could barely focus for a one hour game. Plus, he was going to pick Molly up after work and take her to the bar.

"You okay?" Bradley asked him with a smirk. "Damn, you look beat."

Bob sighed and fixed his baseball cap. Maybe he could talk to Bradley about his apprehensions. "Molly came over last night, and she barely let me sleep-"

Bradley grimaced. "Please. Say less."

Bob cradled his face in his palms. "I'm trying to be serious here, okay? I think she is way more into me physically than emotionally. And trust me, this is an issue I never dreamt I would have with a woman."

"Bob," Bradley said with a sigh. "As much as I do not want to know details of any sort... are the two of you doing anything together besides fucking? Like going out? Binge watching a series on TV? Cooking meals? Talking about shit?"

"Yes," he replied. "She's got me addicted to serial killer documentaries. I take her out for sushi at least once a week. But she's not allowed to cook anything in my kitchen after the smoke detector scare. And we went for a hike last weekend. The other night, we laid on her living room floor and talked for hours. But I'm telling you, everything begins and ends with sex. Her hands were down my pants in the grocery store parking lot a few nights ago."

Bradley snorted. "You're fine, Bob. You're actually living the dream and complaining about it. You have a girlfriend who wants you in some capacity or another around the clock. Just enjoy it."

But that was the other problem. Molly wasn't actually his girlfriend. Was she? Did she think she was? Would he sound like an idiot if he asked for confirmation? Bob wanted confirmation, but he had no idea how to ask. And now it was time to start practice.

Every time Bob glanced toward the bleachers and saw Molly's sister, he had to do a double take. But while she was cheering for Everett, she was also subtly waving to Bradley. Thank goodness they had made up.

After the Tiny Eagles won, Bob went home, took a shower, and then took an afternoon nap. He hadn't done this since he had the flu a few years ago. He woke up just in time to leave to pick Molly up from work and take her to the Hard Deck. He changed into jeans and a shirt and fixed his hair. If she didn't get a chance to change after her shift, he'd stop by her place and let her get ready there.

Now that Nat had met Molly, she kept asking Bob to bring her out to the bar, and finally tonight they were both off. But he was nervous to have her around all the guys. His friends would be bad enough, but the bar was a hangout for naval officers, and women were a hot commodity there.

When he pulled into the hospital parking lot, it was packed. Bob thought he saw her car two aisles over as he parked his truck and hopped out to go meet her. And there she was, walking toward her car with her backpack slung over one shoulder and her ID lanyard in her hand. She hadn't spotted him yet, so he just stopped to admire her. She'd changed into some high-waisted white shorts and a light blue crop top with one of Bob's dress shirts unbuttoned over it. The sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and she was quite effortlessly the hottest woman Bob had ever encountered in his life.

But when she got to her car, Bob watched her expression turn annoyed. He wasn't sure how he missed it, but there was a guy on a motorcycle parking her in. When Molly got close to him, he hopped off, and Bob could hear Molly say, "Casey."

Bob's blood ran cold. She was meeting him here, in the parking lot where she was supposed to be meeting Bob. Molly had reassured him that she was done with Casey, and he had believed her. She promised Bob that he was the only guy she was seeing. He was three parking spots away now, but he couldn't seem to make himself close the distance to Molly. He could almost feel the rejection from here. Yet she didn't look quite happy that Casey was in her personal space.

He was trying to give her a bouquet of the wrong kind of flowers. She liked gas station flowers. Didn't this guy know anything? And now he had Molly caged in against her car. He was going to kiss her. Bob stumbled closer, and then Casey actually did kiss Molly's cheek right next to her mouth.

Bob needed to leave. He needed to go back home. Watching this unfold was going to shatter his heart.

"Fuck you, Casey," Molly said, shoving him away. He was big, and he didn't really budge, but Molly looked pissed off now. "You're only here because you want to get laid."

"Come on, sexy. I got you flowers. I'll take you for a ride to the beach. It'll be fun."

"Not interested," she replied, but he was still right there, practically touching her.

"Why haven't you been texting me back?" he asked, his voice getting a little more gruff.

She rolled her eyes and said, "I'm seeing someone else."

"So am I. Doesn't mean we can't fuck around. Nobody fucks like you. I missed these, too," he said, chuckling while he reached for Molly's shirt, swiping his thumb along the fabric near her nipples as she shoved him again.

Bob was running now, fists clenched as he shouted, "Hey!"

Molly and Casey both turned to face him as he rushed across the aisle, and while Casey looked irritated and mildly confused, Molly's face lit up in a beautiful smile.

"Bobby," she sighed, stepping right into his arms and pressing her cheek to his chest. He held her close, but he didn't take his eyes off Casey.

"This the guy you're seeing?" he asked with a laugh.

Molly didn't have a chance to respond before Bob said in a voice with an undercurrent of rage, "You don't touch her."

There must have been something in his tone, because Casey didn't respond. He just set the flowers down on the top of Molly's car as she pressed her lips to Bob's neck. Her fingers were in his hair as she whispered, "I missed you all day."

"Molly, are you okay?" Bob asked, and she pulled away from him and nodded.

"Yeah, I'm good." Then she raised her middle finger in the air and said," Fuck off, Casey," as the other man climbed on his motorcycle and rode away. "He's just mad because I don't want him anymore."

"He doesn't get to touch you, Honey," Bob whispered, tracing the perfect curve of her bottom lip with his thumb. "I love you." He'd said it several times before, but usually in the dark, and never while making eye contact with her. She kissed his thumb and then his lips, but she didn't respond the way he had hoped.

"Only you get to touch me," she murmured against his mouth, and Bob's heart was pounding for a different reason now as the sound of the motorcycle faded away. "Just you."

"Mo, Honey." His big hands were on the soft skin of her waist, tucked inside his shirt that she was wearing. She skipped a bra. Bob could see the shape of those pretty new rings through her crop top. And she was kissing him, giving him her soft moans as he held her.

"I thought we were going to the bar," she whispered, smiling in the dying sunlight as his hands slid down to her butt. "Wanna see my new friend, Nat."

Bob stroked her lip again. "You'll stay with me the whole time, yeah? Me or Nat. The whole time."

"I will," she promised, looking very pleased with herself. Looking like she had Bob exactly where she wanted him.

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The drive was pretty quiet as Bob gripped the steering wheel and drove exactly the speed limit.

"So...my sister told me the Tiny Eagles won today."

"Yeah," he grunted in response. Molly sat quietly, unsure how to respond to him when he was like this. He was never like this.

After a mile or so, he asked, "Did you tell Casey to meet you at your car?"

Molly laughed. "Are you serious right now? No!"

"Then why was he there, Mo?"

She turned to face him as he drove, street lights illuminating his face with a golden glow. "The hospital was probably the only place he could find me. I've been avoiding his calls and texts, and I'm at your place more often than I'm at mine."

"Why does he think it's okay to touch you like that?" he asked. His voice sounded calm, but Molly could tell he had to work at it.

"I guess.... because I'd never told him no before," she said softly. "Are you mad at me?"

"At you?" he asked with a bitter sounding laugh. "No. Not at you. Maybe at myself a little bit." He pulled into the bar parking lot and found a spot in the back corner where it was dark. Molly could only make out his profile and the silver glint of his glasses when she unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face him.

"Don't be mad, Coach Bob. Casey is just upset that I moved on and that he has a tiny penis, and he can't do anything about either of those."

She crawled across the seat, and even though she could tell he didn't really want to, he welcomed her in his lap. She straddled his thighs and kissed him, and after a few seconds, he was kissing her back. He was a little rough, and Molly was whining softly as his lips found her collar bones and her neck.

She rubbed herself against him. He was rock hard in his jeans, and she was already panting and clenching around nothing. She needed him, just like she always did. Her hands went to his zipper, and he didn't fight it as she pulled him free from his jeans.

"Bobby," she gasped when his hands eased her shirt up, and he leaned down to kiss her nipples. She was still wearing the new glasses rings she bought in his honor, and he was pulling them into his mouth one at a time and sucking. She struggled out of her shorts, only glancing around briefly to make sure nobody was watching. It didn't really matter though as long as she could feel him inside her. So she yanked her panties to the side and hissed in pleasure as she sank down around his cock.

"Molly," he grunted, brow creased as he looked at her. He shook his head before he grabbed her by the back of the neck and smashed his lips against hers. When Bob thrust up into her, she screamed, the sound muffled by his mouth. His unfastened belt buckle was rubbing against her clit, and she was already shaking.

"Oh my god," she squealed, pulling his hair for leverage as she rode him rough until she was cumming, back arched in pleasure. Then he grabbed her by the hips and fucked her until he was groaning and whining. His mouth found her breasts again as he filled her up with his cum. Molly held onto him while she shook. She hoped he didn't mind a mess on the front of his jeans, because she wasn't exactly sure how they'd make it out of the truck looking tidy.

"God damn it, Molly!" Bob growled, panting and tipping his head back against the seat. He was looking at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. But he sounded annoyed, and now Molly just wanted to go get her car and go home for the night, because she felt like she was doing everything wrong.

"What?" she asked softly. He came. It wasn't like the quickie wasn't good for him. Hell, he was still inside her.

But when he tipped his head to look at her again, he looked so sad. She felt tears sting her eyes as he asked, "Is it just physical for you, Honey? Is that all this is?"

"What are you talking about?" she gasped, yanking her shirt down to cover herself. She reached for his hand, and he let her lace her fingers with his.

Bob took a deep breath and said, "I'm talking about me and you." He couldn't even meet her eyes. He was looking at her cheek as he added, "You initiate sex all the time. I need to know. Is this just physical to you?" He was gesturing between their bodies with his free hand, and Molly's heart plummeted into her stomach.

"Bob," she gasped. "No." She kissed him, but he kept his mouth firm. "No," she whispered against his lips. "It's not just physical."

"Molly, you know I can't say no to you," he said, voice raspy. "You're just going to keep messing me up every single time, aren't you? I don't even know what we're doing here. I don't know what this is. You've got me so confused about what you want."

"You!" she practically shouted. "I want you!"

He closed his eyes. "You're all over me like this. But I don't like the way my heart feels."

Molly sobbed. This was a new low, even for her. The man she loved was actually still inside her, and he was about to tell her he didn't want to see her anymore. "But Bob... I love how I feel when I'm with you."

He looked miserable. "I know. I know you said I can make you orgasm, and you said I'm big."

"Not like that!" she gasped. He was cradling his forehead in his hand as she added, "I've never felt this happy around a man before. Not just because you're good in bed, Bobby. I've never needed someone physically all the time like this, because I've never been in love like this. I love you."

He opened his eyes and softly asked. "You do?"

She nodded and swiped at her tears. "Of course I do. It's just... I've never said that before. I've never been in love before. Showing you how I feel physically is the easiest way for me to try to make you understand that."

She was shaking with unshed tears as Bob pulled her against him and kissed her ear and the side of her neck. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I've never been with someone who loved me."

"I do, Molly. I love you. I want you to be my girlfriend," he whispered, running his big hands up and down her back.

"I kind of thought I already was," she replied with a soft laugh. She kissed his cheek. "But yeah, I definitely am now."

"Perfect." Bob's voice finally sounded calm, and this time when she kissed his lips, he returned every single one.

"I've been thinking it for weeks, but I was scared to say it," she told him, her eyes fluttering closed. "Only two other people alive have ever heard those words from me, so if you think you're not important, Coach Cute Glasses, you're wrong." She opened her eyes, kissed the tip of his nose and said, "I love you."

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Only a minimal mess was made when Molly eventually eased herself off of Bob's lap after telling him she loved him about a hundred more times and assuring him it was not just physical. Now they were both fully dressed and walking across the parking lot toward the bar entrance hand in hand.

"Is it bad that I'm a little nervous to meet the rest of your friends?" she whispered, looking up at him.

"Don't be nervous. If anything, I'm the one who's nervous, Honey. They're all going to flirt with you relentlessly and try to get me flustered."

Molly laughed as he held the door open for her, and she walked inside the noisy bar where the jukebox was blaring. "I'll just tell them we had sex in the parking lot ten minutes ago. Then they will be the ones who are flutered."

"Please don't," he groaned. "And, Mo? Is it okay if I just do this...." He reached for the front of the dress shirt she had on and did the middle button. He knew he was blushing as he said, "I don't really want these guys looking at you there."

She smirked. "You don't want to make them jealous?"

Bob's lips parted in a soft smile before he kissed her forehead. "Just look at your face, Mo. Gorgeous. They'll be plenty jealous without knowing about your piercings."

"Bob," she whined. "Stop being so perfect, okay? Perfect boyfriends get blowjobs whenever they want them."

He was still blushing as he led her toward the pool table where the other aviators, minus Bradley, were all hanging out. "There they are!" Nat said, hopping off of her stool and heading toward them. And then Bob had to watch every single one of the guys look Molly up and down like she was a dessert platter while she gave Nat a little hug.

"Holy shit," Jake said, eyes soft as he laughed. "Bob, come on. Phoenix said you were bringing the girl you're dating."

"Yeah," Bob confirmed, rubbing his forehead with his hand.

"Bob," Jake gasped. "She's fucking hot."

"I know," he replied as Molly reached for his hand. "Guys, this is Molly. My girlfriend."

You could have heard a pin drop in the corner of the bar. Nat sighed and rolled her eyes before kicking Payback in the shin. He stumbled forward and offered Molly his hand. "Hi, I'm Payback. Or Reuben."

"Hi," Molly replied, shaking his hand. "I kind of wish I had a fun call sign. I'm just Molly."

"Oof," Jake whispered. "I can't think of a few call signs for her."

"Don't," Bob pleaded, shooting him a look.

"She's a smokeshow, Bob," Jake told him with pride in his voice. "I don't know how you did it, but excellent job."

"Thanks," he muttered, watching Fanboy and Coyote flirt and laugh with her. A moment later, Nat was leading Molly up to the bar to get drinks, and Bob dug his wallet out of his pocket. He tried to hand it to her, but she just kissed his cheek and whispered, "I love you," before pushing it back against his chest.

"How the hell did you manage to pull that one?" Coyote asked, watching Molly walk away in her tight shorts. "I've got to know."

"Seriously, Bob," Fanboy chimed in. "I mean, not to be rude, man, but damn."

Now his self esteem was taking a bit of a hit again, but when Molly came back, she pushed him down onto a stool and perched herself on his thigh. She handed him one of the beers she was holding and kissed him. "I love you," she crooned with a soft smile. "The more I say it, the better it feels."

She sipped her drink as he wrapped his arm around her waist. Then they played a little pool and threw some darts, and Molly was never far from his arms. The guys were all still looking at him like he was some sort of magician, but she didn't seem to notice. She loved him. She kept telling him she loved him.

She said it right in front of Nat, and Bob watched his friend blush, too. Because now Molly was a little tipsy, and she had her hand on his abs under his shirt. "Bobby, we should go home soon. I love you, and I wanna fuck you."

"Mo," he gasped, kissing the top of her head. "I love you, too. But everyone else can hear you, Honey."

"I don't care," she replied, licking his neck before she smiled at the guys. "You don't care if I tell Bob I love him and wanna fuck him, do you?"

They all looked at her, wide eyed and shaking their heads.

"See, Lieutenant Floyd? They don't care."

Bob lasted another five minutes before she was dragging him out to the parking lot, ready to go home.

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Bob had Molly draped across him in bed on Sunday morning. The sky outside looked a little stormy, so they used that as an excuse to not move. "Let's just say put," he whispered, running his fingers along her arm. Goosebumps broke out in their wake, and she sighed.

"Not even worth moving when we're so comfortable," she told him, squeezing his side.

He was feeling so much better now about the way Molly responded to him physically. Now he knew that she loved him. They were in a relationship with a label. He thought he'd be able to enjoy the physical romance as much as he was enjoying the emotional romance now.

Then their quiet cuddling was interrupted by his phone going off four times in a row with new text messages. Bob kissed her forehead and murmured, "Just when I was ready to stay right here until it was time for you to go to work."

Molly giggled and rolled off of him to reach for his phone. "I have to pee anyway." She handed him his phone and his glasses, and Bob watched her sashay out of his room completely naked.

He groaned as he opened a bunch of messages from his sister Rebecca. "Oh no." He never responded to her about going to Piper's birthday party which was now just six days away. Really, he only wanted to go if Molly went with him, but asking her to meet his family was stressing him out.

"What's wrong?" she asked, already climbing back into bed with him. His eyes were trained on her nipples as she eased herself down against his chest. The way her piercings pressed against him somehow calmed him now. He was just so used to her being here.

"Do you want to go to Piper's birthday party with me?" he blurted out.

She ran her fingers through his hair with a smile. "When is it? I might have to change my work schedule."

"Saturday afternoon. Up in San Bernardino. And look, we haven't been dating very long, and my whole family is going to be there, so if you don't want to go, Honey, I totally understand."

"Oh," she gasped softly. "You want me to meet your family, Uncle Bob?"

He closed his eyes, unwilling to lie to her. "Desperately." He cracked one eye open to find her grinning at him before easing herself down his body.

"Perfect boyfriends get blowjobs," she reminded him before disappearing beneath the covers and wrapping her lips around him. She really must have thought he was perfect based on the way she got him off. And when she was done, she licked his tongue and told him she'd go to the birthday party.

But when Saturday came, Bob found out that Molly had to give up her daytime shift to accommodate the party. She tried to shrug it off when he picked her up. "I'm just a little worried about making my rent with a day short of pay, but it'll be fine," she told him, slipping into his truck with the gift she insisted on buying. "I have money in savings."

Bob was about to tell her he'd pay her rent, but she leaned across the seat and kissed every viable thought out of his brain. So he put his truck in gear while Molly was in charge of the music, and the ninety minute drive to his parents' house felt like nothing when he was with her.

When he pulled down their driveway, Molly was wiping her palms on her sundress. "I'm a little nervous," she admitted. "I've never met parents before." Once again, Bob couldn't understand how he was lucky enough to be Molly's first for so many things.

"They'll love you. My sister Rachel is ridiculous. You'll like her. And I'll be with you the entire time."

She nodded and crawled out his door behind him and into his arms. "If they don't like me, I'm blaming you."

The introductions were even more shocking than the night at the Hard Deck in that Bob's entire family was looking at Molly with mixed expressions. Rebecca was excited to see her again since they had already met. Even Piper gave Molly a quick hug. But Bob's parents and his middle sister were looking at him with his arm around Molly with barely concealed shock.

"I don't think they like me," Molly whispered, trying to dig her feet in.

"That's not it, Mo," he promised. "It's more like they can't believe I didn't make you up."

When Molly shook hands with his mom and then his dad and then Rachel, they all glanced at him. "Welcome!" his mom said. "The way Bob speaks about you, well... you seemed too good to be true, Molly!"

She shrugged with a little laugh. "Well, I'm just regular, old me."

"No, that's not true," Rachel replied with a smirk. "Bob must be ready to buy a ring or something, because the last time he brought a girl home, she dumped him the next day. And he vowed to never bring another one unless he was going to marry her."

Molly turned to look at Bob where he stood behind her. "Thanks, Rachel," he said with a fake smile and an unspoken promise that she would pay for that later. "Your mind is like a steel trap, isn't it?"

Rachel just shrugged and ate some potato chips. "Just keeping you honest. Anyway, Molly, it's really nice to meet you. I'll see you at your wedding."

Bob wanted to disappear. Betrayed by his own sister. He always did like Rebecca better. But then Molly surprised him by saying, "I'll let you know the color for the bridesmaids dresses."

Rachel smiled at her. And then his dad was taking her on a tour of their house. And then his mom was laughing as Molly told a funny story about a mishap in the emergency room. And then Molly was running around outside with the kids.

"Bob, where did you find her?" his mom asked, grabbing him by the forearm and shaking him.

"At tee ball," he replied softly, watching Molly laughing as Piper sat down on her lap.

"Please, bring her back again. For a longer visit. When I have more time to talk to her."

"I will, mom."

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Molly was exhausted when she said her goodbyes to Bob's family. The kids had worn her out all afternoon. But when his mom pulled her in for a hug, she felt like crying. She couldn't remember the last time she got a mom hug from anyone other than her own sister. And it felt so good, she ended up hugging her back for probably way longer than was actually appropriate.

"Thanks," Molly whispered. "Thanks for having me."

When his mom pulled away and looked at her, she said, "Bob promised me he'd bring you back again soon. I know he must be very serious about you, so hopefully we won't have to wait too long for another visit."

Molly swallowed past the lump in her throat, and she didn't know what compelled her to say anything as she whispered, "I love your son," like some sort of a lunatic. It must have been all the mom hugs that made her feel weak.

But he mom replied by pulling her in for another hug before Bob took her by the hand and led her out to his truck. It was getting dark, and the ride back to San Diego would get them in late. But Molly already knew she was welcome to crash with Bob for the night. She knew he would want her to.

But she was still surprised when Bob started rambling as he merged onto the highway. "I know it's probably too soon. And maybe I shouldn't even say anything. But I just can't seem to stop thinking about it. About how we never spend the night apart. Even when you work overnight, you end up in my bed in the morning. Or I end up at your place, just waiting for you to get home so we can go to sleep together." He paused, and she reached for his hand. He glanced her way with a nervous smile before he blurted out, "Molly, do you want to move in with me?"

"Oh," she gasped, delighted by the idea of if. In love with the idea of handing him his glasses every morning and knowing he would make her breakfast. Being together to binge watch documentaries and eat sushi. "Yes."

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Moving in together! So, Bob is a stud. Was he always a stud, or does Molly bring it out in him? Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls and everyone who bugged me to make Molly and Bob a thing!

PART 7

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rachi-roo · 1 year ago

Note

Hey, I saw your fic requests open and I wanted to know if you could do Lee!dabi and Ler!tomo (I'm pretty sure that's the name of your oc if I remember correctly)? I love his quirk and it'd be interesting to see how you think dabi would react to it! ^^

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My Hero Academia: Join the Dark Side, Yo

Oh my GOODNESS! It's been a little while since I've written something this long! I just love writing dialogue with my Tomo baby. He's such a sassy little shit XD I'd think Canon Dabi would just power through the tickles and incinerate Tomo, then find his family, burn them too, and probably steal his dog XD Buuuut, let's just pretend the tiggles are too strong! Thank you so much for the ask! Love you, thank you for your patience!

Summary: Dabi tries to convince Tomo to join the LOV.

Lee!Dabi, Ler!Tomo

Tw: Swearing, flirting

--------------------☆ ☆------------------------

Money, money, money! Today had been a successful hunt. Tomo had snatched several wallets from unsuspecting rich folk and even a snazzy Gucci watch that would fetch a nice handful at the cash pawn shop.

"Hmm... Udon set from the seven-eleven down the road? Ooor, maybe something from the night market?" He asked himself as he counted his wad of stolen cash. "Nice, I can afford both!"

"Abe Tomohiro."

"Huh?" The boy paused, hearing someone call his name from down an alleyway. "Yello?" He called back, stuffing the money into his pocket as he narrowed his eyes, trying to see who was talking to him in the dark.

Once his eyes focused, he saw a man staring at him with a grin across his scarred face. Dabi.

"Hey, kid. Come on down, I wanna have a talk." Dabi called, gesturing with a wave. He was on the lookout for villains to recruit into the League.

Tomo gulped, looking around for other civilians before taking a step closer, smiling. "My mum told me not to follow sexy men into dark alleyways."

"Hah, your mums a clever woman."

"That she is. Unfortunately, that intelligence didn't get passed down to me." Tomo smirked, walking towards Dabi casually. He knew that being defensive was usually worse in these situations.

Now face to face, Tomo looked up at the shadowy man who loomed over him.

"So, what can I do for you, sexy man in the alleyway? I'm afraid I'm not looking for company tonight if that's what you're offering." He smirked.

Dabi just smirked in return. He seemed to be in a good mood tonight. Otherwise, Tomos sass would find him dead. Dabi cocked his head to the side, looking down at the boy.

"I've heard a lot about you, Abe."

"Tomo is fine. No need for formalities." Tomo smirked as Dabi gave a nod of understanding.

"Tomo. I'm aware of what you get up to. You seem to have a real talent for it. And, you and the Pro hero, Hawks, are on good terms? Right?" He asked, raising a brow as he watched Tomo narrow his eyes.

"How'd you know that?"

"Doesn't matter. What I'm getting at is how useful you could be. I'm looking for people to join our little cause. You clearly understand that society is unbalanced. The way you only steal from those pompous rich bastards is evidence enough."

Tomo folded his arms, biting his lip as he listened. He knew where this was going, and he wasn't sure if he was keen on the idea. "Mhmm... What of it?"

"I think you'd be a handy addition to our group. Hawks, let's you commit crime. He knows you're stealing, and yet, he lets you walk free. That might come in handy for some dirtier jobs that come up." Dabi smirked, leaning close to Tomo, watching his eyes carefully.

"I reckon we see eye to eye on some level... I want what Stain is after. The fall of false heroes and-"

"Pffft-" Tomo cut him off, blowing a raspberry as he gave him a thumbs down. "Stain? Nuh-uh. No thanks, pal. I'm not out here to put anyone in the dirt."

Dabis friendly front immediately faded. Replaced with a blood-lust glare. "No?"

"Nah, I'm too pretty to be digging around in dirt like that. You're hot, but not pretty, so it's fine for you."

"I don't dig graves." Dabi growled, leaning closer, pinning Tomo between him and the wall with his arm.

"You don't? You mean... That smell is just you?"

"Moron. I don't dig graves because there's never anything left to bury!" The flame weirder ignited a warping blue flame in his palm, holding it close to Tomos face, slightly charring the tips of his hair.

Tomo scrunched his eyes shut, leaning away from the heat as he chuckled nervously.

"Ooho, damn. Yeah, that's hot." Tomo smirked, reaching a hand to pat Dabis chest. "Look, I appreciate the offer, I really do. But I'm just not built for the whole super-villain business, Mr- Uh, what was your name?"

"Dabi."

"Mr. Dabi. So-" Tomo ducked under Dabis arm, slowly starting to shimmy towards the main road again. "It's been nice, cool meeting a real villain and all, but I gotta go."

"Pitty." Dabi sneered, raising his hand, aiming a fireball at Tomo. "Shigaraki suggested you by name too. He held you in high regard, but I see you- GYAH!?" Dabi arched his back suddenly, yelping as his fire was diminished.

"Sorry bout that, I just hate long ass monologues." Tomo shrugged as he shook his head.

Dabi wasn't sure what just happened, but he was pissed!

"If you value your life, you won't do that again!" Dabi growled, clenching his fists angrily. His pride was already a little damaged due to the noise he made. Tomo chuckled, amused by Dabis reaction.

"Oh? Why?" Tomo asked, stepping a little closer, tilting his head.

"Does it tickle?"

Dabi felt a strange sensation in his chest. What was this feeling? He felt warm. Though not like any heat he had experienced before. This was different. Was he... Flustered?

"Little shit!" He was pissed. He tossed a fireball at Tomo. It was missed by inches as his aim was thrown off by a tickly sensation on his stomach that made him double over, clutching his stomach as he bit back a laugh.

"Oh, you are ticklish then! Never would have guessed~" Tomo teased, hopping up onto a dumpster and making himself comfortable as he watched Dabi consider his options. Which were limited at this time.

"Just get out of here, kid." The dark-haired villain hissed, keeping his eyes fixed on the concrete.

"Hm? And miss out on seeing a sexy villain like you laughing and begging for mercy under my hand? No can do, Mr. Dabi~" He raised his hands, starting to pinch the air. Each pinch made Dabi flinch and snicker.

"Gh-! I-I sweAh-! I swear, if you dOHON'T stop! I'll fihind y-you ahand- FUCK!" The constant random squeezing sensation moved up and down Dabis ribs, making it hard for him to string a sentence.

"You'll find me and what, sir? How forward of you, hehe~!" Tomo smiled, crossing his legs as he looked down at the squirming villain. "You're kinda cute when you laugh. Ya know?"

The light squeezing turned into more vigorous tickling, targeting the villains stomach now.

"Stahap! Y-You little shihiiiit! AHA! GR-! NOHO!" He rolled onto his side, clutching his stomach as a few small, harmless flames spurted from his palms. "Rrrh! NnnAHA!" His eyes scrunched shut, his knees pulled up into his chest as he tried to hide his expression from view.

"Nawww, look at that smile! You know, I love when big scary men like you are ticklish. It's very humbling and adorable. Kichy, kitchy kooo~" Tomo laughed with him, making squeezing gestures in the air that stuck to Dabis inner thighs, making him kick and flail helplessly.

"STAHAP! F-Fuhuhuck it! I-I'll bury yOHOHOUUU! AaaaAHA!"

"I thought you said you don't dig graves? Now you're lying to me? Ugh... It's always the pretty ones that are the liars." The tickling kicked up a notch as Dabis underarms were attacked.

"Kichy, koo~ Little squirmy wormy villy willain! So eeevil! Yes, I'm petrified right now, can you tell? Oh sho shcawy!"

"GOhod damn it! GyahahaAAAHAHA! NO! Noho! NAHAHAAaaa-!... *gasp* StyAHAP! STAHAHAAAAP!"

Dabi clamped his arms to his sides, throwing his head back in hysterics. He felt so vulnerable, something he hadn't felt in years now. And this sensation of tickling. Never before had he felt such a thing, it was so intense! It was... Pleasant? No! Of course not! He'd never think such a thing!

A sort passed his lips as he leaned up against the wall, just managing to prop himself upright as he laughed himself silly.

"HAHA! OHO SHIHIIIT! Dahahamn it! F-Fuhucking stahahap! EH!?" He gasped, looking up and realising the boy was long gone.

"HEY! Where'd you gohOH!? Come BAHAHACK! AHAHAAAaaaa-!... *gasp* GAHAHAD! C-COHOWARD! I'll fIHIIII- AHA!" It was no good. Dabi gave up throwing threats around. He rolled back onto his side, pulling his jacker collar up around his face, trying to keep his crimson red cheeks hidden and his laughter quieter.

Once the tickling finally subsided, Dabi couldn't even bother to be mad anymore. He just lay there for a while, staring up at the stars as he caught his breath. "Damn... Kid... Hah..." He smiled to himself, rubbing his side as a ghost tickle made him jump. Maybe Tomo was right to decline. Someone who tickles people for defence doesn't belong with a group of criminals like them anyway.

"My turn... Next time..."

----------------------☆END☆-----------------------

Thanks for reading! Much love! 😚💕

74 notes · View notes

suguwu · 1 year ago

Text

lover be good to me: part three

You meet Kita Shinsuke on a rainy summer day, with a sea of hydrangeas swirling at your feet. You know him instantly, as only a soulmate can. He seems like a good man. Like a good soulmate.

But it’s your wedding day.

masterlist

minors and ageless blogs do not interact

pairings: kita shinsuke x f!reader, oc x f!reader

notes: so this was originally supposed to be three parts, but i hit the limit for a tumblr post, so it's now four. but we're so close to the end and i'm excited to share this part with you! the final part will be up next week.

as always, massive thanks to my beta for both the edits and the endless support throughout the process, especially when i thought writing this fic would never end.

title and part title are from hozier’s “be” and "nfwmb"

tags for this part (contains spoilers for fic): soulmate au (first words), this is a very reader-centric story, slow burn, pining, hurt/comfort, reader and kita are implied to be around their 30s, food consumption, non-graphic partner death (not kita), grief/mourning, healing, love as a choice.

wc: 10k

You’ve been staying up too late.

Or maybe you’ve been getting up too early. You’re not sure you know anymore. The world spills foggy over your senses these days. The sun sets bloody over the horizon as you close your eyes, sinking your teeth into the tender flesh of a dusty pink peach, the juices running sweet down your chin. You open your eyes and there’s a mug shattered on the floor, coffee pooling around your feet, the scent of it heavy enough to taste. You close them again, and you wake up curled around a ghost.

Hours roll into each other, jagged fragments rounded smooth, seaglass blips of time. They slip through your fingers like grains of sand.

You miss the finer details of things. The wake is ephemeral, a cobweb snapping in the breeze long gone before you even know it. Only the ghost of incense on your skin tells you it occurred. Abe and Yoshikawa spend the night; they’re warm around you in the guest room’s bed, their arms thrown over your waist to keep you from shaking apart in the tender wound of darkness.

You curl up in the cradle of them. You can smell Yoshikawa’s mango shampoo as you press close to her, her long hair catching against you. She hums quietly and shifts to accommodate you. Abe scooches closer against your back, her forehead pressing between your shoulder blades.

You fall asleep like that, twined together like a litter of kittens, shifting into each other’s warmth.

You blink awake in your dimly lit kitchen. It’s late; the sickle curve of the moon is low in the sky. Your phone is heavy in your hand.

Kita picks up within a single ring. He says your name quietly, like it’s a secret for just you and him. It startles you out of your daze. You suck in a sharp breath as you realize you actually called him.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to call so late.”

“S’alright,” he says. His voice is rough with sleep; there’s a soft rumble to it, like far-off thunder. “You can always call.”

“Did I wake you?”

“S’alright,” he says again. “Do you want to talk?”

You bite at a hangnail. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to talk?”

“Please,” you say, your voice fraying at the edges.

He does. You lean against the refrigerator as he talks, your head tilted back against the cool metal of it. Kita tells you about the seedlings, how he could use a machine to sow them but that this year he’s chosen to do one or two of the paddies by hand. You imagine him crouching in the fields, his big hands tender against the delicate shoots, sinking them into the thin layer of murky water.

His voice is soft, steady, and warm. You sink into it, floating in it as you watch the moon set, a fishhook of light descending towards the embrace of the horizon. He spins out story after story. You think it’s the most you’ve ever heard him talk and something in you twinges.

“Will you come to the funeral?” you ask, the question spilling from you before you can stop it.

Kita goes quiet. You listen to him breathe. It’s steady like the tide, in and out, ebbing and flowing in a way that soothes something in you, a balm against an unknown scrape.

“No.”

You flinch.

��If I come,” he continues, his voice gentle but firm, “it won’t be about your husband anymore. It’ll be about us.”

Kita’s particular brand of logic has always had a cold edge to it. You know he doesn’t mean it unkindly, but it stings to hear the truth spoken so steadily, with such assurance.

You curl in on yourself like a fiddlehead, bringing your knees up to your chest. You sob once, an earthen sound, deep and heavy.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Silence falls. You tilt your head back further and stare at the ceiling, half-blocked by the fan of leaves from the plants perched precariously on top of the fridge. You can almost see him in the lines the paintbrush left behind, his lips thinned and his amber eyes somber.

“I know,” you whisper.

Kita breathes out a sigh. It’s a wisp of a thing. You think it must be bitter on his tongue, laced as deeply with regret as it is.

“Do you want to keep talkin’?”

You glance at the stove’s clock and wince. “You should go back to bed,” you tell him. “It’s late.”

“That isn’t what I asked,” he says, not unkindly.

You watch the clock blink over to the next number. It seems to take an eternity, a lifetime tied up in neon red.

“I don’t know,” you say and the tears are welling up, burning hot behind your eyes. “Shinsuke, I don’t know.”

“S’okay.”

The tears spill over, running down your cheeks in thick rivulets. They catch on your lips, fill your mouth, until all you know is sorrow salty on your tongue. “Shinsuke,” you say, desperate.

“I’m here.”

You curl forward, burying your face in your knees. You fist your free hand in your nightshirt, twining the soft cotton around your fingers until it hurts. You sob once and then catch the next one behind your teeth to swallow back down.

“You can cry, y’know,” he says. “You don’t hafta stop on my account.”

It sets you off. You sob like a child with your forehead resting against your knees, the tears dripping down to dampen your pj pants.

Kita murmurs something, too soft for you to hear over your own sobs. But his voice is sweetened with kindness. It settles into your bones, the warmth of it spreading under your skin, a soothing balm against the sharp, gruesome wound deep inside you. The first tentative stitch of many.

Your sobs peter out into quiet, shaky breaths.

“Good,” Kita says. “Keep breathin’, just like that. Slow and steady.”

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to cry.”

“Don’t be. Yer hurting. Be more surprised if you didn’t cry.”

You give a watery laugh. “Yeah, I guess. I’m sorry anyway, though, especially for keeping you up. I know you get up early.”

“S’alright,” he says. “Like I said, you can call any time.”

“Thank you, Kita.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Of course,” he says.

“Go back to bed,” you tell him. “I’m okay.”

He hums. It’s a rich, sleepy sound, dripping down the line like thick honey. You press your phone against your ear a little harder and let the sound of him curl around you.

“I don’t mind staying up.”

“I’m okay,” you say again. “Just tired.”

“Alright.”

“Goodnight, Kita.”

“G’night.”

You hang up. A car goes by; its headlights pour in through the window, illuminating your kitchen. The light catches on the little vase of your favorite flowers tucked away on the counter top. They’re wilting, the edges of the petals shrinking back, like shy children covering their faces.

You can’t bring yourself to throw them out.

You tilt your head back against the fridge and close your eyes.

“Wanna come back to bed?” Abe asks.

You crack an eye open.

She’s haunting the threshold of the kitchen, softened by the dim. Her mouth is a tender gash. She waits.

“Not yet,” you say.

She pads into the kitchen. When you don’t protest, she slides down next to you, pressing warm against your side. It feels like childhood again, when you would crowd in close together to read the same manga under the covers with a flashlight.

“Okay,” she says softly. She leans her head against your shoulder as you close your eyes again. “Not yet.”

Another car goes by; the kitchen fills with light. It glitters against Abe’s dark hair for a breath and then it’s gone. In the aftermath, the kitchen seems darker still, Abe just a faint outline next to you, and perhaps that’s why you say, “I called Kita.”

She stays quiet, only shifting against you. Her silk pajamas are soft as they slide across your skin.

“I don’t know why,” you continue. “I just…wanted to hear him.”

“At 2am?”

You bite your lower lip. “I think,” you whisper. “I think that maybe I just wanted to make sure he’s still here.”

“He is,” she says softly. “He’s still here.”

You hum, the sound like river rocks rolling over each other, wearing away at each other. “Yeah,” you say. You scrub away the remnants of your tears with the back of your hand. “He is.”

Abe catches your hand as you lower it. She winds her fingers—bird-boned, all delicate architecture that makes you think of the arcing ceiling of a cathedral nave—through yours. She squeezes.

“Come back to bed,” she says, her words punctuated with a little tug. “You need sleep.”

You let her pull you to your feet. The two of you make your way down the hallway quietly; when you open the door to the guest bedroom Yoshikawa is already awake, her dark eyes gleaming through the dim. You sink into bed beside her. She curls up around you as Abe climbs in from the other side.

“You okay?” Yoshikawa asks.

You go still, a briar patch of cruel words growing sharp as they twine up your throat. “No,” you bite out. Abe goes stiff at your back. “Why would I be?”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.” Yoshikawa’s voice is cool but it does nothing to hide the softness there, nor does it hide the hurt that lurks beneath.

You take a deep breath. “I’m tired,” you say, even though you know you should apologize. “Can we sleep?”

She cups your cheek and gives you a sad little smile. “Of course.”

Abe drapes an arm over your middle and gives you a little squeeze.

“Go to sleep,” she murmurs. “We’ll be here in the morning.”

You fall asleep knowing it’s a promise they’ll keep.

***

The funeral passes quickly.

It’s all flickers of things: a laugh quickly hushed behind hands, a tight-lipped smile on painted lips, the salt of tears lingering on the air like ocean spray, the sickly floral scent of the hanawas thick on your tongue, a wrinkled hand cold against your wrist.

You can barely look at Takao’s parents. He’ll live on in their faces, you think, in the curve of his mother’s lips and the shape of his father’s cheekbones, but you can hardly tell now. Their features are gnarled with sorrow, knotted like the old crabapple tree that you and Takao used to climb in their yard. Each hiccuping sob from his mother echoes in your ears.

You touch one of the flowers of a thick, bountiful hanawa just before it’s collected. The petal is silken between your fingers. It bruises quickly beneath your touch, the thin delicacy of it tearing. You let go.

It’s obvious amid the pristine lilies. You grab another creamy white petal and then another. By the fifth petal, there’s a path of mangled petals behind you, stepping stones of destruction.

“Hey,” Abe says, laying her hand over the top of yours as you reach out for another petal, “let them take it, okay?”

You blink. “Oh,” you say, seeing the funeral director lingering nearby, ready to take the hanawa to go with Takao’s body. “Of course.”

Before you step away, you tug off a single perfect petal, white as snow and faintly dusted with golden pollen. You roll it between your fingers. The satin of it crushes beneath your fingertips.

Abe squeezes your hand. Her touch is a song you’ll always know but it feels distant now, like music muffled behind an apartment’s walls. She lets go when you step away from the wreath.

You follow her to the entrance of the funeral hall. The koden ledger is there, surrounded by white envelopes stacked high. You nudge at one until the flap opens to show crisp yen notes. You stare at the notes until they blur at the edges.

Before Abe can say anything, you reach out and close the envelope up. The stiff mizuhiki knots are rough against your fingers. You trace along them for a moment.

“I didn’t think I’d see these any time soon.”

“I know,” she says softly.

“Someone will collect the ledger?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Thanks.”

She leads you back to your parents and squeezes your hand again before she disappears. You’re not sure where she goes, but you wish you could go with her. Instead, you accept condolences for what feels like hours, each word grating on you, eroding you like a pebble caught in an ocean wave.

When it’s all over your parents bundle you into the car. The city blurs by like a watercolor, gray with splashes of neon streaking through it. People stream along the sidewalk too. You watch and you watch, a statue of old, bearing witness but unmoving yourself.

“Inside,” your mother says, startling you free of your reverie. You hadn’t noticed you’d stopped. She swings the car door open wider. “C’mon,” she says, gentler this time. “Let’s go inside.”

You follow her without a word.

“Tadpole,” your father says as you cross the genkan. “Your shoes.”

You look down to where you were about to step into the house proper; you’re still wearing your heels. “Oh,” you say quietly. “Thanks.”

Before you can reach down, your mother kneels before you. You try to protest, grasping at her elbows to raise her to her feet, but she swats you away and hunkers down to unbuckle them. Her fingers are careful and quick. She traces one of them over the strap of your shoe before she pushes to her feet again.

She cradles your face in her hands, her fingers warm against your cheeks. She rubs her thumb over the curve of your cheekbone to wipe away the tear stains. “Oh, tadpole,” she says softly. “My little girl.”

You bring your hands up and cup hers to you. You breathe her in, the honeyed earth of saffron mixed with the clear, soft scent of the summer irises as they rise proud amid the gardens.

“He’s gone,” you tell her.

She nods. “He is.”

“I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone. Just without him.”

“It feels like being alone.”

She brushes her thumb over the curve of your cheekbone again. “I know.”

When she lets go the heat of her lingers on your face, like how a fire lives on in the warmed hearthstones. You press a hand to your cheek absently as you slip off your shoes.

Your father bends down to take them. Just like your mother, he ignores your protest. He tucks them carefully beside a haphazard pair of Takao’s slippers. The soles are worn thin, especially compared to the thick, shiny soles of your heels.

You suppose you can take new slippers off of your shopping list.

“Go inside,” your father says. “You need rest.”

“I’m not tired.”

“You will be,” he says. He touches his mark gently, as if its charred kanji will crumble into ash beneath his fingertips. “You will be.”

You let them usher you inside. Your father tucks you in under the couch’s throw blanket—patterned with plump lemons, each with a tuft of bright green leaves attached to their stems—when you curl up into an armchair. It’s soft, warm, and it smells of Takao.

Your parents retreat to the kitchen. You can hear them puttering around, likely putting together some food for the next few days.

Your phone is heavy in your hand. For a moment, you look at the contact you’d pulled up without thinking. The little rice emoji next to Kita’s name almost seems like it’s swaying in the wind, the golden panicles draping elegantly next to the kanji. You touch his contact and open your messages and stare at the last few you’d both sent. Even over text, Kita’s steadiness comes through.

You start to type. Stop. Start again and then stop once more.

“Shit,” you mutter, closing out of the message thread and tossing your phone onto the couch next to you. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, sinking into the couch even further.

When you wake up, it’s dark out. You blink. The streetlights have come to life; their fluorescent light slants into the living room, cutting through the dim. There’s a glass of water on the side table next to the couch. There’s a note under it, your father’s spidery kanji unmistakable.

You read it as you scrub a hand over your face, trying to get rid of the last vestiges of your nap. It’s a simple note. Just enough to tell you there’s food in the fridge and that they’re just a phone call away.

You push to your feet, folding up the blanket and putting it back in its place. Your footsteps echo as you head into the kitchen. Each one feels unnaturally loud. Like the tolling of a bell, deep and low, impossible to ignore. You bite at your lower lip.

Halfway through reheating your food, you give in. You grab your phone and dial.

“Hey,” Yoshikawa says as soon as she picks up. “Are you okay?”

“The house is so quiet.”

“I’ll be over as soon as I can, okay?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know.”

“Seriously, over the phone is enough—”

“My shoes are already on.”

You blow out a big breath. “Thank you, Asako.”

She hums. “Want me to stay on the line?”

“No, that’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

She says a quiet goodbye before she hangs up.

You clear away your food, your appetite gone, and decide to water the plants while you wait. The kitchen plants are thriving; they’re bathed golden every morning and it shows. You murmur softly to them as you water them, filling the kitchen with the slow rush of running water and your own voice. The plants tremble as the water hits them, their thick, lush fronds dancing under the shower.

You also refill the vase on the kitchen counter.

You know it’s stupid. Cut flowers are just ghosts, unaware that they’re already dead. These ones are curling in on themselves, their edges going crisp, but you can’t bear to get rid of them.

The door to the house clicks open. You can hear Yoshikawa rustling around in the genkan before she appears.

“Hi,” she says.

You burst into tears.

She’s across the kitchen in a heartbeat, gently tugging the watering can out of your hands. She doesn’t say a word as she wraps her arms around you. You press your face into the crook of her neck and she cradles you closer.

Her skin is cool to the touch. It’s a balm against your heated face, like a breeze on a hot summer’s day. You lean into her even more.

She hums, adjusting easily. She pets at the back of your head. “I’ve got you,” she murmurs, low and promising, and you cry harder.

She lets you cry your fill, holding you for as long as you need. You finally pull away when your head starts to pound. You sniffle as she sweeps her thumb under your eye to wipe away some of the remaining tears.

“Want me to call Natsumi?” she asks.

You shake your head. “She’s got that work thing tonight.”

“She’d leave it.”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t call her.”

Yoshikawa hums. “Okay. Want to watch a movie?”

“Yes please,” you say and the two of you promptly get into an argument about what you want to watch.

You give in to her when it becomes clear that she has no intention of letting you win. You’d be annoyed but it warms you instead. Movie chosen, the two of you settle in on the couch again. You curl up against her and she weaves your hands together, giving you a light squeeze before turning her attention to the screen.

You stay tucked up against her as you watch. She doesn’t move, letting you cling to her like a limpet, and maybe it’s that. Maybe it’s how steady she is. Maybe it’s simply because she’s there. The credits are rolling, the music of them a gentle, swaying tune that makes you think of rippling rice fields. Yoshikawa shifts under you, and without thinking, you say:

“Do you think it’s my fault?”

She goes still.

“Is what your fault?”

You do not look at her. “Aoshi,” you say, his name heavy on your tongue. “Do you think it’s my fault?”

She shifts to look at you; when you stay staring at the screen, she cups your cheeks gently and turns you to face her. She studies you for a moment. Her eyes are night-sky dark and they gleam in the low lighting.

You don’t know what she sees in your face, but her mouth thins into a gash of a thing, sorrow tucked up into the open wound of it.

“How could it be your fault?” she asks.

“Soulmates,” you whisper. “We weren’t soulmates.”

“That’s true.”

“What if it was fixing that? What if he died so I could be with Kita?”

She sucks in a sharp breath but breathes it out softly. Her lower lip trembles. “It was an accident,” she says. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“But what if it does?”

She knocks her forehead against yours. “Four years of marriage seems like a long time for the universe to wait to course correct you.”

You stay quiet.

She searches your face again. “Listen to me,” she says. “It is not your fault. Do you blame Kita?”

“What?”

“Do you blame Kita?”

“No.”

“Then why are you blaming yourself?”

You twist your wedding ring around your finger. “I just—”

She waits.

A car goes by; the headlights play over Yoshikawa’s face. She gleams golden for a brief moment and you think of a shooting star. The words are heavy on your tongue, sickly sweet, like half-rotted fruit. You catch them there, behind the cemetery gate of your teeth, and swallow them down.

“You asked if I thought it was your fault,” she says softly. “I don’t. It’s not your fault, okay?”

You bite at your lower lip. Yoshikawa meets your gaze head on, her vulpine eyes sharp.

“It is not your fault,” she repeats.

You collapse in on yourself without a sound. Yoshikawa catches you and pulls you close. You rest your head against her breastbone and listen to the sound of her heartbeat.

“You’re sure?” you murmur into her sweater.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” you say softly. “Okay.”

For now, it’s enough.

***

The next day comes too soon.

Yoshikawa leaves early. She examines you before she goes, her gaze careful, but she knows as well as you do that you have to face today without her.

The sky is a perfect blue as you head to the crematorium, the same shade as a robin’s egg, a true spring day. You greet Takao’s parents quietly and with great respect. His mother reaches for your hands and squeezes them. It takes everything you have to not flinch away.

The three of you enter together. You hesitate on the doorstep, your breath catching, but Takao’s father says your name. He’s gentle with it but it’s enough to make you walk into the building.

Takao’s father picks up the first bone. You lose yourself during the rest of the ceremony; all you know is the soft bell of your chopsticks against porcelain, a delicate death knell. You come back to yourself as the lid to the urn closes. Your fingers are so tight around the chopsticks that it hurts.

After, Takao’s mother finds you hunched over by the entrance. She trails a soft hand over your shoulders. You take a deep breath. She gazes at you with tears glimmering in the corners of her eyes. You can’t bring yourself to say anything, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“Stay in touch,” she tells you.

You nod.

Her pained little smile says she doesn’t believe you.

You watch as both of Takao’s parents get into their car to go to the graveyard. His mother is clutching tightly at the urn, grasping at the last vestiges of her boy before they can slip away. You turn away.

The ride home is like being caught in resin; the world moves around you while you stay still. Once home, you bundle yourself up on the couch in the lemon-patterned throw. You curl up into yourself and swallow down the sobs.

It’s the next day by the time you pick yourself up off the couch. Your head hurts, a slow, steady pulse of pain that’s settled in your left temple. It’s joined by the steady ache of your body, a complaint from your joints that you aren’t as young as you used to be. You groan.

When you check your phone, you’re surprised to see how late you’ve slept. Your messages are a mess, but you ignore most of them, skipping to your group chat with Abe and Yoshikawa. Then you pull up your messages with Kita. You stare at the last few for a moment.

You start to type. Delete what you’ve written. Start typing again, only to stop and stare at your screen.

Finally, you hit call instead.

He picks up before the first ring has even finished.

“Hi,” he says.

You breathe out a soft sigh, his voice melting through you.

“Hi,” you say, your voice watery. “It turns out the bone-picking ceremony is the worst part.”

“Was that today?”

“Yesterday.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice tender.

“I know.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay.”

You’re both quiet for a moment. You listen to him breathe; it soothes something in you, a scrape you try not to think about.

“When’s the last time you ate?” Kita asks.

You blink. “I’m not sure,” you tell him.

“Okay,” he says. “We’re gonna cook.”

“Kita, it’s the middle of your day!”

“And we’re gonna cook.”

“It’s fine, I can just grab something, you don’t need to—”

“I’m not sayin’ it a third time.”

“You’re so stubborn!”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Fine,” you say. “I’m switching to FaceTime, though.”

“That’s fine.”

As the camera comes online, all you can see is the little rice charm he still has dangling from his phone, something he’d kept even after the rain had ruined his flip phone. You hear him hum and the charm moves so he can fill your screen.

In the afternoon light he’s tanner than ever, his skin burnished bronze. His gray hair rustles in the breeze, even under his hat. He’s rosy-cheeked with exertion and something in you pangs. He gives you a small, fond smile, and you can’t help but smile back.

“Hi,” you say.

He looks like he wants to laugh. “Hi,” he says. “What do you have to cook with?”

You list everything off and he nods, looking thoughtful.

“That’ll work with a recipe I know,” he says. “I can lead ya through it.”

“Okay.”

You talk as you cook, but it’s subdued. None of the normal excited chatter is present, but Kita makes a valiant effort to keep the conversation afloat. He gives you time when you have to take a minute to recollect yourself. He’s patient but keeps you on task. He doesn’t give you time to wallow.

Soon, the savory scent is billowing through the kitchen. Your stomach growls. By the time you’re finished cooking, you’re starving.

“Go ahead and eat,” Kita says. “I can stay if you want.”

You glance at him. “Will you?”

He gives you a small smile. “‘Course.”

“Just for a bit longer,” you say.

He meets your gaze. Under the brim of his hat, his amber eyes have darkened to a deep brown, the color of the earth.

“As long as you need,” he says quietly, and you hear the promise in it.

You know it’s one that he’ll keep.

***

Spring, you find, is unconcerned with sympathy.

It keeps blooming into being, all golden sunlight and birds trilling. The trees are budding, little stitches of green sewn onto branches. Flowers unfold under the sun’s tender touch, turning their faces up towards the light like acolytes at an altar.

The world keeps turning and you can’t keep up.

“Shit.”

“What’s up?” Abe asks.

She’s lounging at your kitchen table, carefully trimming the ends of a lush bouquet that’s bigger than her head. It’s a riot of color, thick dahlias spilling over the paper it’s wrapped in, a sunset of a thing, with deep oranges flaring like fire and the bruised purple of the oncoming night. You think they’re for her girlfriend, but she rarely talks about her with you now.

Silently, you hold out the carton you’d picked up out of the fridge.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay, okay, I can take it when I leave. Do you want me to do that?”

“Please,” you say, swallowing down the tears.

You hadn’t even realized you bought it. It’s Takao’s favorite juice, something you never drink, and it’s a brand new carton from yesterday’s delivery groceries.

It’s stupid, you think, to be so affected by something so small, but you can’t stand the idea of it sitting there, never to be drunk. You shove it back into the fridge and sink down to the floor.

Abe’s by your side instantly, crouching down next to you with a gentle hand on your back.

“It’s okay,” she says softly. “You’re okay.”

“Am I?”

It’s scathing, meaner than you’d meant it to be, but you’re so tired.

She winces. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“I just meant it’s okay to grieve—”

Something ugly swells up inside of you and spills out from behind your ribs, an oozing miasma that you can’t swallow down.

“What do you know about grief,” you snarl, your voice a winter crackle of breaking ice. “What do you know about what I lost?”

She sucks in a sharp breath. She pulls her hand off of you; it leaves some of her warmth behind, a ghost of her kindness.

“That’s not fair,” she says quietly. “You know that’s not fair.”

“Oh, please.”

“Wow.”

“You know it’s true.”

“You don’t get a monopoly on grief,” she snaps and you surge to your feet.

“Get out!”

She pushes to her feet as well. She doesn’t look at you as she collects her bouquet and her bag. It’s only in the kitchen’s entrance that she turns to face you.

“I lost Aoshi too,” Abe says, tears brimming in her eyes. “I lost him too.”

She leaves before you can say anything else.

You stand there, breathing heavily, your hands clenched into trembling fists. The first of the tears start to slip hot down your cheeks.

“Goddammit.”

The couch is your familiar haven; you curl up on it as you scour away the tears with the heel of your hand. You watch the afternoon light shift, how it plays across the living room as the sun sinks in the sky. It swathes the room with gold that melts into the softest shade of blue. When true night sets in rendering the living room into darkness, you finally shake yourself into a semblance of reality.

Your stomach growls and you get to your feet. When you open the fridge, the first thing you see is the carton of juice.

The sound it makes as it falls into the garbage can is heavy.

You grab your phone from the counter. There are no messages from Abe; the group chat is solely Yoshikawa talking.

For a moment, you miss the regretful moments of your childhood, where you never had to worry about what to say. How you could flash a light in the window, a firefly apology, and simply move forward.

Instead, you don’t talk to Abe for three days.

“I just—I don’t know how to say sorry,” you tell Kita over the phone, worrying at the sleeve of your shirt. It’s starting to fray.

“‘Sorry’ is a good place to start,” he says.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Could be.”

You sigh. “Kita—”

“I’m just sayin’.”

“I hate it when you’re right.”

He laughs softly. “You’ll feel better,” he tells you. “But you already know that.”

“I do.”

He hums. It’s a low, sweet sound and you bask in it for a moment.

“I should go,” you say as the sound fades away. “The delivery should be here any minute.”

“Groceries again?”

You pick at your fraying sleeve. There’s no judgment in his words but they weigh down on you anyway, an anchor with a heavy chain. You’re still tilted off your axis; you cried in the vegetable aisle of the grocery store last time you went. You haven’t gone back since.

Most days, it’s easier to not leave the house.

“Yeah,” you say softly.

“Do you wanna cook together later?”

“I don’t want to take—”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t have the time.”

You twist the fraying thread around your finger. It cuts into you, making your finger swell as the blood is cut off.

“Not tonight,” you say after a moment. You just don’t have it in you. “But thanks.”

Kita hums again. This time there’s a sharper edge to it. You’re not sure he even realizes it.

But he doesn’t push today.

“Alright,” he says. “If ya change your mind later, just let me know.”

“I will. Bye Kita.”

He says goodbye, but there’s something melancholy woven through it, a thread so thin you barely catch it. It weaves its way through you. You sigh.

You don’t bother to put down your phone. Instead, you call Abe.

“You gonna yell at me again?” she asks as soon as she picks up.

You wince. “No,” you say quietly. “I’m gonna apologize for that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Natsumi. You were just trying to help.”

“I was,” she says softly.

“You deserve to mourn Aoshi, too. I’m sorry if I took that from you. It’s…hard to see past my own grief, sometimes.”

“I know.”

“It won’t happen again.”

She snorts. “We’ll see.”

“Hey!”

“You’re grieving,” she says simply. “Sometimes that means doing stupid shit. It’s not an excuse, but I can understand it.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“I know.”

“You’re not supposed to agree!”

“You’re the one that said it!”

The two of you quickly devolve into bickering but it’s sweet at the edges, lined by fondness. Not for the first time, you think of how lucky you are to have the friends you have.

“I couldn’t do this without you,” you say, halfway through catching up on the past few days. “I couldn’t make it without you.”

She goes quiet for a minute.

“You could,” she says. “You could. But you don’t have to.”

The world goes blurry at the edges. You blink back the tears and clear your throat. Abe sniffs, the sound barely audible on the line.

“Are you crying?” you ask.

“No!”

The laughter wells up inside of you before spilling out like a waterfall, flowing fast and free. It fills your living room. You keep laughing until the room is brimming with it, the corners echoing with joy.

It peters out slowly. Even the air feels lighter, you think. Then your stomach sinks, a skipping stone gone too far and falling into the depths.

“Hey,” Abe says softly. “You’re allowed to laugh.”

She’s always known you best.

“It just feels wrong,” you whisper.

“I know. But he would want you to laugh. To be happy. Try to remember that.”

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” she says firmly. “Now let me tell you about—”

The two of you chat for a while longer. Abe regales you with stories that you’ve missed. There’s a shocking amount of them (“I’m a busy girl, you know.”) for the time frame you haven’t been talking. You hadn’t realized how much you missed her until now.

When you hang up, the emptiness of the house comes rushing back in. It’s a tide of a thing, rolling in against the shore of you like a storm, the waves of it lapping higher and higher. You take a deep breath.

You keep the TV on until bedtime, where you replace it with a book. You read and read and read until you can barely keep your eyes open, the kanji blurring at the edges. You put the book down on the nightstand and curl up with Takao’s pillow. You bury your face in it. It still smells like him, just a bit.

It almost lets you pretend that he’s still here.

***

The summer rolls in with a storm.

It’s the first of many, but you think the first is always the saddest. The ground churns beneath the fat droplets as they pelt against the dirt; there are petals scattered around, torn from their stems. You watch one of them float down to the storm drain, a pretty pink sailboat destined to capsize.

The clouds are blue-gray and heavy, bruising the sky. They’re the color of the winter sea and have teeth like it too. There’s no lightning but you can hear the promise of it in far-off thunder, just loud enough to make itself known over the hum of your dryer.

You watch the rain run down the window in rivulets. It’s a bleak picture; even the flowers have been dimmed by the thick gray of the storm, their bright pinks tamped down to a blush of light rose.

“You still there?” Kita asks.

“Sorry,” you say, glancing back at your phone to see him already looking at you. “Got distracted by the rain.”

“S’pouring here.”

“Mhmm, here too. It’s kinda nice for laundry day, though. Even if I can’t hang anything outside. And you get a day off.”

“I suppose.”

You laugh. “You don’t have to sound so put out about it.”

He sighs. “It’s fine. Good day for housework.”

“You keep busy, don’t you?”

“There’s always something ta do.”

You laugh. “True,” you say. “Oh, there goes the dryer, hold on.”

You bundle the warm laundry into the basket, taking a moment to sink your fingers into the mess of clothing, letting it heat your hands.

Kita’s in the middle of mending something when you come back to your phone. For a moment, you just watch him. He’s bent over it, his hair glinting silver in the light of his kitchen, the black tips of it all the darker for it. He moves with steady assurance, the needle flashing in and out of the fabric like lightning. His big hands dwarf the needle but it doesn’t seem to hinder him.

He glances up, his amber eyes finding you immediately. He smiles, soft and fond and a little bit teasing. “Something I can help ya with?”

“Just watching. You’re good at that.”

“Granny taught me,” he says as he finishes, running his finger over the mended tear to make sure it’ll hold. Satisfied, he bites off the thread, his teeth gleaming as he does. “And I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“Guess so,” you say, moving your phone and propping it up so you can see him as you fold. You fold up a few of your pants, putting them beside you on the couch. You move without thinking, just talking to Kita as you work, when you come to a stop.

It’s Takao’s shirt. You hadn’t realized it was in the wash—you’ve been putting off washing all of his clothing, afraid that one day you’ll wake up and even the scent of him will no longer linger.

Kita says your name.

You ignore him, running your hands over the shirt instead. You lean down and sniff it and find only the scent of your detergent. You take in a deep, slow breath.

There are more in the basket. You lean down to touch them, grabbing the nearest one. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Kita watching you. He stays quiet.

You fold up another one of Takao’s shirts. It’s soft beneath your fingertips, the cotton worn thin with use. You trace your finger along the pattern. Loop around it, over and over again, until you’re half dizzy with it.

Something in you breaks.

“I don’t think I can do this,” you say, the words spilling from you like an oil slick, catching on your teeth and tongue and coating them with something sour. You fist your hands in the shirt. “Shinsuke, I can’t do this.”

He says your name, quiet and tender.

“It’s just so much,” you sob. “I don’t know what to do without him, I don’t know how to live without him, not anymore. And work—going to the office and smiling like I’m not empty inside, like there’s not this gaping wound inside of me. I can’t do it. I can’t.”

You suck in air in great, gasping breaths, your chest cinching tight, like a marionette caught up in her own strings.

“Breathe with me,” he says, his voice stern. You take in a deep, slow breath, matching his, and then another. “That’s it. There you go.”

Your chest starts to loosen as you breathe; you keep matching with Kita, following his careful lead. When you’re finally steady, you can’t help the way more tears brim on your lash line.

“How am I supposed to do this?” you ask quietly. “How am I supposed to survive this?”

“You’re already survivin’ this,” he says. “It might not feel like it, but you are.”

You lean back and stare out the window. Outside, the cicadas are calling even in the rain, a familiar song; you close your eyes.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” you say softly. “I can’t keep doing this. This big, empty house is killing me. I don’t know what to do.”

“Come to the country,” he says.

“What?”

“Come to the country,” he repeats.

“Visiting isn’t—”

“To stay.”

You suck in a sharp breath and bite your lip.

“Just for a while,” he says softly. “And not with me. There’s a granny outside of town who’s got a room that she rents out.”

“Kita…”

“It’s just an option,” he says. “But I think gettin’ out of the city might do you some good.”

You fidget with your wedding ring, twirling the thin band of metal in place. It’s warmed by your skin.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Okay.”

The two of you lapse into silence as you scrub the remainder of tears away. Your cheeks are still hot and you grimace as a headache starts to make itself known.

“I’ve got a headache,” you say. “I’m gonna go lie down.”

Kita hums, his amber eyes tracing over you. “If you’re sure.”

“Yeah,” you say.

“Okay. I’m just a call away.”

You soften. “I know.”

You bid each other a quiet goodbye. You move the laundry out of the way and curl up on the couch, one hand fisted in one of Takao’s shirts. You bring it to your nose and only smell detergent again. You tighten your grip and close your eyes.

You wake to Abe shaking you.

“C’mon,” she says, giving you another little shake. “We brought dinner.”

“Natsu?” you say blearily, rubbing at your eyes. You swat at her when it looks like she’s going to shake you for a third time. She dodges with a grin.

“Yocchan too,” Abe says as Yoshikawa flashes you a peace sign. “How long have you been asleep?”

“Dunno,” you say. “I was on the phone with Kita and he—”

“He what?” Yoshikawa asks, her sly eyes going sharp.

“I was having a…hard time,” you say. “I had a bit of a breakdown. He thinks I should go to the country for a while. Get out of the city.”

Yoshikawa hums, settling down next to you on the couch. She leans over and rubs her thumb over your cheekbone; you realize that there are still salt stains there. She tilts her head, sending her long hair rippling. It gleams in the light and you think of a lake at night, the surface gone dark beneath the moon’s tender touch.

“That might not be a bad idea,” she murmurs.

“No way,” Abe says, plopping down on your other side. “Unless you want to go?”

“I don’t know,” you say miserably, pressing your face into Yoshikawa’s shoulder. “I don’t feel like I know anything anymore.”

Yoshikawa presses her lips against your hairline. “You don��t need to know,” she reminds you. “It’s just an option. You can decide later. Have you eaten?”

You shake your head.

“We brought udon,” Abe informs you. “Because we’re the best.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “You are.”

They trade a glance you can’t quite make sense of. Then they’re chivvying you into the kitchen with gentle hands, pushing you into a seat at the table.

The kake udon is still hot. Steam wisps up from it in tiny curls before dissipating, each one undulating like kelp in a current. You stir it and watch the broth swirl.

“You’re supposed to eat it,” Abe says.

You glare at her. She grins.

You take a bite and flavor comes to life on your tongue, deep and rich. You close your eyes to savor the simplicity of it. When you open them again, Abe and Yoshikawa are watching you with fond little smiles.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing,” they chorus.

You narrow your eyes but don’t say anything. The three of you settle into a conversation, moving from story to story like a skipping stone, pausing only to take bites of your food. The chatter flows like a river, certain in its path, and you bathe in the easy familiarity of it.

You’ve just finished your udon when Abe puts her chopsticks down and says: “So. The countryside.”

“Natsumi,” Yoshikawa groans. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?!”

“You’re always jumping in feet first,” Yoshikawa grumbles.

“I’m just curious!”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly. “It might be good to talk about it.”

Abe sends Yoshikawa a victorious grin. Then she turns to you with a softer look on her face. “You don’t have to,” she says.

“I think I might want to.”

“Talk about it? Or go?”

“Both.”

Yoshikawa hums. “Do you think you might be running away?” she asks.

Abe winces along with you.

“It had to be said,” Yoshikawa says, not unkindly. “I can’t understand what you’re going through and I know that, but is going somewhere else really going to change anything? Or are you just running away from something inescapable?”

“Earlier you said her going might be a good thing,” Abe points out.

“It might be,” Yoshikawa says. “But it might not be either.”

“I don’t think I’m running,” you say. “I just think that maybe I need a break. A place that’s not so filled with Aoshi.”

“Okay.”

“What about Kita?” Abe asks.

You scrunch up your brow. “What about him?”

“Will he take it the wrong way?”

“No,” you say. “He knows I’m not looking for anything from him. That I can’t give anything to him.”

“You sure he knows that?”

“Yeah.”

They trade a glance but don’t say anything. You bite at your lower lip.

“Don’t decide tonight,” Yoshikawa says, getting to her feet and collecting the bowls from the table. She sets them down in the sink and pulls on a pair of dish gloves. “Or even tomorrow. You have time.”

“I know that,” you grouse.

She rolls her eyes. “Consider it a reminder, then.”

“Consider me reminded.”

“Don’t be a brat.”

“Oh, don’t ask for the impossible,” Abe says, throwing you an obnoxious grin when you scowl at her.

The conversation flows on into a different topic. The two of them keep drawing you into it, but you’re stuck in your own head, rolling the idea of the country around it like a pebble caught in a wave. You think of the sunshine bathing the fields in gold and the way the air smells different there. The countryside is a world all its own. A world not built around your life with Takao.

You think you might need that.

***

Kita picks you up from the train station a few months later.

“I could have arranged something,” you tell him as he takes your suitcase from you. “You didn’t need to come and get me.”

“I wanted to,” he says calmly. “This all you brought?”

You nod, already shedding your light sweater as the two of you emerge from the station, out of the aircon and into the countryside heat, a lingering remnant of summer. You follow Kita to his truck—old, but well-maintained, with a carefully stenciled rice plant over the passenger side door—and watch him heft your suitcase into the bed of it. He tucks it carefully into place, giving it a tug to make sure it won’t go anywhere.

As he does, you watch the ripple of his back muscles under his shirt. It rides up when he tugs on your suitcase, a crescent moon sliver of paler skin peeking out from under it. He turns around after thumping the truck bed closed, and you tear your gaze away.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Uh-huh.”

You climb into the truck, shutting the door with a solid thump. Across the cab, Kita does the same. The truck rumbles to life. He puts his hand behind your headrest to reverse out of the parking lot, his amber eyes brushing over you before he concentrates on driving. You breathe in through your nose, far too aware of the heat of his hand.

Once he pulls out of the parking lot, the two of you drive in silence. You gaze out the window, watching as the railroad tracks fade away into the town. The tracks are shiny and new, a testament to how recently the station was put in.

“It’s not a long drive,” Kita says, his voice soft. It rolls over you, steady and sure, an anchor of a sound. “Yoshida’s house is just outside town.”

“Okay,” you say. “Thank you for setting this up.”

He glances at you. He’s as stoic as always, but when he looks at you, something in him softens.

“Yer welcome,” he says. His smile is small but it settles over you like a quilt, warm and well-worn. You ache with it.

“Tell me about the farm,” you say, feeling your stomach twist. “How are the ducks?”

He shakes his head. “The same,” he says, that small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Happily gobblin’ up the little pests in the paddies.”

You lean back in the passenger seat, letting his voice wash over you. You’ve always liked the way Kita talks; he’s to the point and brief, but not impatient. Never impatient. Always steady.

The town gives way to the farmland. The truck trundles along the road, kicking up a little cloud of dust behind it. You can see it in the rear view mirror, lingering like smog. The road is lined by a sea of rice paddies that wave gently in the wind, an eddying tide of plants. They’re Midas-touched, gone gold with the season, and they glint like treasure in the sunlight.

You watch the world pass by and marvel at how big it is. In the distance, you can see the hills, rising green into the horizon’s gentle embrace, cutting through the skyline. There are power towers running along the edge of them; you trace along the lines with your index finger.

A cyclist goes by: it’s a young girl, her hair flowing freely in the wind. Her dress—periwinkle blue, almost the same shade as the sky—flaps around her, too, but her no-nonsense boots are steady on the pedals.There’s dirt smeared on her cheek. She waves cheerfully at the truck. Kita raises his hand in acknowledgement but doesn’t stop.

“You know her?”

“It’s a small town,” he says. “That’s Suzuki’s girl. His youngest. You’ll probably meet her. Her granny is friends with Yoshida.”

You lower your window and let the breeze play over you. It tugs playfully at your collar; it keeps the worst of the humidity at bay. Still, the heat rolls over you in a wet lick.

“S’hot,” you drawl, rolling your head around to look at Kita.

He glances at you and gives you a little smile. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Ugh.”

He smiles again and turns into a drive. “This is Yoshida’s,” he says.

The farmhouse is older, but it’s clearly been cared for through the years. The engawa has several types of windchimes hanging from it; they sing out a crystalline symphony as the breeze picks up. There’s laundry on the line in the front yard and a few small vegetable patches surrounding it. You see squash starting to fatten on the vines and the remnants of strawberry season, the very last of the berries gone a deep red.

“Okay,” you say, wiping your suddenly sweaty palms against your thighs as a woman appears on the engawa. “Right.”

“It’ll be fine,” Kita says, laying a hand over yours. His palm is work-rough, his fingertips callused, and you can feel the strength in each flex of his fingers. He gives you a little squeeze. “You’ll be fine.”

You nod and slide out of the truck at the same time as him. You fidget as he rounds the back of the truck, the bed popping open as he grabs your suitcase. The woman on the engawa comes to the edge of it; she reaches up with a gnarled hand and drags her finger along a chime carved from wood. Its sound is more of a hollow echo than a chime, but she smiles anyway.

Kita comes up beside you, your suitcase in hand. “Let’s go.”

“Right.”

You follow him up the drive and to the engawa. Yoshida’s a small woman, her black hair shot through with gray, like a river stone in dark water. She’s hunched in on herself slightly, and the skin on the back of her hands is papery with age, but her eyes are sharp.

“Shin-chan,” she says warmly as the two of you approach. “It’s good to see you.”

He gives her a little bow. “It’s good to see you too, Yoshida.”

“I’ve told you to call me Granny, boy.”

He smiles. “Yes, Granny.”

“Is this your friend?”

“Yes, this is her.”

You sketch out a respectful bow and tell her your name. She repeats it, testing the sound of it on her tongue. She gives a decisive nod.

“It’s a good name,” she says. “Come, let me show you to your room.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, reaching out to grab your bag from Kita. He sidesteps you easily, hefting it up and gesturing you forward. “Shinsuke—”

“Don’t make Granny wait,” he chides.

You scowl at him but head up on the engawa, ducking beneath a set of clear chimes that are scattering rainbows around on the ground and the side of the house alike. You toe off your shoes at the genkan and slip on the house slippers that Yoshida gestures to.

The farmhouse is cozy as you wander through it, the decor minimal but still homey. It smells warm, like fresh dashi simmering on the stovetop.

The room Yoshida leads you to is small but perfect. There’s a twin bed tucked into the corner and a desk with a little vase of flowers on it, their periwinkle blossoms waving in the breeze coming in from the open window. The quilt on the bed is handmade, each square featuring a different crop in the height of their season, beautifully stitched and filled with care.

You step inside and trace a finger over an embroidered daikon as Yoshida starts to go over the expectations for sharing the house. You listen as best you can but most of your attention is now on the window. It looks over the paddies. You watch them ripple with the wind, a golden sea of slow, sweet waves.

Kita nudges you lightly; you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He smiles at you knowingly, his eyes crinkled at the edges, and you refocus on Yoshida. She’s smiling, too, a little twinkle in her eye, but she doesn’t say anything aside from continuing to talk about shared cleaning duties.

“Any questions?” she asks, hands on her hips.

You shake your head. “No,” you say. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

She waves a gnarled hand. “You remember any questions, come find me,” she says. “I’ll let you settle in.”

She’s out the door before you can respond, closing it firmly behind her. You blink.

Kita nudges you again. “Where do you want this?” he asks. You glance at your suitcase, nestled carefully between his feet.

“Over there is fine,” you say.

He puts your bag where you gesture and then turns to you. He watches you for a moment, a small, fond smile tilting his lips up. “How’re you feeling?”

“Dunno yet,” you say. “It’s all so new.”

“S’fair.”

“I think it’ll be good, though,” you say slowly, glancing out the window again. The countryside stretches far before you, the rice stalks glistening in the sun, and something in you shifts. You toy with your necklace, rubbing your wedding ring between your fingers, ignoring how it tugs on the chain. “I think it’ll be good.”

“Good. I’ll let you settle in some more,” he says. “I’ll be downstairs.”

“Shinsuke?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” you say softly.

“Fer?”

“All of this,” you say, a little bit helplessly. “All of it.”

“Of course,” he says. His amber eyes are almost glowing in the afternoon light, the color of sunlit whiskey, a deep golden brown. He opens his mouth and then pauses.

You tilt your head, but he shakes his head and just gives you a small smile.

He leaves the room with the same confident grace he always has, his lean muscles coiling under his skin as he moves. For a moment, you just watch him. He moves with careful intent. Not a single motion wasted. It’s impressive, the control he has over himself, and he does it so easily.

You sit down on the bed as he makes his way down the hallway. You glance around the room again. You reach up to your necklace again, wrapping your hand around the wedding rings dangling from it. Tears burn in the corners of your eyes.

You lay back on the bed, into the patch of sunlight that’s pooling on the pillow. It’s hot. Outside, the countryside sings, from the quiet melody of the rice rustling to the calling of the storks. The breeze tugs at your clothes and hair as it spills in through the window. It feels nice. Real.

You close your eyes.

When you wake up, it’s gone twilight, night encroaching upon the last light of the horizon. The sky is a bruise of a thing, deep purple and glittering with stars. You rub the bleariness from your eyes and curse to yourself.

Your phone screen is bright in the dark; you wince as it sears your eyes.

Kita has sent you a message about how he didn’t want to wake you and promises he’ll see you soon. You text him back and scrub at your face again to wake yourself up. When that fails, you wander down the hall to the bathroom. The cool water wakes you up quickly. It’s crisp and clean and you wonder if it’s the country or if it’s just in your head.

“Yer up,” Yoshida says crisply when you step into the kitchen. Her words are almost sharp, but her eyes are kind. “I sent Shin-chan home—the boy looked like he was about to wait ‘round.”

“Oh,” you say. “I’m sorry if I kept either of you waiting. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

She waves you off with one hand. “Travelin’ is tiring,” she says. “I’m about to make dinner if ya’d like some.”

“Can I help?”

“You can chop.”

You sit where she gestures and take the squash she hands you. It’s as orange as a sunset, with thick ribs and a wide, sturdy stem. You get to work cutting it into little cubes per her instructions.

The two of you work quietly. The breeze flutters in from the open shoji; it’s still hot but it’s cooling off quickly with night settling in.

“It’s beautiful here,” you say absentmindedly, staring out the open door into the fields again. They’re moonlit, bleached to a soft white-gold, shimmering as they dance in the wind.

“It is. Been here my whole life and it’s never lost that prettiness.”

“I can’t imagine it ever does.”

Yoshida glances at you.

“It’s a good place to take time away,” she says, matter-of-fact. “It’s just different here.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m hoping so.”

She hums.

The two of you chat as you keep making dinner. Yoshida’s son—broad-shouldered and kind-faced—comes home from the fields just as you finish, earning a scolding from his mother for being so late. You politely look away but can’t stop the small smile from blooming on your lips. You cover it with a little cough.

He introduces himself sheepishly then joins the conversation easily and happily. The talk carries through the meal, warm and flowing. The night passes quickly with them.

As you get ready for bed, you can’t help but think that maybe this will work after all.

#kita shinsuke x reader #kita x reader #hq!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #bee writes hq!!#.lbgtm

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sofasoap · 2 years ago

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Zero Distance

Pairing : John Price x F!reader (aka OC Mini MacTavish) Summary: he is never going to let you go. Epilogue to Five Times series. Straight after One Chance

Warning: Mature themes. Smut time. Alcohol use. if you don’t like the idea of age gap story, turn around NOW. My first ever smut. Please don't judge. I tried. it burnt my brain cells off.

Thanks to mother of my Mini MacTavish @saltofmercury for lending me the character “Mini” from her story. Go read her “The Favorite MacTavish” !

“masterlist” for Mini MacTavish expanded verse.

“Stay for the night?”

Looking up, through your hooded eyes. Asking him with a hint of need in your voice. Licking your lip, tilting your head as you blinked a few times, waiting for his answer. You can see Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows, trying to restrain himself.

“You are making this very difficult love.”

“You don’t want me?” you asked with a cheeky smile. He growled and pulled you in, pressing tight against his body. You can feel his hardness even through the thick layer of his pants.

“Oh trust me.I have been waiting for years, “ leaning in and nuzzling your cheek gently with his beard, whispering into your ears, sending shivers down your back, “you have no idea how hard it is for me not to take you right here and now. But.” pulling back slightly, he looked into your eyes, the lust is still there, but the gentleness as he cups your face and cheek with his big callous hand, swiping your lip with his thumb, “You are still recovering from your injury. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You mentally rolled your eyes. This man really has the will of steel. Change of tactic.

“Help me to undress then?” tugging him towards your bedroom.

“How did you manage by yourself before?”

“With a lot of difficulties, pain and determination.” You were telling the truth. It is extremely hard for you to get dressed and clean yourself since you got discharged from hospital after your injury. You declined any help from your family or friend, the stubbornness in you refuses to bother and be a hassle to them. You shrug off your coat, using your good arm, hanging it onto the little rack behind your bedroom door. You proceed to slide the sling off, wincing a bit as you drop the arm to the side.

Feel Price coming up behind you, you pointed to the zip behind your dress, silently asking him to unzip it.

Slowly he slides the dress off you, carefully as you slide your arm through the sleeves of the dress. You shiver a bit as his hand moves down the side of your arm, intentionally, before moving back to unhook your bras.

With your skin exposed, he can see the extent of your injuries. Bruises covering your arm, along with scars. His hand hovers over the bandage, brows furrowed. “How did this happen?”

“Blame König, he was knocked out and I had to run in and drag him out. Got shot in the process. Luckily Horangi was there to cover us.’ You convey the story as if it was a walk in the park. Price shook his head. He needs to have a good talk with you about your choice of job later on.

You sit down on your bed and proceed to finish undressing, pulling your hosiery and underwear off, you look at him, crooking an eyebrow as you see him starting to undress himself. “You can’t shower yourself like that. I’ll help you.” Your heart starts to race as you see his bare chest. He is well built, firm defined muscles, your eye shifts towards his abs, noticing a little trail of hair around his navel area. You bit inside your cheek trying to resist a moan. You can already feel your core heating up. As he pulls his pants off, you let out a gasp as you see his very well endowed manhood. You feel like a teenage girl, seeing a naked man for the first time.Covering your face with embarrassment you heard him chuckled.

“Never seen a naked man before?” “ No. yes, YES OF COURSE I HAVE.” Never one that is so big. He gently pulls you up from bed, carefully not shifting your right arm too much. You lean closer to him as he leads you into the bathroom, enjoying the closeness and the warmth radiating off him. Making sure the water is hot enough, he guides you into the shower. You let out a sigh and body starts to relax as the warm water hits your body,

“Are the bandages going to be Ok?” “I have spares. I can just change them to a fresh one after.”

Putting the shower head back onto the hook, he proceeds to lather you up with soap. Slowly and deliberately making circular motions as he clean around your breast,

“Stop teasing me.” you pouted.

“ I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Says the person that he is going to wait…!!! “ your breath hitches as he moves down towards your slit. Sliding his fingers back and forth as he leans forward and captures your mouth, silencing your moan. Parting your lips, he sees it as an invitation to slide his tongue into yours, deepening the kiss.

His fingers never stopped pleasuring you in the process, you moved your hand towards his now very hardened manhood, teasing the tip of it with your thumb as you tried to grip around it. You heard a moan and growl as you started pumping your hand slowly.

“ You little minx.” You smiled into his mouth as he whispered with a rasp. “Just to pay back.” he inserted more fingers into you, speeding up as he started rubbing your clit. You throw your head back as he leans forward, nipping your neck. You can feel your climax coming as he encourages you with his sweet words,

“That’s it, love. Just let it go, be a good girl and come for me.” you shut your eyes and let out a whimper, feeling your wall clamping around his fingers. Your head spins as your orgasm hits. Gosh, it never felt so good before with your own fingers. His hand slows down as you ride out the rest of orgasm. Your leg feels like they have lost their strength, and the only thing that is holding you up is his other hand, gripping onto the back of your neck. Remembering you are still holding onto his hardened cock, you part your legs slightly and guide it between it, rocking your hip back and forth, trying to ignore the overstimulated sensation from your clit from the high you just came down seconds ago. Price tightens his grip onto you, you can feel his whole body tensing up. He can hear his breathing quickens. With your good arm you grab onto his bicep for support as he moves his other arm to your grasp onto your butt, speeding up his pace. Moments later you can hear his suppressed groan as you feel his hot cum coating your thigh and slit.

Leaning his forehead against yours, eyes closed. The only sound in the bathroom was the water splashing and both of you panting, trying to catch up with breath.

Giving you a few gentle kisses, Price turns the water off before stepping out of the shower, grabbing the towel off the rack. Gently patting you dry and wrapping the towel around your body, he sat you down on top of the toilet. “Where are your fresh bandages?” Pointing to the med kit on the bathroom shelf, he kneels beside you and proceeds to change the now wet and soggy bandages around your arm. “There’s some fresh towel on the bottom of that shelf too, you better wrap yourself up before you get too cold.” “Sick of me swinging this thing in front of you already?”

“Stop it.” lightly smack him on the shoulder, face heating up.

You never know he can be so gentle under his gruff and stiff exterior. He insists on drying your hair before gently brushing it, like it's the most delicate thing in the world.

“I’m not pulling too hard I hope?” Shaking your head lightly, “ you are doing way better than Johnny. The amount of times I asked him to help me with my hair when I was young...I am surprised I still got any scalp and hair left.”

He chuckled. He can just imagine you as a little girl, sitting on a stool, complaining non stop while Soap has no idea where he is going wrong.

“Come on, let’s get you in bed.”

“.. you not staying?” the panic surfacing and twists in your stomach as you notice him starting to put his clothes back on.

Price felt a pang of sadness as he saw the fear in your eyes.

“I’ll come back in a few minutes sweetheart. Don’t think you or your landlord will appreciate me smoking inside the house.” Giving you a little ruffle on the head and a kiss, making sure you have enough cushion and pillow to prop up your injured arm, he headed out to the balcony by the living room.

Lighting up his cigar, as he takes his time to think back to all the things that happened this evening, the accidental meet up ( although he is sure Ghost and Gaz have something to do with it ), the confession and reconciliation, and finally to get the first taste of you. He’s not going to let you go ever again. He made that mistake years ago, the regret and the pain both of you have suffered through. He would have thought you would have moved on by now. Find someone that is younger than him, someone that will always be by your side, will be there for you when needed, someone who doesn’t disappear on you. Someone who isn’t in the military and might be dead the next moment. Someone who deserves you more than he does.

He felt slight relief and selfishness when he overheard the occasional conversation from the boys about how you are still single, or the flare of jealousy when Soap mumbles about the dates you've been going on and those men are never good enough for you. “But I don’t want anyone else. I want you John…”

Those words gave him so much relief and comfort, his world became a whole again after hearing it, his heart sours knowing he still has a chance.

After finishing his cigar,making sure everything is locked, he quietly slips back into your room. You have already fallen asleep, with your face scrunched up. Taking his shirt off before sliding into bed with you, carefully not to jostle you awake. You subconsciously wiggle yourself closer to him. “..John?” “Go back to sleep love. Sorry.” You mumbled something before fluttering your eyes close again, but this time you have a smile on your face. My beautiful smile.

He swears he is not going to turn that smile into a frown ever again.

“So, You are fucking my sister.” You cover your face up, burning like a furnace, with embarrassment. You should have known your brother wouldn’t go light with Price, especially after what happened in the last few years. “JOHNNY! YOU BLOODY BAMPOT SHUT IT!” you hissed, “ Don’t let Ma and Da hear it!” “Well, that’s what he is here for anyway isn’t it? To let Ma and Da know what he is doing to you.” “Or maybe I was aiming for all the whisky in the cellar.” You gave your fiancé a death glare. DON’T. You warned.

How you wish you can just push your brother off the cliff in Orkney, to shut him up for ever. But you suspect your parents and your sister in law wouldn’t appreciate that. “Well, he isn’t wrong.” Ghost suddenly piped up from behind the couch, where he and Gaz are currently playing with Soap’s kids. It is actually quite a hilarious sight, two men who are nearly as tall as the tall frame, one built like a massive fridge, are sitting on the floor, playing with cars and little construction bricks with toddlers.

That shit stirrer. You cursed. If it wasn’t for the fact there are children present, you would have given all the boys a good lecture in a very colourful choice of words on how to behave like an adult. Well, apart from Gaz, he has been smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

“I knew I should have listened to König … should have just eloped.”

You ended up keeping your job at Kortac, to Price’s and the TF141 boy’s dismay. “I would love to join you boys if I could. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be in the same workplace.” You try to placid them, with promises of trying to stay off the frontline. You have seen Price having very stern words with König and Horangi once when SpecGru and Kortac had a joint operation once. And strangely after that you have noticed the two rival companies and also SAS having more joint operations than ever. “...more people the better, to get the mission done.” Price said to you when you question the frequency of joint missions. You suspect him and Laswell had something to do with this. An excuse for him to see you more, to protect you.

He quietly proposed to you one night, after a particular hard mission. You had to patch all the boys up, berating them for their recklessness. It was only you and Price left in the medical tent. Most of the boys had gone to bed, you and Price were the only two left, he insisted to be the last one to be looked at, only after all the other members had been looked after. Before all the men left the tent, they gave Price a very encouraging look, patted on his shoulder before filing out the tent. “I seriously can’t believe the risk your team has taken.” you haven’t noticed your hand had started shaking as you patch him up. “I.. I could have lost all of you in one go.” tears started to roll down your cheek.

Price calls out your name softly. “Look at me.” you lower your hand and head, refuse to look. Grasping your face gently with both hands, forcing your face up. The sadness in his eyes. “I am sorry to make you worry love. This is why I am here, as the captain, to try and guide them out of danger, we had no other choice. We had to take that risk, otherwise…” lower his head, resting it against yours. He doesn’t want to think about what would have happened. He has already tried to push the image of you, distraught, hearing the news of them not returning forever, out of his head.

Reaching into his shirt, he pulled out his dog tag, pressing it into your hand. You look up at him with confusion. “I have a spare one. Don't worry.” Shaking his head, as you try to pass it back into his hand. “ Besides,” he cleared his throat a bit, voice slightly wavering.

“So a piece of me is always with you when I am gone.”

“... Are you trying to propose to me?” Slight blush on his cheek says it all. Both of you ended up having one of each other’s dog tags.

“How romantic!!” Both your sister in law and Ma sighed as you recall the proposal story to them. The men are sitting around the couch, in front of the fireplace, enjoying the drinks. Bit of adult time after the kids went to bed. “Well, I am happy you are getting married, and more people are joining the family. The boys are welcome here anytime.” You are happy after years of turmoil, all the broken pieces have finally come back together, you just hope it will stay this way. “Well, the one Mini stole from the cellar has a bit more depth than this one.” “I TOLD YOU I DIDN'T STEAL IT FROM THE CELLAR! I BORROWED IT!!” “I knew she always steals stuff from there…”

Well, maybe it will stay that way if the boys survive your wrath……

thanks @floral-force and @kaplerrr for giving me encouragement to finish writing the smutty part * cry * I did it!!!! @tapioca-marzipan this is for you too. :)

#captain john price #john price x you #john price x reader #john price imagine #john price #captain price x reader #captain price #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #captain john price x female reader #call of duty

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kitty-lennon · 1 year ago

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OK since I had some nice returns about the height hc I wanted to share with you some of my other Hc!! (it get a bit long)

- Robbie / Glanni are faes (principaly due to Bound, that fic have been engraved in my soul) and also are two different person

- Robbie took care of the kids before Sportacus was around and have taught them about their special interest (Trixie and pranks/mischief; Pixel and love for gadget/tech and all; Stingy.... Stinginess; Ziggy and finding comfort in sweets, also Robbie made him that super hero suit)

-Latabæ and Lazytown are two different towns, and Latabæ is in iceland

-there is a Jives and Penny counter part in Lazytown but they are older and away to university. They still love to play with the kids

- Latabæ kids gang are teens while Lazytown kids gang is well, kids (/ almost preteen)

- ìþrott is older than Sportacus by a few years, and they aren't related by blood. They still view each other as Brothers tho. Also ìþrott passed down the number 10 title to him (will explain this more if asked)

- Àfram Latabæ Íþróttaálfurinn and Glanni Glæpur Í Latibær Íþróttaálfurinn are the same, he got badly made fun of by Glanni and after fighting the bitch away from Lazytown decided to get a makeover bc he indeed was a bit out of style.... Not that Glanni finds it better (except the abs)

- Glanni is a real menace that's holding back o' taking the world bc like Robbie, he's too much of a softy but won't admit it. (doesn't stop him from being a wanted criminal that have done heinous crimes but he had arguably good reason, as much as a morally gray flamboyant vilain can)

- Robbie and Glanni are distantly related blood wise but Glanni took care of Robbie most of his childhood and make sure he wouldn't take the same road as him in Villainy. (in love with this one, I love secretly soft vilains)

- Robbie is nb/ Agender, just doesn't give a single fuck about pronouns or gender, Glanni is identifying as man but like she/her and dressing either hyper masc or hyper flamboyant, pink and feathers and fur everywhere, glitters in his pockets and strass on his gun

- Sportacus is cis he/him a'd confident enough to wear a dress and make up even if it's rare / for his traditions as an elf (he like it tho bc it's comfy and fun to move around in a dress) Íþróttaálfurinn is the same, and often have his nails painted and likes to help the girls with their hair

That's the most I could think of hard enough to materialise in words!!

(it's 2am when I'm writing this, I'll probably upload it way later wand I'm sure I could come up with more tbh they probably seem too logical to me rn to not be canon)

PLS PLS PLS don't even hesitate to ask me about your headcanons so we can talk about them I love that!! It's more than alright to judge my hc even if I think they are pretty basic, but I don't think I'll change my mind about them (I'll hear you out still tho!)

OK last blorb, if you have ocs you can also message / ask / pm about them and info dump on me I would LOVE to hear about them.

Tbh usually I get in fandoms along with some friends, and I love plotting / playing / drawing [with] our ocs. So tell me if you would be fine with it, it would be immensely fun to populate the towns with our silly characters and watch them interact.

Alright, stole enough of your time now, thank you if you read this far! I really like the community here and hope to interact a bit more with all of you nice people, Have a nice time out there ✨✨

#lazytown #glanni glæpur í latabæ #glanni glaepur #iprottaalfurinn #robbie rotten #sportacus #lazytown oc #Àfram Latabæ #Glanni Glæpur #Íþróttaálfurinn #Latabæ #Latibær #headcanon #Kitty is Rambling again #The fandom is making me so passionate about this

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doveabovetheworld · 2 years ago

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Kieran Valentine x Male OC

Request: request from and OC made by @Smore_Monster

Tw: none just a touch of angst at the ending though

Summary: Ozzy Moo-ller just became the new kid at Monster High. He meets Kieran Valentine and develops a blossoming friendship with him, not knowing what his past was. Everyone told him what Kieran did trying to warn him about the vampire but he did what he wanted to do.

Word count: 5156

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

I walked into my school for the first time with the feeling of anxiety going through my body. I moved from the south all the way to New Salem where my new school is at. I looked and saw monsters of all kinds walk through the Coffin Corridor. Everyone looked super nice but I still couldn’t help but feel a little scared.

I had to meet up with someone named Clawd Wolf since he was going to show me around the school. A tall werewolf with sweet golden eyes came up to me.

“Hey!” He started, “I’m Clawd Wolf. You must be Ozzy Moo-ller, am I right?”

He put his hand out to shake it. I took his hand and we started to walk around the school. He showed me around and let me know where the hotspots for fangouts were. He was really chill and he said that If I needed anything I could ask him.

The rest of the school day went on and I have to say, everyone is super nice. I think I’m definitely gonna enjoy it here.

After a few weeks of moving to Monster High, I made a few friends.

I was walking to Study Howl with my two friends Johnny Spirit and Operetta when I accidentally walked into someone.

“Oh my ghoul!” I said helping him up, “I’m so sorry.”

I looked in his bright rosy eyes for a second, fazed with a feeling of butterflies in my stomach.

“You’re fine.” He said as he walked away, his shaggy dark brown and red hair falling in front of his enchanting eyes before he moved it away.

I stood there for a second taking in the feelings I felt until Operetta shook my shoulder.

“You alright, hon?” She asked me.

“Yeah, I’m good.” I said turning to her and Johnny, “Who was that?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to get mixed up with him.” She said as we started walking.

“That’s Kieran Valentine. He’s awful.” Johnny spat in.

“Why? What’d he do?”

“You should ask Claw what happened.”

We walked the rest of the way to class while Johnny and Operetta would talk about music. I was quiet the whole time. I just couldn’t get his captivating eyes out of my mind. He seems so nice. I don’t know how he could be a bad monster.

After Study Howl I met up with Clawd and Dracularua, his ghoulfriend, to talk about Valentine and what happened between them. Clawd and Dracularua told me how he came to Monster High to steal Dracualrua’s love for power. I couldn’t really believe what they were saying… I mean he didn’t seem like the type of monster to do that.

I said thank you to them and left. On my way to my locker, I saw him again. He was standing by my locker reading a book.

“Hey!” I yelled, trying to get his attention.

He looked up with a puzzled expression. When he saw me, he closed his book and walked over to me.

“Hello,” He started saying, a fake southern accent coming out, “I was waiting for you.”

“What? Why?”

“You dropped this,” He held out one of my pins. I must’ve dropped it when we bumped into each other… He gave it back to me and started to walk away.

“Wait!” I spoke. He turned around. Those beautiful eyes looked back at me. “Do you maybe wanna walk with me to your next class?”

“Oh,” He started blushing and looked surprised that I asked him my question, “You want to walk with me?”

“I mean… yeah. That’s why I asked.”

“Well then I would love too.”

We walked and started talking about random things like where we use to live and things we liked. He was actually super chill.

It’s been about a couple months since Valentine and I became friends and I’ve been getting a lot of warnings from my friends saying how I should stay away from Valentine.

I know what he did in the past and I even talked to him about it. He told me exactly what Clawd and Dracularua told me and how he’s changed. He feels bad about what happened in the past and how he tried to make up for it. He did change, it's just no one would give him a chance.

Valentine and I were walking home from school when we saw Clawd and Draculaura. Clawd and I got into an argument a couple days ago because he found out how Valentine and I became friends.

Clawd started giving us glaring looks. Valentine seemed to be very uncomfortable and upset about how Clawd was looking at us. I know he tries his best to keep his distance from him.

We passed each other and kept walking. Valentine was quite the rest of the way. When we got to his house, he started to open his front door until I yelled his name. He turned around and I immediately remembered how beautiful and charming his eyes were.

“I want to tell you something, Valentine.” I uttered.

“What is it?”

“I really like you man. Like more than a friend should. More in a romantic way and I understand if you don’t like me back but I can’t help how I feel about you.”

“Oh…” He mumbled as he looked down. “Ozzy, I’m sorry but I’m dating someone already. I’m sorry if I led you on or anything.”

I looked at him and felt crushed.

“Who is it?” I asked, trying to keep my tears down.

“Spelldon Cauldronello…”

“Are you happy with him?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Well that’s all that matters then,” I said giving a sad smile. I walked away before he could say anything else to me.

I knew him and I wouldn’t be together. No matter how much I like him it wouldn’ happen. I knew it all along and yet I still made myself feel heartache. I guess it’s karma for how idiotic I was, right?

#monster high #kieran valentine #valentine x reader #valentine x m! reader #how do ghouls fall in love

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deeptrashwitch · 7 months ago

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And finally, Price's partner! And since the damned jury in my head didn't come to a conclusion, I'll do the sheet for both and you can choose with which one you feel confortable! When it come to the snippets/thoughts/etc I'll refer to these babies as "they/them/their", and in this sheet I'll refer also as them on the trivia section and the story with Price.

OC: Jayden/Cassandra "Cold Heart" Fisher

Nationality: American

Age: 38

Birth date: 24th november 1986 - Chicago (U.S.A)

Residence: Washington D.C

Profession: Corporate lawyer

Height: 1,85 m/ 6' ft (both)

Weight: 83 kg

Blood type: AB+

Pronouns: He/Him (Jayden) | She/Her (Cassandra)

Sexuality: Homosexual (Jayden) | Heterosexual (Cassandra)

Relationships

Jonathan "Bravo Six" Price (boyfriend)

Paul Fisher (father)

Samantha "Sam" Cohen (friend)

David "Bonnie" Cooper (friend)

Irene "Flare" Sayre (friend)

Trivia

-They have a quirk of always wear gloves on their daily life, but they aren't germafobes or anything. It's something no one can explain, but no one is complaining either, so they can keep the gloves on.

-The nickname "Cold Heart" appeared from a trial, where they didn't hold back during it. The pleads didn't matter, Jayden/Cassandra did their work and won the case. (Although, they aren't made of stone. It felt wrong after...but work is work)

-Since university, they had their time with insomnia and now they have a better sleep schedule. But from that first time on, the group mock them for it, calling them "the tired parent" of the group, also because they are the oldest as well.

-When they are with John, they're more relaxed and they laugh easier than usual. And when they are late thanks to their work, Jonathan awaits for them with the dinner ready and everything prepared for a relaxing night. That's one of the things they love most about him.

Random quote

"I just want to remind you something. I won't defend you if you end up in trouble...not that I'm qualified anyway" -to Irene and David

When and how they met their partner?

A bit cliché, but it was on the cinema. Jayden/Cassandra were thinking about going with a co-worker, but said co-worker ended up with a late hour case. And since they already had the tickets, as well they should find what to do with the other one.

They tried to call anyone on the group, but all of them already had plans, so they just looked around the cinema. In that moment they saw Price, who was muttering impaciently on the queue for the tickets, and they did the best impulsive decision ever. They offered him the other ticket, to which he accepted, and they went to watch the movie.

Unfortunately the movie was really boring, so they wanted to get out of there, and when Price saw thier reaction, he invited them to eat something. They were surprised, but when they asked about it, he told them that it was a thanks gesture for the ticket. And soon the two of them went to eat on a cafeteria, talking and when John felt interested on them, he gave them his number.

From then on, they went to walk or just to pass the time around the city.

#ocs #oc #cod oc #call of duty #cod mw2 #captain john price #john price x reader #john price

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zonbii-miku · 9 months ago

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intro because i need friends

hi i’m mweii ( mw-aye ). not my real name just an alias. REALLY LONG SORRY

dni ;;

-basic criteria

-if you’re british (/j)

-you’re jus a lil hater

-you do not like me (duh)

-if you talk about politics. i have no politcal stand point tbh, and i also do not want any arguments on my page. BE NICE N SPREAD POSITIVITY /nf

byf ;;

-lots of caps / yelling. all in good fun <3

-sometimes i do make innapropiate jokes </3

-i randomly do pick-up lines??

-kinda severely unfunny. ( BOOOOOO 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅 )

-i can be sensitive

-i THINK i’m pretty nice and will ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS listen, i’m pretty good at giving advice and comforting.

-i try to be positive

-exstensive lexicon, don’t use it often. sometimes i do use it, so if you struggle with big words tell me !! i’ll be glad to water it down n such

-i have sensory issues and sometimes i may rant about things that happen ( sorry. ask and i’ll stop! )

-can rant forever

INTERESTS & HOBBIES ;;

-i like vocaloid / utau’s

-i suffer creatively in too many ways like srsly too many mediums. such as: writing books/stories. fanfics ( possibly ). poems. digital and traditional art. painting ( although not good ). clay. oragami. just crafty in general lol

-i LOVE reading

-I LOVE POKEMON !! LIKE SMMMM

-i watch snime casually

-love sea life ( esp sharks, orcas, whales in gen, nd seastars )

-i love makin oc’s and lore

-pjsk & enstars

-my bf ( sorry i talk ab him sm lol )

-mlp

-creepypasta and the back rooms

-sanrio

-flamingo

-STUFFIESSS ( have over 40 )

+ a lot more. just ask

ever wanna see my writing? i’ll gladly show. i’m a younger writer so keep in my im not that good but yea. HOPE YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY THANK YOU FOR READING<3

#intro post #mwehehe #silly #sorry #long post #pls be my friend

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bananachipfantasy · 1 year ago

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࿔ ▕🌊

Hi, my name's Ulises, I'm bigender, and I go by any pronoun, but mostly He/him.

I'm currently 17 years old. I'm from Argentina, and I speak english and spanish.

────┈┈┈┄┄╌╌🌀╌╌┄┄┈┈┈────

๑ ▕🐬

I'm in different fandoms, but mainly in Criminal case, specially Pacific bay, and my favourite district is Inner city. I really love talking about it. <3

────┈┈┈┄┄╌╌🌀╌╌┄┄┈┈┈────

— ▕🐳

My three pookies

ɞ Sergei Yablokov. ɞ Sue Xiong. ɞ Riley Davies.

I love them so much, they're my hyperfixation, especially Sergei. I'll be the happiest person if you let me talk about them!

────┈┈┈┄┄╌╌🌀╌╌┄┄┈┈┈────

𖦹︎ ▕🐟

Other fandoms:

Papa's gameria, Total drama, Mlp, Stardew Valley, Danganronpa, etc.

You can ask me if I'm in x fandom!

────┈┈┈┄┄╌╌🌀╌╌┄┄┈┈┈────

𖦹︎ ▕DNI. 🌬️

— Basic DNI criteria.

— If you're Zoo, Pedo, etc.

— If you fetishize the trans community.

────┈┈┈┄┄╌╌🌀╌╌┄┄┈┈┈────

° ▕🐋

You can see my cc art in #Chip's art.

Ocs in #Chip's ocs.

And sketches in #Chip's sketches.

I love talking about my ocs, you can ask whatever you want about them!

────┈┈┈┄┄╌╌🌀╌╌┄┄┈┈┈────

⌯ ▕🦭

You're looking for more cc artists? See them!

russellcranebf

anxietyfluffy

atlasgoodwin

blugnettabutterflies

cheesecakeguy88

katrinahood

lackadaisiluz

turtlethebean

babyzassou26

okikuoki

appleflavoredkitkats

ab-pimenta

marcmiauu

spyrolg

mazmerized

────┈┈┈┄┄╌╌🌀╌╌┄┄┈┈┈────

Thank you for reading! This post might be edited in the future. English is not my first language, please, correct me!!! (Be kind, ofc). Ty. <3

────┈┈┈┄┄╌╌🌀╌╌┄┄┈┈┈────

#criminal case #chip's art #chip's ocs #chip's sketches #chip's gifts #introduction #cc #chip's hc

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adanaac · 1 year ago

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Could I ask about your OC's? Specifically Ophicucus and Tsuru, I love how majestic Ophi is drawn and Tsuru fascinates me both with the concept and also how lovely you have illustrated him.

I hope you are well, and thank you again for helping me with my questions o7.

Sincerely HMAD.

oh good i get to talk about my son!!

my blorbo my beloved my babygirl he means everything to me

i made him in 2017 so hes sort of grown up with me (or i've grown up and realised things about him that i couldn't have when i was younger. i have so many complicated feelings abt this that i made a short comic about it last year)

to preface this im not a great writer dont expect good writing from me lol all i have is my personal experience and stealing tropes from stories i like

(got a lot to say so its all going under the cut. also a lot of death mention)

So. who is this dude

Tsuru (not his real name in-story, i havent come up with one im happy with), 18 years old, a ghost

he has a little sister, Ori, 15, who was meant to be my sona but then i just drew him more and like drawing him more anyway

first 2 drawings i ever did of him. he was based off natori natsume yuujinchou at this point, i dont remember why or if i even liked natori that much, but i remember distinctly hes based off him

u may have noticed he sort of looks older in my older art. this is because first of all art style drift lol but also as ive gotten older ive figured out that 18 isnt actually that old.

theres also a black haired version of him (two actually) its basically something like this ⬇️

important to know that everything about this dude is a convoluted metaphor

i lovingly summarize white tsuru as "people pleaser" and black tsuru as "nihilist prick" in my head and those are the things consistent throughout all the AU versions of him

(important differences only to me) alive tsuru doesnt act like black tsuru at all thats just his warped self perception (he also doesnt act exactly like white tsuru either)

also alive tsuru has black eyes and the shortest hair, black tsuru has blue eyes and slightly longer hair (also white tsuru is slightly taller than both of them)

if they all existed at the same time they would hate each other on sight but fortunately (unfortunately?) he is just 1 dude with issues

the general vibe is white tsuru is the "yippee floaty trickster" brand of ghost and black tsuru is the sort of ghost in horror media that stands just outside your field of view in the darkness dripping with blood

for the longest time only white haired tsuru was a "character", "black haired tsuru" existed just as his corpse at most, a footnote

but over the past 2 years ive figured that hes actually really fun to draw and play with, and in a different way than white tsuru

(wait fuck isnt this just abe trio. i do always almost accidentally draw tsuru when im trying to draw haruaki.... fuck.....)

(ive had tsuru for long enough that i just keep tacking details from my fav characters onto him.....)

halls smp

so ive been on this minecraft roleplay server called halls smp with other artists for the past 2 years, theres a new season of it every few months with a different theme each time to keep things fresh and ive just been making AU versions of tsuru for it so ive had a lot of opportunity to think about him

season 1 - halloween - jiangshi tsuru

this one is almost entirely unchanged from his base characterization because i didnt want to rp too much and also didnt know there would be future seasons at this point (also basically after the first day i gave up on being called "tsuru" bc its too hard to pronounce and everyone called me canada anyway)

same basic story, guy dies and theres now a white haired version of him (actually this is the same for all the AUs). in fact im pretty sure the black haired version of this one is exactly base alivetsuru. basically what ive been interested in exploring is different kinds of death, the events leading up to it, and what kind of person he becomes afterwards (but also in equal amounts im interested in making fun designs and playing minecraft and fucking around)

(this feels like the start of the beginners guide...)

i associate him with doves and at the time, tarot card 18: the moon, but in retrospect i now think he's card 0: the fool.

season 2 - winter - ishmael

guy who died at sea and eaten by a interdimensional whale and got isekaied. loosely conceptually based off moby dick, although i havent actually read it LOL but i did spend a week reading up on drowning and hypothermia

strangely, his death didnt create a white haired version of him, perhaps because he didnt have anything in life to give up his identity and replace it with. (and also remember the hair color doesnt actually mean dead/alive)

im only calling him ishmael now in retrospect, at the time he was just tsuru/canada

while designing him i had the biggest crisis bc i didnt want him to look to much like this old old oc i had (pic 1) but then i sucked it up and went with it anyway

i never got around to drawing it but his fingers are black from frostbite thats why he wears gloves all the time.

hes one of my favorite iterations of tsuru he looks so mad or upset all the time it makes me want to tease him, and also i think the grey skin and eyebags are very cute

i associate him with whales and tarot card 18: the moon

season 3 - golden grove - fox tsuru

honestly i think this is my favorite design of him i kinda popped off. i think im just a lot more comfortable working with warm colors. and also i associate white tsuru with foxes anyway (black tsuru is totally a catboy btw) (why is he not associated with cranes if his name is tsuru you ask?? bc cranes are hard to draw next question. he did start out based off cranes tbf, thats where the white hair and the tallness comes from)

dead fox possessing his dead human friend's body (although thats only the most literal interpretation of events; in all these iterations there's only ever been 1 person) the white tsurus are mostly interested in "moving on", whatever that means to each of them

btw my banner on this blog is him

hes sort of a set with s2 tsuru to me, mostly bc theyre the ideals that "white tsuru" and "black tsuru" hold taken to the extremes, and also theyre on opposite ends of the "hates people hates talking" and "loves to talk and mess with people" scale

anyway. hes tarot card 10: wheel of fortune to me

season 4 - wild west - mirage

the desert dragon, mirage. this is the season i started giving them actual names that arent "tsuru" and putting actual thought into the story lol previously it was just vibes-based character design. i have a short thing written about him thats meant to be the script for a comic, but i never got around to drawing it.

a sandworm-esque dragon that got tired of being a dragon and took up a passing witch's offer to give him a human form. this is all a metaphor i think. he has longer hair bc i wanted to spice things up a little

(also i consider this a form of death bc he left behind a giant sandworm/dragon skeleton somewhere in the desert)

the mirage-dragon thing comes from the shen 蜃 (which is used in the chinese word for mirage, 海市蜃楼 haishi shenlou, literally translating to "ocean city and shen's castle"). it's a clam-like dragon that produces foam that creates mirages over the ocean.

if u read "even if you slit my mouth", this is what the "shinkiro" or "shin" in recent chapters is. (i had one of those "smug because i already know all about the mythological creature a story is referencing" moments, which i also had with the four gods in yohaji bc i used to translate a game that mentioned them too)

isnt it romantic in a way? that the two places mirages are most known for happening are the ocean and the desert.

i dont have too much art of him because around this time i was uhhh (checks calendar) got back into yohaji and got consumed by it for a couple months lol (can u even blame me. it was july to september that was when like chapter 91 came out lol)

an earlier version of his design that i didnt end up using but i still really like this art

hes tarot card 9: the hermit to me

season 5 - fairytales/medieval - ophiuchus

NO FUCKING WAY YOURE NEVER GOING TO BELIEVE THIS for this one i actually ironed out what kind of people the black haired and white haired versions of him are. and also specifically this one isnt black tsuru but alive tsuru

i have a short poem thing about him, to summarize its like so many other fairytales about grateful animals granting their saviors something, but it doesnt end well for anyone

hes based off ophiuchus and asclepius of course, but also a lot of other snake stories in general, like the lindwurm and baishezhuan

to reiterate, for none of these stories do i consider there to ever actually have been 2 separate people, its always just 1 fucked up guy

i also sort of consider him to be a set with mirage, for both being serpents, and also for being "black tsuru whose personality is like white tsuru" and "white tsuru whose personality is like black tsuru", thereby codifying for myself that to him, someone who's stuck in his own head a lot, what matters most to him is his ideals, what all his actions are in pursuit of

he's tarot card 12: the hanged man to me

bonus: dnd character - alba

i also have a version of him i play for dnd, named alba to match with my party who all have color themed names. a halfling ranger who's very small and very loud. except he has amnesia and cant remember anything from before he was 12 (hes around 18 now according to him), including that he's actually a changeling who just transformed into a halfling to seem older than he is to work at a bar and nearly died in a bar fight.

(if you spend as much time fretting over semantics as me, you may note that changelings are medium sized and cannot transform into halflings which are small sized, for which my explanation is that he's been in halfling form since he was a kid, and after the amnesia he thought he actually was a halfling. this is also why his hair is white btw bc changelings have white hair. pre-amnesia in his "actual" halfling transformation he had black hair. i care too much about semantics but hey isnt dnd the semantics game anyway?)

anyway congrats alba for being the only version of tsuru that hasn't outright "died"!! if only because dnd has actual rules and i can't pull my usual death-ghost nonsense as easily!!!

hes very ship of theseus to me, all versions of him are. what makes up a person? what defines them? is it their face, their appearance, their name? their personality, their memories, their ideals? if you slowly replace each of those, one at a time, with a copy thats very similar to the original, at what point are you a different person?

as thanks for reading all of this i'll reveal what some of the metaphors are, the core of who tsuru, as a character, is to me. maybe this is fairly obvious, but all the death and personality weirdness stuff is a convoluted metaphor for depression and autism, as well as the experience of reading the things you've written years ago, seeing old photos and others talking about who you were years ago and finding that person wholly unfamiliar, that you understand the thought process of that person no more than you would a stranger's, as a result of having taken apart your identity and replaced it piece by piece with things from people you like more than yourself.

im always scared of scrutinizing tsuru too hard because he's just a weird reflection of myself, and i think i'll only be able to write a version of him thats more of a "whole person" once i figure that out for myself. the only way you see your own reflection is through a mirror after all, a flattened 2D surface.

haha this got kinda weird and depressing and personal at the end (mostly bc ive been writing this in the middle of the night, its now 4am)

after seeing my soul laid bare like this, if theres one takeaway, i think its pretty obvious why i'm so enamored by the parts of yohaji that i talk about often (huh wasnt this a post about my oc why did it become about yohaji)

oh yeah i just realised u probably also wanted to hear more about my yohaji version of tsuru specifically. honestly theres not really more to it i just like drawing him in situations. like of course the same themes apply but i just like drawing this dude thats 90% the reason hes my sona. like heres a pokemon au of him i drew recently bc i wanted to draw them as kids and also as pokemon gijinkas

anyway thats all. not really bc i could go on and on about him but this is way too long and also way too personal at this point. i think about him a disproportionate amount, i only have 2 other ocs i remotely care about and the extent of my thoughts for those guys is "i think hes fun 👍"

this has probably also been like, the 3rd most comprehensive description of tsuru that ive made, 1st being the thoughts in my head and 2nd being the past 5 years worth of DMs with my friend who i talk about tsuru with

(why was this sort of structured like the beginners guide. if youve seen the beginners guide tell me if im right or delusional. if u havent, go watch a playthrough of it, have an existential crisis, and then afterwards tell me)

#canada ocs #this hit the 30 image per post limit lmaoo #canadas art

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aimfor-theheart · 9 months ago

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And I love hearing about others' OC indeed! In fact, we're just parents at the playground talking about our precious kiddos! Lately, it was the birthday of a certain crazy manipulative mother hen and I almost made a post on my blog about what my OC would give him as a gift but I remained silent. I already annoyed everyone with my yakuza x triad au LMAO

I'll keep an eye on Solmira and her adventures and I may slide into your inbox to ask more questions about her :33

anon i also enjoy hearing about others OC’s!! we ARE like parents at the playground talking ab our kids!!

and LMAOO no pls live your truth. share w the world what your OC would’ve gotten him.

one thing ab me i will always support OCs and self shipping 😌 healing to the world fr fr

but thank you anon!! this is v sweet! 💕 i will likely post more of her

#sorry this is a lil late!!#i hope you’re doing well!#cielo chats!

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sososcareds · 11 months ago

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your art is so lovely, idk how you only use mspaint but its astonishing 2 me... just been reading ab your ocs and i am super invested in them please please tell em i love emmm

thank you !! ^-^ that means a lot 2 me ^-^ ms paint is very relaxing and fun for me :3 takes away the pressure of making something look particularly 'good' or 'perfect' ^-^ ocs under the cut because talk a lot ^-^;;

mirror angels first ! xavier and shard.

the 'story' of mirror angels (story used vaguely because its more of a worldbuilding project ^-^) is that there is a seperate dimension which is inhabitated by angels, and connects to earth via mirrors ^-^. but because angels are typically viewed as these holy heavenly beings, there are strict rules in place for angels to never ask about, learn about, or interact with earth and humans (except for specific situations, with specific angels, for specific reasons).

shard (which is not their real name) was the first ever angel to break this rule, and sucessfully managed to get away with stealing mirror shards. they quickly realised they bit off more than they can chew, though, and upon learning about mortality, illness, injury, so on, they became terrified of humans and humanity.

xavier was the second angel to attempt to steal mirror shards, but was caught, and as punishment, banished to earth. he managed to keep one of the shards, though, and formed a quick connection with shard, despite their fear of humans, as his only connection back home ^-^ he is learning how to be 'human' and all about earth. his favourite animal is fish ^-^ (and uses them as a lense to learn about earth through)

as for the unnamed mm oc (rollerman / jazz is a name i've been throwing around). he was created, much like rock and roll, to be a household robot. he takes care of his creators children, and cooks, cleans, and does chores around the house, since his creator is often away from home. his design was intended to be vaguely insectoid, as his creator's wife was an entomologist before she passed ^-^

his favourite free-time activity was always skating around, racing kids at the park and in roller-rinks, trying to outpace cars on the sidewalk, and spending time at skateparks ^-^

unfortunately, he and his creator lived in a heavily robot-populated area, which fell victim to wily's robot-stealing. he ended up unwillingly becoming yet another DWN, and after everything was said and done, his creator decided that, now weaponised, he was too dangerous to continue to take care of his kids, and sent him off to 'do whatever he wants with his life'.

after this, he became a racing bot ^-^

he has some flaws and damage, however, so he has a lot of difficulty with direction, dizziness, and getting turned around and disoriented (this would be his weakness in combat ^-^)

thank you for the question !! ^-^ apologies for my english

#theta-asks #my ocs #mirror angels #xavier #shard #megaman oc

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radellama · 2 years ago

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Heya! Sorry to dip, things went crazy. Anyways.

👻🐌💥 for the writing asks if you are still doing those, thanks!

Haha you're all good! Hope you've been well!

👻 Is there a new genre you'd like to write?

Ohhhh, definitely! Since studying film theory for the past couple years (and thinking more broadly in narrative as a whole) I'm really fascinated by genre and the tropes expected from them. I write a lot of angst, and I'm usually writing sci-fi/fantasy/drama/slice of life style things, and I'd like to try every genre ever if I'm being honest LMAO.

What fascinates me most, though, is the way you can blend genres. Like, you know how action/adventure or sci-fi/thriller can just go hand in hand sometimes? I wanna try out various blends or even try to see if it's possible to make new blends/create something decent in a blend that 'doesn't work,' I just wanna try out all the stuff and push the boundaries, for both my fic and original works. Know the rules to break them yknow?

🐌 What is one of your smallest writing goals?

Make notes!! And I've already kinda succeeded haha.

I noticed when I was writing my hylink fic all the way back when, when I inevitably got busy with life I just couldn't access the same headspace anymore and had to drop the fic, even though I didn't want to. I'm still talking and thinking about it all these years later (and I'd love to restart and eventually complete it in future!) But it taught me that I need to make really solid notes so that I can plot everything to my standards and access that same headspace no matter how much time has passed- cause turns out! I'm really slow and nitpicky!

Some of my fics are 5+ years in the making at this point, and cause I like to let things marinate in my head for ages, making notes for stories and actually going more in depth with them so it's easier to draft later is so important to me these days. That's why, that'll be my little goal >:)

💥Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

Ahhh man.. all of my fics/original stories??

For now, since I've been talking a bit about it with some friends, he's a snippet of a possible introduction for my most recent OCs/original story, Abe and Orc.

[Also wanna preface this and say it's suuuuuuuper work in progress, and I'm not sure I want to write it write it, as I think it might do best in a visual medium like a web comic haha]

~~~

He tossed some game to the bushes near the orc's campfire, staying hidden up in the trees. He watched with a keen eye as the orc investigated the sound, finding the animal carcass and brushing the dirt off of it.

"Thank you." He called out, to no one in particular.

Abe didn't respond, just looked over him.

He watched as he tried to gut the hare, not doing a very good job it of it. Maybe it was due to the sheer size of this orc, with his huge knife and even huger hands, but he was making a right mess of it.

Abe groaned to himself, before jumping down from the trees and making himself known.

Abe pointed his knife at the orc, gauging his reaction. The orc stayed still in shock, sheepishly raising his hands in surrender and placing his knife down.

Rolling his eyes, Abe stomped over to the stone where the dead hare laid, and started to gut and skin it properly for the orc.

He worked fast, expertly preparing the meat in the firelight while the orc watched in fascination. Neither of them said a word, but Abe would keep a cautious eye on the orc while he worked.

As soon as he was done, he ran off into the trees, ignoring the orc as he tried to shout his thanks.

The orc carefully began cutting the meat, and skewering it on some sticks to roast on the fire. He was thankful for the kind stranger, this was this third day on whatever berries and plants he could find, and it simply wasn't enough for him to keep going. Some meat, however small, meant a lot to him.

---

In the distance, down by the river, he saw that kind stranger. Excited, he ran down to the riverbank to talk to him.

As soon as he heard the ground shake with each step the orc took, Abe panicked and reached for his knife. He didn't have time to recognise that it was the same orc from before, only registering a large being bounding right towards him.

He quickly slashed the orc, cutting right across his forearm. As he recoiled in pain, Abe used the time to quickly climb a nearby tree and gain his bearings.

"Ow!!!" The orc didn't try to attack him back, didn't even turn to look for him in the trees. In fact, he didn't even try to defend himself, or protect himself from another attack.

"I just wanted to talk with you..." The orc sounded on the verge of tears.

Abe watched for a moment, before jumping out of the tree and landing behind him. He tapped the handle of his knife on the back of the orcs head.

"You're dead."

The orc instinctively reached to rub the back of his head, turning to look at the small man.

"Why did you cut me?" He whined.

"Why did you come running at me!?" Abe yelled back. When he saw the orcs lip start to quiver, he regretted saying it so harshly.

"I just wanted to thank you. For the meat."

Abe stayed still, unsure if he'd heard right. Not once had he ever heard of an orc that cared enough to use manners like this...

He began to pick up the remains of his clothes by the riverside and walk off into the forest, but before he could disappear, the orc called out to him.

"How can I thank you!?"

Abe ignored him, and walked away.

To his dismay, Abe heard the orc follow behind him as he walked further into the forest. He glanced over his shoulder, and sure enough, the orc was a few footsteps behind. He picked up the pace, weaving through the trees in the hopes that he'd lose the orc, but he was always right behind him when he turned to look.

"Why are you following me!?" Abe spat angrily.

"I want to thank you!" The orc growled back at him.

Abe stopped running, and turned to face the orc.

"I fed you, and I've cut you. Now don't bother me!"

The two of them stared each other down, neither willing to budge. Abe wasn't willing to back down, not caring that he was barely half the height of this orc- He could, and would fight.

But then he noticed that the orc was still cradling his arm, blood dripping between the fingers that gripped the wound.

Abe sighed. "You're going to get an infection if you hold it like that."

The orc looked down at the wound, removing his hand to see the bloodied mess. He couldn't even see where the gash was amongst the blood the seemed to cover his entire forearm.

"How do I clean it?" The orc asked.

Abe waited to see if the orc was joking, but he was genuine. Blood continued to drip from his arm, and Abe just groaned and led the way back to the river. The orc followed closely behind him, kneeling down by the riverside when the man gestured for him to.

He watched curiously as the Abe washed his hands in the water before grabbing his arm and submerging it in the river. He rinsed the blood away and pulled his arm out, quickly slapping some leaves on the open wound.

The orc gasped in pain as the leaves touched his skin, but the human held his arm still between his knees to continue applying the leaves.

"It stings!" The orc complained, but Abe ignored him.

He watched with a grimace as the human finished with the leaf dressing, and reached out to cut some river weed. He used it to tie the leaves to his wound securely, and walked away to put a few steps of distance between them.

The orc looked his arm in awe, it was so simple and resourceful, and even the stinging was starting to subside.

"Thank you."

Abe grunted. "Don't come running at a man while he's trying to bathe next time."

"Sorry..."

The orc watched the as he grabbed his shirt and shook it, quickly turning his head when he realised he was trying to get dressed.

Abe saw him trying to give him privacy, and waited to see what he'd do. The orc just sat with his head turned to watch the river, once again leaving himself fully open. Why this orc trusted him so much was a mystery to Abe, but he had to admit that he was intrigued by the strange behaviour.

"What's your deal?" Abe asked, and the orc turned to look at him with a flustered expression.

"Pardon?" He asked.

"Why are you out here?" Abe asked flatly.

The orc sighed, fiddling with the hem of his skirt. He didn't answer, and Abe watched as his demeanor changed the longer he played with his skirt.

"Do you even know how to hunt?" Abe asked, rather harshly.

"No..." The orc replied, still avoiding eye contact.

Abe sat down on the riverbank and sighed a heavy sigh.

He didn't want to, but a sense of pity was creeping over him. He remembered how hard it was when he first came to the forest - he recognised that struggle with this orc.

"How long are you out here for?" Abe asked.

"Indefinitely." The orc replied solemnly.

"If I teach you to hunt, will you do everything I say?"

The orc looked up in surprise, a wide smile breaking out across his face. "You'd teach me?"

Abe shifted his gaze to avoid looking at the smile, but he could still feel how excited the orc was.

He instantly regretted offering, but it was too late to back down now. He stood up, dusting the dirt off his pants as he looked to the horizon. It would be dark soon...

"Keep up." He instructed, and headed into the forest.

The orc quickly stood up and followed closely, but this time Abe didn't bother looking to check if he was still hovering behind him. He just walked forward, twisting and turning through the forest as the sun set.

#rads asks #future dregs #abe and orc #the abe and orc lore is expanding lmao...#thank you foe the asks!!

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ilguna · 2 years ago

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Also I love the whole lacuna series and gallows as a character. It’s the small things for me like how you have a lot of inner dialogue so we can understand her actions rather than having to assume it. Other fics that I’ve read either make the oc very timid or very confident there’s no between so I like how you have a mixture of both. It humanises her and makes her more relatable with how she can be both vulnerable and confident.

Omg and the relationship between finnick and gallows the way they aren’t heavily dependent on each other and are both capable, I think you pointed it out in one of the chapters in tacenda when you were comparing peeta and katniss to them.

The alternative ending is so good I love a lot of angst so it was so fun to read. Especially because fallows was saying that it’d been a good idea to join the careers in the original and I was thinking about how different it would’ve been but you already wrote it!!!

I can keep going on but essentially this is a love letter to your writing and story you’ve built and I can’t wait to read anything else you come up with.

HELLO YES, i've been saving this ask for when i have energy!

my favorite part ab writing for the hunger games fandom so far is that i'm able to make personalities like gallows, rosecelli, etc. i give them distinct characteristics and mannerisms that some people can relate to. with gallows, she's very coordinated and can come off heavy, but she knows when she needs to tone it down. (With rosecelli, she's very brash and over-confident but she can recognize when she's wrong)

and finnick and gallows are a power couple in the way that they don't need to speak to know what each other's thinking. finnick knows what she'd do for him, and she knows what he'd do for her. and she makes a lot of comparisons in her time of narrating lol

alternative endings are THE BEST!! i have a bunch of written ideas that i'll never get to use for the main halcyon story so expect LOTS of AU's!!!

THANK YOU!! i love it when people come in here talking ab any of the series, it's literally my fav. i've spent years on the hunger games alr and i don't see myself stopping anytime soon. i love sharing my passions with you guys <3

#ilguna #libbi5001 #ask #halcyon

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grungeeuvu · 6 months ago

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Hi hello <3

Thank you for making our day <3

Take this as a free pass to info dump ab anything you'd like :3 (not exactly in the post, but follow the sport not the word of the law <3333)

Glad you liked my ask!! :D

Im gonna go ahead and info dump about some ocs, so forgive me mutuals haha, I'll crop it dw

Anyways, below is the wip story of my ocs Isaac, Christopher and Robin. It's a looooooooooooooong document haha

WARNINGS AHEAD FOR S*ICIDE IDEATION THAT WON'T BE FULLY CENSORED i cant remember if that's a trigger for you, anx, so I'm warning you (and anyone else) here

tbh, anx, you may remember them a little from that server we're both on - i used to talk about them a lot in my channel before i kinda died and became inactive haha but THEY'RE BACK AND I LOVE THEM!!!!

This is going to be a liiiittle incoherent, simply because I'll be copypasting things over but I'm not very good at typing infodumps so please accept this haha

we've got three brothers :)) Robin (13) and his older twin brothers, Isaac (16m, older twin) and Christopher (16m, younger twin)

Some photos/art for ref :)) Ftr, Christopher is also a massive redhead, like his twin, but for reasons I am about to explain, he dyes his hair brown at the beginning. Here's a colour of his two hair colours, in case that helps!! it's just a digital version of the headshot above but it looks very nice imo sooooo....

The brothers are orphaned - when the twins were barely two and Robin still a baby, they appeared on the steps of a foster care group home in the middle of the night. Despite police investigation into their heritage lasting for years, to the point where they tested the children's DNA, no blood relations could be found, alive or dead. At first, the brothers were raised in the group home due to the investigations taking place but, once the investigation is over, they still stay a little longer bc the workers are worried about separating them so soon, especially due to how attached the twins are to each other and Robin.

Sadly, this is the fatal flaw. Things begin to go very wrong in their relationship from this point on.

Isaac has very good memory and is able to recall absurdly specific events from ages ago: one of these memories is the memory of their parents waking them up late at night, a long journey, and then being left at the foster home. No one else remembers this and he ended up having every aspect of it questioned and drilled by investigators to the point he could recite it in his sleep. The fact no one else can remember this makes him feel isolated in his grief and then angry: why should he have to bear the burden of these final moments? why did he have to remember being abandoned? His mind is torn between old, comfortable memories of parents long ago, their betrayal and then the intimidating interrogation from police officers, and this only makes him furious. None of his brothers will know what he remembers, no matter how hard they try, it is a burden only he can carry alone. This feeling of isolation makes him grow angry and bitter. He starts distancing himself from not just his brothers but people in general about the age of six. Any foster home he gets put into, he's standoffish and avoidant at best, or aggressive and runs away at worst. Before he's even turned nine, they decide it's best to keep him in the foster care home until he 'levels out'. He's stayed in the group home since he was about eight and a half.

Christopher was doing alright until Isaac began to distance himself and cut him out. Almost immediately after their relationship suffered, Christopher's mental state took a huge blow. He'd stop talking entirely to people and would try hide away from mealtimes so he wouldn't have to see anyone. Out of concern for his mental health, he was kept in the group home, in his own room, while Isaac was being put in foster homes. The carers tried to keep Robin with him as best as possible so they'd bond but a flip had turned in Christopher's head. At age 9, he tried to run away in the middle of the night and get onto a road. Thankfully, someone saw him and called the police, sending him back. After that he was put through a lot of therapy sessions that he didn't really interact with, meaning he was now distanced from his brothers further. No one ever told Robin about the therapy or mental health issues. When Isaac returns permanately to the group home, the twins are made to share a room. Their relationship is permanently estranged. Through all this, Christopher ends up developing a lot of depression and anxiety, making him retreat further into a bubble until all most people can perceive is apathy.

Meanwhile, we have Robin. Too young to remember their parents and without Isaac's sharp memory, he only really recalls the group home. His earliest memories are of the twins loving and caring for him, but the next thing he knows is that neither talk to him. Like Isaac, he develops abandonment and rage issues, but they manifest differently. Isaac's rage and hatred is in the form of vitriol and cruel words - he's perfected the sneer+silent treatment -, whereas Robin comes out in shouting and trying to fight. He's younger and more emotional and, since no one really tells him shit, he's simply just really confused. For similar reasons to the twins, he isn't allowed to leave the group home either, and gets a room to himself (very small repurposed office) at the age of ten.

SO NOW WE'VE ESTABLISHD THAT THEYRE ESTRANGED, TIME FOR BEGINNING DYNAMICS!

ROBIN + ISAAC: They do not get along. Isaac, due to remembering being left, blames a lot of it on Robin, for an array of reasons (Robin caused financial issues, Robin was too much to look after, etc. He has no evidence for any of these claims but just wants something to blame it on). He thinks Robin is childish and stupid, so wastes little time on him. Robin views Isaac with a sense of hurt + fury: since Isaac was the eldest, he used to look up to him when they were growing up until he finally figured out Isaac was relentlessly cruel to him for no reason. He felt betrayed by this and bitterness turned to loathing. He argues with Isaac over nothing to try and prove a point, but this only increases Isaac's belief that he's stupid and immature.

ROBIN + CHRISTOPHER: There is a void where their relationship should be. They never spoke much as children, esp after Christopher began to go through confidential therapy. Robin's pissed about how all of Christopher's popular friends would bully him and Christopher, even when there, did nothing but watch. Meanwhile, Christopher doesn't know what to do with Robin - he's old enough now to want to reconnect but feels he's destroyed his own bridges long ago and can't figure out what to do about it. He has no idea what Robin likes/dislikes and deems it best to ignore these problems instead of addressing them, so they can remain in this bubble where Robin is 'happier' without his input. When Isaac and Robin fight, Christopher either leaves the room or just half-watches while on his phone: he's too scared of confrontation to stop the fight and feels none of them like him enough to care: he's partially convinced that they don't view him as their brother.

ISAAC + CHRISTOPHER: Used to be very close, due to being twins, but quickly fell apart when their mental issues played up and Isaac has to leave. When he returned, they'd both changed so much that they both saw the other as 'not who he used to be' and either despised it (Isaac) or wallowed in self-imposed grief over it (Chirstopher). As they got older, Isaac cut himself off from his peers, staying inside to play video games, and Christopher became popular, falling into crowds of people for some kind of social connection he was never brave enough to properly make. Although they share a room at the orphanage, they rarely talk to each other aside when it's necessary. They don't hate each other but they treat each other more as acquaintances than identical twins. However, after witnessing Christopher's suicide attempt at the age of 10 (nothing happened ftr, Isaac walked in on Christopher standing on a chair with a noose. they stared at each other then both silently packed everything away, never speaking a word of it again), Isaac is convinced it's his fault Christopher wants to die and believes he carries blame for it (this isn't true). While on the surface they seem fine, both are scared of addressing their issues or bringing up the trauma of their pasts, leaving their relationship half-solved and emotionally soulless.

Above is an ANCIENT robin and isaac comic from all the way back in 2022 - first comic i ever drew, fun fact :)) it's shit but I'm still fond of it!! planning to remake it one day :D

This isn't plot related, it's just a song analysis i did for Christopher back in 2022 which i still think about regularly :))

Be Nice To Me The Front Bottoms - annotated by Book One Christopher

I got boulders on my shoulders Collarbones begin to crack -Christopher slowly breaking under the pressure of being in a new world There is very little left of me And it's never coming back -This relates to how much he twisted himself to fit into the mould the popular people wanted, despite how much it killed him There are certain things you ask of me And there are certain things I lack In the beginning, we were winning But now I'm just making up facts -Him to Isaac: they used to be so close but not anymore and he has no idea what to do about it, except for pretending it's fine

What's it matter anymore? If you believe the lies I tell -Christopher feels like he doesn't need to seek help for his mental health if everyone believes he's fine and he digs himself a deeper hole There's no meaning to the words But we still sing these songs well If we all left it alone I'm sure it'd work itself out fine -Christopher's avoidance problem with his twin, his attitude of "if we don't address the distance and differences, they don't exist" We keep playing with the numbers We are running out of time We are running, we are running

But you're a killer And I'm your best friend -Christopher knowing how Isaac's so cruel, especially to Robin, and letting him get away with it Think it's unfair, your situation -Him scared to shout at Isaac bc he knows where he's coming from and what he remembers You say I'm changing Sorry, I didn't know I had to stay the same -Christopher dealing with Isaac's brutality with apology and sidestepping the problems Could we talk about this later? Your voice is driving me, driving me insane -Him just wanting to run away from it all and never have to bother with the stress Isaac puts on him when he lashes out

Well, I try to write you poems, but the words, they don't make sense -Christopher to Robin, struggling to express his sentiment and love My hand tries to grip the pencil, but the fingers are too tense -He tries to apologise to Robin but feels like he physically can't And I try to show emotion, but my eyes won't seem to wet -Him struggling to show even an ounce of emotion to Robin, despite caring about him a lot And I'd love to tell you stories, but I can't remember how they went -He wants to be there for him but, every time he tries, he messes up or fails one way or another, or just thinks he hasn't done it right You're a flashlight in a dark room for the loneliest blackout You were all we had left after it all was filtered out -Christopher views Robin so highly, despite the groggy and miserable world the three live in. He believes Robin is his and Isaac's greatest gift, even though he knows he's ruined it Turn you on in a dark room right before we both pass out Turn you on when I need you, but the batteries ran out -How he feels like he ignored Robin and, now even if he needs him, if he tried to talk to him he feels like Robin wouldn't respond or even care to look at him

They ran out and you're a werewolf and I'm a full moon -He knows Robin's angry and that his apparent apathy doesn't help, only firing his brother up more And all your very worst enemies will be gone soon -He knows Robin views him as an enemy and this is Christopher thinking over the suicide he wants so badly to commit I think you're changing Don't worry, you don't gotta stay the same -His desperateness to seem supportive to Robin, even if Robin's being self-destructive with his rage Could we talk about this later? Your voice is driving me, driving me insane -Robin's hostility and cruel words slowly making Christopher crumble and break down

ANYWAYS!!! i wont add anymore haha i feel bad for how long this is :')) TYSM FOR THE ASK!! IT MADE MY DAY!!

Maybe one day i'll put the plot down but for now, you just get the set up haha

#anx <3 #the brothers #oc posting

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