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scribblesofagoonerr · 6 months ago

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star of the nativity show | buddy & monkey: double the trouble

summary: buddy lands the role as an angel in her nativity performance

double the trouble masterlist

The Christmas season has officially begun in the Williamson household, and you are brimming with excitement.

This year, you have landed the converted role of an angel in your pre-school nativity performance, and it's a role that suits you perfectly with your chatterbox nature.

So when Leah picks you up from pre-school on Thursday afternoon, you are so excited to tell her the news.

"Mummy!" You shout, running straight into her arms, "I gon be angel!" You don't waste a second to blurt out, your words tumbling out as quickly as your feet can carry you.

Leah scoops you up, grinning ear to ear, "No way! That's great, bubba!" She says, her pride evident, "You're going to be the best little angel I know!"

"Uh huh! I 'cited!" You squeal as Leah takes the brisk walk back to her car, and you're so excited still that you're wriggling around in your car seat and making it particularly difficult for her to strap you in, "I gon' tell Mama, Monks', Nana, G'anddad, Gan'ma, n' everyone!"

Leah chuckles, shaking her head fondly, "You're going to tell everyone about it, huh?" She teases, tickling your cheek, "Are you ready to go and see the girls? I bet they will be so excited to hear your news."

"I tell dem all!" You declare with determination.

From the minute that you had learnt about your role in the nativity, you are on a mission to ensure the entire Arsenal team knew about it.

So, you didn't waste a moment to spill the news.

"Hi! I here!" You announce loudly to nobody in particular as soon as you enter the training grounds, before you make a beeline for Lia, "Auntie Wally!"

"Hello, little one," Lia greets you with a warm smile, picking you up effortlessly, "And where have you been?"

"I been preschool! I got news, Auntie Wally!" You giggle, wriggling in her arms as your excitement bubbles over.

"Be careful, bubba," Leah retorts, wearily from afar.

"She's okay, don't worry," Lia reassures the blonde defender.

"Are you sure? I don't want to her to hurt you," Leah continues to be weary of you wriggling around energetically in Lia's arms, "Bubba, Auntie's Wally has an ouchie so you need to be careful, alright?"

"I be super careful, Mummy!" You insist, sweetly.

"She's fine, honestly," Lia waves her best friend off with her free hand as she turns her entire focus to you, "What's your news, sweetheart?"

"I gon' be an angel in the nativ... nativ-- Mummy! How do I say da word 'gain?" You turn to help from Leah, finding it difficult to pronounce the word.

Leah chuckles in amusement, "It's nativity, bubba."

"Dat one!" You nod, promptly in agreement, "Auntie Wally! I' gon be angel in da na... nativity!"

Lia gasps dramatically, "Wow, you are? That's amazing!" She exclaims.

But you're already squirming to get down, eager to tell the next person. Spotting Alessia and Lotte chatting nearby, you dash towards them.

"Lessi! Lotte!" You call, waving your arms to get their attention, "I gon' be an angel! Ou' have to come an' watch me!"

Lotte chuckles, kneeling down to your level, "An angel, huh? That's such an important role, Buddy!"

"You're gonna smash it, little miss!" Alessia grins, ruffling your hair.

You nod, grinning and don't waste the time to dart off to hunt down Beth, who's in the middle of lacing up her boots, "Auntie Beth! Auntie Beth!"

"Gotcha, little miss chatterbox!" Beth laughs as she catches you mid-run, "And where are you rushing off too in such a hurry, hmm?"

"I' gots to tell ou' news!" You insist on telling her, wriggling to break free from her arms, "I gon' be angel!"

"Wow! Really? That's so cool!" Beth replies, her smile matching your own enthusiasm.

"I think she's planning to go round and tell everyone," Leah quips, shaking her head affectionately, "We're going to have to find you a pair of angel wings for you, aren't we, bubba?"

"Yeah! I gon' be angel!" You nod earnestly before spotting Katie across the room and make a run for her, "Auntie Katie! I gots news to tell!"

Katie crouches down, opening her arms for you, "What's the big news, little 'un?"

"I gon' be angel!" You declare, throwing your arms around her neck.

"Oh, really? That's amazing!" Katie responds, squeezing you tightly, "Are you excited about it?"

"Uh huh! I 'cited! I gon' tell everyone an dey can come watch da show!" You insist, excited to be the star of the show in your own opinion.

"Is that right, huh? Now that's a performance I can't miss," Katie retorts, tapping you on the nose playfully, "Can I come and watch?"

"Yeah! Ou' an’ Auntie Caitlin come wif Mama!" You demand your request while trying to look serious about it.

"I would love to come and watch that, little 'un!" Katie is more than happy to agree with your request, "You can count on me being there."

Finally it's Monkey's turn to know as you spot her walking with her head buried in her phone, "Monks'! Guess what?"

"Aye, it's my favourite little Buddy!" Monkey gasps playfully, crouching down for you to run directly into her arms, "What's your news?" She asks, curiously.

"I gon' be angel!" You exclaim.

Monkey smirks, ruffling your hair as she can't resist the urge to speak her mind, "An angel? Are you sure? I think you're more like a little devil."

"Nooo!" You whine, shaking your head in disagreement, "I no a devil! Tell her, Mummy!" You demand, turning to Leah for backup, who's in the midst of a conversation with one of the trainers.

"Monkey," Leah warns, though her eyes twinkle with amusement.

"Mummy! We need to 'vite everyone!" You announce, stomping your foot for emphasis.

Leah laughs, walking over to where you and Monkey are both standing, "We can't do that, bubba. There's only going to be three tickets per show," She crouches down, pulling you close, "We can't bring everyone to watch."

"Why no'?" You frown, scrunching your face up in disagreement, "Ou' need to buy more tickets, Mummy!"

"It's not as simple as that, cheeky girl," Leah explains gently, tickling you which earns a squeal from you.

You continue to frown in confusion, "But I wan' everyone to come watch me. I star of da show!"

"How about this, bubba?" Leah tries her luck, "I'll film it, and we can show everyone. How about that, instead?"

"Hm, kay' den!" Your frown disappears to be replaced by a bright smile, "I' suppose dat do, but ou' best film it or I' won be 'appy!" You agree reluctantly, pointing your index finger straight at Leah.

"Monks' I need 'elp!" You tug on the older girls' sleeve as she's more fascinated in watching a movie than paying attention to you.

"What do you need my help with?" Monkey dramatically exhales a deep sigh, turning to look in your direction.

"I learn me lines! Ou' need to 'elp me!" You demand, impatiently as you take it upon your self to sit on her lap.

"Okay then, can't be that hard, can it?" Monkey shrugs her shoulders, "Hit me with what I need to know! What lines' are we readin' here?" She asks, cluelessly.

You're not so keen on that comment as you scrunch your little face up in annoyance, "Ou' no take dis seriously! I give up!" You insist, throwing your hands up dramatically in the air.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Monkey retorts, holding her hands up in mock surrender, "I am trying my best here, little miss sassy pants!" She fires back.

"Ou' no trying hard enough!" You shout in protest, stomping your foot, "Ou' need to try do better!" You tell her, or more like continue to shout.

"Hey, whoa. What's going on in here?" Jordan's somewhat alarmed by the demands that your tiny voice is making, "Buddy, what's the matter, little 'un?"

Mama! I need 'elp!" You spin around and toddle over to Jordan, ready to tattle on your favourite person, "Monks' no takin' dis seriously!"

Monkey can't resist the urge to roll her eyes, "Oh come on, it's a preschool nativity. How serious does it actually have to be?"

"Can't you be a bit enthusiastic?" Jordan chuckles, stifling her own amusement.

"Monks' be rubbish!" You exclaim.

"Hey, I'm trying my best here," Monkey feigns her hurt, clutching her hand over her chest.

"Mama, I need Ez' to 'elp me cos' she sing's on da big stage!" You declare, promptly deciding that she will be the best person to help you nail your lines.

Jordan arches an eyebrow, smiling faintly, "Oh you, do you? Well I think we might need to ask her for her help on that one, won't we?" She questions, resting her hands on her hips.

You nod in agreement, parroting her with your own hands on your hips, "Yeah! I need 'elp cos' Monks' be shit!"

Jordans' own eyes widened in shock, "Buddy!"

"Oh my God, this just gets better and better," Monkey snickers, failing to hold her own laughter back.

Jordan crouches down to your level, pulling you close to her, "Buddy, you can't say words like that, they're naughty," She explains, "Who taught you to say that?"

And without even thinking about it, you answer, "Monks' did!"

"Wha-- No, I didn't! You little grass!" Monkey exclaims, her eyes widening in protest, "Oh my God man, you're an evil little shit sometimes."

"See, Mama? Told ou' she taught me!" You feign your innocence, knowing that you couldn't do anything wrong in Jordan's eyes, and Leah's to an extent.

You definitely know how to play it to your own advantage.

Jordan, however, was still a bit startled and unsure what to do in this certain situation, "Right, little 'un. You stay here and practice your lines with Monkey," She starts to tell you, standing up from where she was previously crouching, "I'm gonna go and call Santa to have a little word with him, aren't I?"

"But I can' practice with her. Monks' be shit!" You don't bat an eyelid at the swear word, even if it makes Jordan's eyes practically bulge out of her eye sockets.

"Buddy, please stop saying that," Jordan winces, shaking her head, "That's very naughty to say that, Santa isn't going to bring you a presents if you continue like that, will he?"

"I wan' Santa to come!" You exclaim, your own eyes widening at the thought of him not coming now, "Ou' tell Santa dat I be good!"

"Well then..." Jordan replies, scratching the back of her neck as she digs in her pocket for her phone, "You stay here and I'll pass the message onto Santa."

With that conversation in mind, you reluctantly agree to sit with Monkey, unbeknownst that Jordan has actually gone to phone Leah instead with her headphones in.

"Le, umm..." Jordan is hesitant to explain as soon as the line connects on the other end of the FaceTime, making sure to whisper so you can't hear her, "We have a bit of a situation here."

Leah arches an eyebrow, "Oh boy, that sounds serious. Is everythin' alright?"

"Well, uh, not exactly," Jordan admits, using her free hand to scratch the back of her neck awkwardly, "So, uh, Buddy swore, so uh, what do I do?"

"What do you mean what do you do?" Leah questions in disbelief, pinching the bridge of her nose, "You tell her off for it, Jord."

Jordan frowns in response, "But... But I can't do that, she's my little girl, Le," she starts to tell her, "I will feel bad."

"That doesn't matter, Jord. She's three years old," Leah makes the point to emphasise on the age, "She isn't allowed to swear, regardless, and she knows that. I told her this the last time she did it."

"Yeah, I know, but... Wait, what?" Jordan retorts as she finally catches what Leah previously said, "What do you mean before? Like, she has done this before?"

"Yes," Leah pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales a sigh, "She has developed a lovely habit for copying Monkey's exact words. It's delightful, really," She adds, sarcasm dripping through her tone of voice.

"Oh dear, so we really do have to nip it in the bud before it gets out of hand now, huh?" Jordan realises, exhaling a sigh of her own, "I'll have a word with her about it then. Wish me luck..."

"Oh yeah, definitely without a doubt," Leah chuckles, faintly smiling in amusement, "Good luck, I hope it goes well. Let me know how it goes!"

As it turns out the chat doesn't turn out in the way that Jordan has hoped for.

Jordan hasn't even had a chance to walk back into the living room before she hears your loud protests, "Monks' no stop it!"

"I'm not even doing anything!" Monkey exclaims in defence.

"Ou' are, ou' doin' me head in. Ou' shit-head!" You shout aloud, clear as day as your little face scowls at the older girl, "Ou' stop it!"

Monkey snorts in amusement, "You have such a little sailor mouth. It's going to get you in trouble."

"Nuh uh. I be angel!" You protest, feigning your innocence to look completely angelic again.

"Yeah, right, more like the spawn of Satan," Monkey mutters under her breath, rolling her eyes, "Mama's gonna hear and you're gonna be in troubleeee!" She teases you playfully as she adds a little tone of amusement to her words, and Jordan takes the opportunity to walk into the room, "Oh look, here she comes now! Are you gonna tell her, or am I?"

"Tell me what?" Jordan questions, raising an eyebrow.

"Mama! Monks' made me do it!" You lie without even hesitating.

Monkey's eyes widen in disbelief, "What? That's a complete fib!"

"Monks' taught me doh!" You continue to lie, making yourself out to be a complete angel just like you are going to be in the nativity.

"Wha-- Jords, it's not true!" Your favourite person continues to insist, in disbelief you are so willing to throw her under the bus just like you did.

You nod your head fast, "Yes it is, Monks' taught me all da different words!"

Jordan exhales a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Right, little 'un. Come here, please," She gestures to you where she's crouching down at your level, "I think me and you need to have a chat about this swearing and lying business, don't we?"

"Ou' tell Santa I be good?" You question, your own curiosity piqued.

"I did, but Santa has been watching and he knows you've not been very good recently, have you?" Jordan asks in a tone of voice that is gentle but still firm.

"I be angel doh, Mama!" You exclaim in protest.

"You're not being very angelic right now you little gremlin," Monkey mutters under her breath.

"Monkey," Jordan chastises the teenage girl.

"I'm just sayin' though..." Monkey huffs, holding her own hands up in self-surrender.

Jordan exhales a sigh, rubbing her temple as she thinks carefully about her words and how to go around this, "Buddy, sweetheart, I want you to listen to Mama now, okay?" She tells you still in that gentle tone of voice that held some firmness to it, "This is a very serious conversation, little 'un."

"But ou' do when ou' lose a game, or when ou' on game on TV!" You scrunch your face up in confusion, "An' Mummy does too a'well when she upset on da pitch!"

"Yeah, but well... Buddy, that's a little bit different," Jordan tries her luck to continue to explain, "You're not allowed to swear, little 'un. It's not nice for little girls like you to say these things, is it?"

You continue to scrunch your face up in confusion, "All the fans say it doh though! I like da chants, Mummy!"

Jordan winces as she rubs her forehead again, "You might do, Buddy but listen..." She starts to explain a bit better so that you will understand, "The fans are a lot more grown up than you are, so therefore, they can say that."

Your facial expression changes from confusion to curiosity, "So, when I bigger den I can swear?"

Monkey snorts in amusement, "Oh, now this is brilliant!"

Jordan exhales a deep sigh as she moves her hands to cover her face, "No, Buddy. I don't mean like that," She mumbles, feeling like she's fighting a losing battle with you at this point, "No more swearing. Capiche?"

"Capiche!" You brightly exclaim in agreement, "Do we hafta have jar here too?"

Jordan blinks in confusion, "Come again?"

"Mummy made up a jar, an' we gots' a trip to da farm cos' Mummy swore a lot!" You are eager to tell her, "We gets' jar here as well?"

"A swear jar," Monkey chimes in to help Jordan understand better.

"Uh, well I don't see why not if it stops your sailor mouth, huh?" Jordan shrugs her shoulders, "I guess this means that I have to watch what I say as well now too, right?"

"Uh huh, otherwise ou' gots' put money in da jar!" You insist, nodding your head in agreement, "No more swearing for 'oou either, Mama!"

Finally, the day of the nativity performance came around and you were beyond excited to be able to shine as an angel.

You were after the all the star of the show.

“Hi, Mummy! Hi, Mama!” You're vibrating with excitement, bouncing up and down on your tiptoes as you spot Leah and Jordan sitting down amongst the rest of the audience.

“Hiya, sweetheart!” Jordan replies, waving enthusiastically.

Leah smiles and waves back to you, “Hi, bubba!”

“Ou’ both 'ere!” You continue to shout aloud amongst the rest of the crowd, “Monks’! Ou’ 'ere a'well!” You let out a loud gasp in excitement, pointing your index finger in the direction of where your favourite person sat, all but completely forgetting about Leah and Jordan now.

Monkey throws you a cheeky grin and waves, “Sup little Buddy!”

“Look, I an angel. See?” You declare, making a big deal of it to the point the glittery silver angel wings on your back that you and Leah had gone round the shops to look for.

“No way!” Monkey retorts with her usual sarcasm as she gasps dramatically, “I thought you were a sheep or somethin’ else instead, you know?”

“Noo! Don’ be silly Monk’s!” You let out an exaggerated sigh and rested your hands on your hips to add to extra theatrics, “I doin’ good job. See?”

“Totally,” Monkey grins in agreement.

“We can see, bubba. You’re doing a great job!” Leah encourages proudly from the audience.

“Uh huh! I best angel!” You promptly insist with a nod of your head, before you want to make sure that Jordan is paying attention as well, “Mama? See I be angel! Ou’ pay attention to me!”

Jordan chuckles in amusement, shaking her head fondly, “I’m watching you, kiddo.”

“Oh your little girl certainly is a right little character, isn’t she?” One of the parents of another little boy the same age as you leans over her chair and comments with an amused smile, “You must be so proud of her!”

“Oh she is, our little bubba,” Leah smiles, nodding in agreement.

“I be star of da show!” You shout aloud, earning another round of laughter from the audience.

As one of the scene unfolds, you stand proudly amongst the other angels, your wings are slightly crooked but undeniably adorable. The music starts, and everyone begins singing a well-rehearsed carol, but you decide to take center stage– literally.

Marching to the front of the group, you spread your arms wide, “I be angel! See? Look at m' wings. Dey sparkly!” You declare dramatically.

The audience chuckles softly and there’s a collective “aww” rippling through the crowd.

“She’s definitely stealing the show,” Jordan whispers to Leah.

“Well she’s definitely not shy at all,” Leah murmurs back, watching you with a mix of pride and nervous anticipation.

As the performance progresses, you grow increasingly confident, twirling in circles and flapping your wings like you’re ready to take off.

At one point, the shepherds behind you are supposed to deliver their lines, but you decide it’s your time to shine, again.

“Hey, dat m’ line! Get ou’ of da way!”

You had the audience in sitches, Leah buries her face in her hands while Jordan shakes her head with an amused grin.

Of course you wouldn’t be yourself if you didn’t add in some colourful language to the nativity performance, which of course left Leah and Jordan both absolutely mortified.

It’s during a moment in the grand-finale, where you are keen to belt out the lyrics to ‘Silent Night’ at the top of your lungs to then continue to thank the audience, in the only way you know how to do, “Thank ou'! I be da best angel, innit? Oh, and da sheep stink like shit!”

“Buddy!” Leah hisses under her breath, her cheeks turning crimson as Jordan tries to stifle a laugh.

Monkey, however, is in absolute hysterics over it.

“Before you say anything,” The girl begins, holding her hands up in mock surrender, “This one definitely isn’t on me!” Her own laughter is so loud that it nearly drowns out the rest of the audience’s roaring laughter.

By the end of the performance, you’re bowing like a professional performer, soaking in the applause, “Mama! Mummy! Monks’!” You run over to them as the curtain closes, “Did ou' see me? I be star of da show!”

Jordan is the first to crouch down and hug you, “You definitely were the star, little ‘un. I don’t think nobody will forget that performance, will they?”

“Oh they definitely won’t,” Leah sighs, scooping you up into her own arms and kissing the top of your head, “But I think we might need to have another little talk about your colourful words, don’t we, hmm? Remember what we talked about, bubba.”

You exhale a big sigh, resting your head on Leah’s shoulder, “But Mummy, I can’ help it doh if da sheep are shit,” You tell her quiet and innocent, “I only bein’ honest!”

#monkey #double the trouble fic #leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #woso one shot #scribblesofagoonerr #buddy #chaos fc reader #separate reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso community

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oxfords---notbrogues · 2 years ago

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#menswear #men's style #men's fashion #style #fashion #men’s shoes #monkstrap #monk strap #double monk strap #double monkstrap

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boldbunnyshoe · 1 month ago

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iliketangerines · 1 year ago

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hi there! idk if u write for girls but i was thinking of u could write like a sonya x afab!reader x kung lao where sonya and the reader top kung lao? (also mk2021 versions pls! no pressure and i hope ur doing good!!)

knocking him down a peg

a/n: oh yes, i definitely do. send in your girl requests.

pairing: kung lao x afab!reader x sonya blade

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), pussy eating, pegging, overstimulation, face riding

Kung Lao kneels in the corner, your panties stuffed into his mouth and his hands tied behind his back as he watches Sonya spread your legs with her hands

she gives the inside of your thighs a kiss, smiling up at you as you hold onto her hair and let out a small whine, and she presses her tongue against your clit

you whine and throw your head back as Sonya sucks on your clit harshly before flicking it back and forth with her tongue

she gives it long flat licks, and you squeeze her thighs around her as you grind your hips into her face

you whine that it’s not enough, you need more, and Sonya hums into your clit, causing your eyes to squeeze shut and your back to arch off the bed

you moan and tug at her hair as she sucks on your clit, and your dripping pussy clenches around nothing as you cum on her tongue

she moves her head down, nose digging into your clit now as she laps at your release, eager to taste it all and have you whining for some more

one of her hands move from your thighs and spreads the folds of your pussy, and Sonya groans at the sight of your needy pussy, all wet just for her

Kung Lao whines in the corner, hips wiggling uselessly about as the plug in his ass presses up against his prostate

Sonya shushes him, tells him to be a good boy, before turning back to you and sliding her fingers into your cunt

immediately, her fingers seek out your sweet spot, and when your legs twitch and clench around her head, she smiles and massages the spot

pleasure flies up your spine as you whine into the air, oversensitivity coursing through you as she fucks you on her long fingers and teases your puffy clit with her tongue

your orgasm comes too fast, crashing over you and carrying you through waves of pleasure as spots of pain start to flash through your nerves

you push at her head, saying it’s too much, you can’t, and she smiles up at you and coos at you but concedes and removes her fingers from your pussy

you look up to see Sonya licking off your release from her fingers, tongue darting out to catch every bit of your cum

she saunters over to Kung Lao, her strap hanging low and heavy, and she drags him up and unties his hands and throws him onto the bed, telling him to undress

she tells you get up on Kung Lao’s face, and you get onto shaky knees and remove the panties from his mouth as he finishes throwing the rest of his clothes off

his muffled whines become clear as you settle your hips over his face, and Sonya takes the plug at Kung Lao’s ass and pushes it in a little deeper

the monk underneath you groans, and he grabs onto your hips and forces you to sit on his face, whining and whimpering into your cunt as Sonya jerks roughly at his cock

Sonya removes the plug from his ass and lubes up her strap before slowly sliding into him

he whines and bucks his hips upward, looking for friction on his cock, and he doubles his efforts, fucking his tongue into you roughly as your clit grinds into his chin

Sonya raises up Kung Lao’s legs onto her shoulders to reach deeper, and Kung Lao moans as she bullies his prostrate with her strap

you’re not much better, grinding your hips into his face and panting into the air as you tell him what a good boy he is for you two

you tell him he’s so good for you, taking Sonya’s cock so well and eating you out so well, and Kung Lao whines underneath you and grips onto your legs with his hands

you lean over and press your hand into Kung Lao’s abdomen, creating more pressure between Sonya’s strap and his ass, and he whimpers into your pussy at the feeling

Sonya grins up at you as she strokes Kung Lao slowly, thumb pressing into the slit and spreading his pre-cum all around his cock

you whine as Kung Lao moans into your cunt, and you can feel yourself getting close to the edge, about to tip over

you praise Kung Lao, telling him to keep doing that, just like that, and he hums happily into your cunt as he continues lapping at you

you throw your head back as your pussy clenches down on his tongue, and you cum on his face

Kung Lao eagerly drinks in your release, and he lets out a broken moan as Sonya pumps at his dick quickly

his hips raise off the bed and his cum splatters onto his stomach and his chest, and Sonya fucks him through his orgasm

he whines as Sonya strokes his cock, milking him of all his cum, and you coo at him and lift off of him, telling him he did so well for you two, how that wasn’t so bad, was it?

Kung Lao turns his head to the side, eyes still a little dazed, and you coo at him and pet his hair as Sonya slips out of his abused hole and goes to clean the strap and grab some water

you sit him up as Sonya returns with some water, and you have him drink half of the glass

you ask him again if that was so bad, and he scowls into his drink

it doesn’t hide the blush on his face as he mutters out that it was fine, and both you and Sonya laugh at his reaction

soon enough, all of you are cuddling on the bed, and you quickly fall asleep, feeling much more relaxed for the upcoming tournament

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tungstenshoe · 1 year ago

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sadistic-cardinal · 5 months ago

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His Mother's Nose

Copia broaches the subject of getting plastic surgery with Sister Imperator.

Word Count: 1255

Read it on A03 here:

"Come in, C." Sister Imperator looked up from her desk as she answered the gentle knock on her office door.

"Ah, yes, thank you Sister."

Came the accented voce from behind the heavy oak door as it was pushed open. A pointy nose protruded through the gap, followed by a pair of mismatched eyes, one a subtle olive green, the other an unholy shade of ice-white. Copia, her boy, steped into the office. He was a stark contrast to the confident, mincing, hip swinging performer who entertained thousands of fans every night on tour. No this was not Papa Emeritus the Fourth in his sparkly blue jacket, dripping and sparkling over his body like liquid sapphires, skipping offstage to greet her with a wry grin on his black and white skull-painted face. This wasn't even The Cardinal, in tight black pants swishing around in a vampire-esque cape like Bela Lugosi. No, this was just little Cardi with his black panda eyes, displaying his usual anxious off-stage demeanor, the leather of his gloves squeaking as he wrung his hands by his waist.

"Er..."

"Come in and sit down, boyo."

Sister said, looking at him over the top of her glasses.

"I know when you want to ask me something. Come on."

"Right, right."

He mumbled, shutting the door and making his way over to the chairs in front of her desk. Hesitating for a moment he looked between the two chairs, and Sister Imperator could practically see the cogs turning as he struggled to pick which one would be better to sit in. Both were identical: straight backed hard wood chairs with no cushions. Sister did not like her guests to spend longer than necessary, so as a rule saw no need to provide anything over the bare minimum of comfort as a seating arrangement.

"C, take that one, love."

A gentle prompt usually did the trick when he was in this sort of mood, and sure enough Copia graciously accepted her suggestion, taking a seat on the one closest to the unlit fireplace.

"Thank you, Sister."

He says, looking down at his worn double monk-strap shoes. As she followed his gaze she briefly wondered if she had seen him in anything else in the past six years, he even wore those shoes with that damn tracksuit he insisted on wearing as casual wear as often as he could get away with. On more than one occasion she had considered consining it to the bin, but knowing how particular he was about his outfits, had opted just to leave him be. Satan knew if she were to do that he would only turn up in something even worse. Nevermind. He wasn't wearing it now, opting instead for his usual red cassock, sans biretta - he had probably misplaced it somewhere and forgotten about it.

"Cardi. What brings you here today?"

She asked, snapping them both out of their thoughts. Generally if one of them doesn't start the conversation rolling they are liable to sit there for the best part of an hour daydreaming.

Copia's eyes snapped up to meet hers and he nods.

"Ah yes. So... i was thinking about this eh... this Papa thing. And my debut on stage recently. I've had a lot of time to think about it actually and you know, i think i am not looking so right with the make up and the... rest of me."

"The rest of you?"

Oh Satan below he doesn't like his vestiments. Sister closes her eyes, imagining a repeat of how long it took to design and approve Copia's Papal robes.

Weeks. Weeks it took, and they still had had to send them back for further adjustments.

Copia nods.

"Er... yes. It's...-"

"Let me stop you there." Sister interjects. "The robes cost us a small fortune. We went over and over them and you approved everything. The blue and gold. The rhinestones. The mitre...-"

"Oh no Sister! Er it's not that."

He says meekly, the tips of his ears starting to go red and radiate heat as he spoke.

"No, what it is er... is... well, me."

"You, C...? I don't... what do you mean, you?"

"Well...-"

He looks at her and gestures to himself.

"I don't really look like Papa, eh? Like a Papa. You know i have been noticing it more and more and when i put the Papal paints on too you know i see what they all mean when they say about me, you know..?"

Sister shook her head, not quite following.

Copia sighed heavily, the realisation dawning that he was not going to be able to beat around the bush.

"I look ...ah shucks... like a rat."

He says, hanging his head.

"The Sisters all say it, i know all the rumours. They're right. Look at me. Papa shouldn't be eh... a creepy... little... rat man. Maybe it is okay when i was just a Cardinal but... i am Papa. He should be strong eh? Regal, no? I guess what i am saying is i want to get the eh... the surgery to fix it."

Sister Imperator recoiled just a fraction, a wave of mixed emotions forming a hot, uncomfortable sensation in her chest. Oh her dear boy. Her poor, neurotic, shy, outcast of a boy who was so desperate for approval. He was worried he would not live up to the Papas before him, she could see that, clear as day. He did not look like a rat. Not to her. What she saw when she looked at him was the reflection of her younger self. Almost nothing of his father, Nihil, with his square jaw and mop of thick black hair. No, little Cardi was all her. Sure, he had inherited Nihil's hetrochromia, but the almond shaped eyes that looked back at her were her own. His profile in particular was the exact spitting image of her younger self; a long, elegant, pointed nose; a thin angular jaw, his brow set in a perminent determined look, no matter how much worrying he did to offset it. Combined, these features gave him an intelligent, almost bookish appearance. Far from the dimwitted brand of handsomeness his father had had in his prime. Even his mousey brown hair, now greying at the temples, that formed smooth waves when he pushed it back, was the exact shade she was naturally before she elected to bleach it. He wasn't to know what traits they shared, however. As for all she saw the exact image of herself in him, and had since he was just a boy, Copia was unaware that she was even his mother.

"Oh, C..."

She sighed, hating that he thought he had to change himself to live up to Papa. Still so much self doubt despite all his achievements as frontman.

"Please, Sister. Per Favore. I... i really would like this."

She looks at him for a long moment, not daring to betray the pain she is feeling as she looks at his pained expression, knowing just how much bravery it took for him to even broach the subject with her. "If... it will make you happy, boyo. If it will make you happy."

His smile lit up his face. Oh his sweet, handsome face, where even his crows feet and laughter lines had developed in the same places as hers.

"Thank you! Yes, thank you. You know... i... if you don't mind the suggestion maybe even you could join me...- i heard there was a two for one on!"

#ghost #ghost bc #cardinal copia #sister imperator #sister's pov #ghost fic #fic #plastic surgery #popia copia #copia's nose #nosejob #the ministry #light angst #mother son relationship #papa iv #papa emeritus iv

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sabraeal · 6 months ago

Text

want your heart (to be for me), Part 2

[Read on AO3]

Ice skating, the more Nanami thinks about it, is a genius idea.

It’s date-worthy, for one; even before she ushers Jirou into line at the skate rental, the ice is packed with couples. Sure, the rink is right in the middle of a major metropolitan shopping district, but it’s all soft eyes and meaningful looks under the fairy lights; a winter wonderland made real by the magic of snow machines and mood lighting. And for two, there’s very little physical contact. Oh sure, there’s a little hand holding— it’s practically kissing, Ami would squeal, if she heard— but it’s all through gloves, no skin contact at all, and certainly nothing intimate. Not that there’s much magic left for her in that after being dragged hither and yon by every half-inconvenience kami; they don’t even think to ask anymore before they grab her. No, they just pinch their godly hand around her palm and pull her right through the veil or whatever. At this point, she probably has the most trafficked hands outside of a boardroom.

And for third, well— they don’t need to look at each other. Not that Jirou’s hard on the eyes, but— gosh, that’s half the problem, isn’t it? It’s one thing to see him on Kurama, monk’s robes and prayer beads and red eyeliner on point; there he's a kami through and through, as much a part of the mountain as the sakura tree. But here there’s no wings to distract her, no ritual cosmetics to keep her from seeing that he’s just…hot. Not idol-hot, the way Kur— ah, Shinjirou is, though she doubts a scout would say no to all one hundred and ninety plus centimeters of him, even with his scars. But…regular hot-guy hot. The kind that make a girl stop in the street to double take, wondering if someone could actually walk around looking that good.

The kind Nanami normally wouldn’t care to give the time of day, but well— most of them don’t keep sneaking glances at her when she’s not looking, or blushing every time their bodies bump in the pre-Christmas crowd. Boys like that aren’t affected by her, but this one, unfortunately, is. And it’s…distracting to say the least.

The line jostles forward, lodging her shoulder right under his armpit, face pressed right to the gray wool of his coat, and— really, where does Kurama find this stuff? Her own winter coat’s nice, calf-colored and a good size to cinch around her waist, but it still itches if she rubs it against her skin. This practically begs a girl to linger, to let her cheek rest a little longer, to maybe even long for a strong arm to wrap around her shoulders—

Nanami springs away, heat thundering up to her cheeks, pound of her heart nipping at its heels. Oh ho ho, no. She won’t be falling for any of Kurama’s tricks, thank you. Wouldn’t that be just like him, encouraging…canoodling through the strategic application of cashmere or whatever.

Jirou, however, hasn’t noticed. No, his attention is twisted over his shoulder, fixed to where couples idly circle the rink, eyes squinted and suspicious.

“Explain it to me again.” His heavy brows knot over the stern slope of his nose, uncertain. “We strap blades to our feet and attack the ice? And we do this for…entertainment?”

“It’s fun,” she assures him, resting a hand on that soft wool again; this time on the much more relationship-neutral sleeve area. “Have you really never gone skating? It seems like the sort of thing a bunch of boys would get up to after a couple hundred years.”

His shoulders heave, as casual a shrug as a mountain of a man like him can make. “It doesn’t snow on Kurama Mountain.”

A laugh sputters out of her; Mt Fuji already has its snow cap, and even if Kurama isn’t nearly as tall, it still gets more than its fair share of the stuff, especially this time of year—

But Jirou doesn’t blink, doesn’t smile, doesn’t show a hint of anything in his eyes besides that same steady earnestness she found below the temple. “How is that even possible? Didn’t Kifune just get a dusting last week? You guys should have…?”

Been romping around in the first snow of the season, that’s what she wants to say. But Jirou just stares down at her, the faintest hint of melancholy in the dark shadows of his eyes, and she knows: he lives in the spiritual realm. Sure, it might look like the rest of the mountain— the temple even sits right where Kuramadera does, pathways twisting right up along its sides— but it’s different. A place where a sakura tree can bloom year round, littering each tengu hatched beneath its branches with plush pink petals; children of its roots born into a world of eternal spring.

It doesn’t even have a pond, now that she thinks about it. Just a bunch of wells that probably don’t lead to real springs, but like, some weird spiritual equivalent, and— ugh, if she thinks about this any longer, her head is going to hurt.

“Well, don’t worry about it! It’s easy.” She puffs out her chest, giving it a prideful pat. “I’ll teach you.”

Tomoe would have scoffed— what could a human like you teach me, he’d say, every elegant movement of his hands perfect in a way she could only dream of being, when you’ve only just managed to stop banging sticks together. But Jirou—

Jirou’s breath catches in that cavernous chest of his, all the more obvious with clothes that cling to him the way these do, dark eyes gone so wide she can see the whites. “Land God, you honor me, but I hardly deserve your—”

It’s an Olympic level leap that claps her hands over his mouth before he can get warmed up enough to mention her divine attention, or, god forbid, start bowing.

“Shh! Shhhh! I told you not to call me that here. Just Nanami is fine!” She lowers from her trembling tip toe, her palm lingering over his lips for one moment— two moments, maybe— more. Just to make sure. He’d done just fine using her name in front of Kei, there was no need for any of this…Land God stuff out here right where normal people could hear them. “And it’s not a big deal, really! You taught me to fly, after all. It’s only fair.”

“You are already repaying me for my help with that task,” he reminds her, eyes narrowed. “That is why you consented to be my guide, is it not?”

“Ahh, yeah, but this is, um…part of it!” She lays her brightest smile on him; it’s her best hope for a distraction. Well, short of touching him in a real, purposeful way— not just this casual brush of hands over his sleeve or hands bumping together— and considering how he’d handled that beneath the temple, it risks a little too much collateral damage for her taste. “I can’t bring you here to do the very human pastime of ice skating if you can’t skate, can I?”

His mouth pulls thin, considering her point.

“I suppose.” The fight seeps from the firm line of his shoulders. “So long as it isn’t too much trouble?”

“Oh come on,” she laughs, waving a hand. “What could go wrong?”

In retrospect, the warning signs — omens, Mizuki would have called them, tooting on his stupid flute— present themselves early. The guy manning the skate rental, for one, who took a good look at Jiro’s two meters plus and muttered, “I’ll have to check what they have in the back.”

The skate laces for another, which is a surprise to say the least.

“But you’ve worn kimono before,” Nanami reminds him, his pale scars standing out more starkly from the deep pink of his skin. “It’s the same principle. Just like…on your feet!”

“I grasp the fundamentals.” She kneels in front of the bench, his knees brushing her shoulders, and Jiro wrenches his chin to the side, the slightest strain in his voice when he adds, “It’s the practical application that confounds me.”

“You were wearing boots, weren’t you?” she huffs, sitting back on her heels. “Didn’t you have to tie those yourself?”

“Shinjirou—”

His teeth snap shut with a clack, and ah, for all of Kurama’s complaining over hosting his grim onii-san, even trying to extract a date of his own out of her as compensation— that wild fox would eat his own tail, wouldn’t he? he hummed, too intrigued with the idea for any interest to be leftover for her— he’d put this all together himself. The soft coat, the perfectly tailored jeans, even getting down on his own knees to tie his bootlaces— Kurama had put effort into this.

“All right, well, pay attention, okay?” He glances down, cheeks red as she crosses his laces tight. “The bunny runs around the tree, and goes into the hole…”

It’s not until she gets him out onto the ice, however, that the shape of her mistake really starts to show itself.

“Um, Jirou?” She peeks out from around his elbow, watching the bulky muscle in his jaw flex. “You’ll have to actually…get out the gate to skate.”

“I don’t know how,” he informs her, knuckles white where he clutches either side of the wall. “Am I supposed to follow a…current of some kind?”

Nanami watches the couples meander past like leaves traveling through a gentle stream, and well, there’s worse metaphors, she supposes. “That’s not a bad way to think of it. Everyone is traveling in the same direction, but you kinda have to move on your own.”

“How?”

It’s practically a growl, and from a chest like his, it should be intimidating, the sort of thing that sends shivers down her spine. But instead Nanami bites back a giggle, and informs him, “One skate at a time!”

“So I have assumed. But how am I supposed to—”

“I’ll show you,” she promises, sliding off her guards. “But you have to let me on the ice first.”

“I’m trying—”

Her hands press to his back, and even through the wool of his coat, she feels his breath stutter, the bluster snuffed right out of him.

“Maybe,” she grunts, tensing her muscles. “You should try harder—”

On solid ground, she’d have no hope of moving him— he’s head and shoulders taller, for one, and used to standing his ground against fledglings her size for another— but with both blades firmly on the ice, he slides forward, arms flailing out to grab something, anything—

Until he falls face-first onto the rink.

“All right,” she coughs. “Let’s, um, try that again.”

It’s a trial to get him upright; maybe one of his other brothers might have been more help, if only because they're stronger, and— much as she hated to admit it— much, much taller. But between her middling height and his inclination to treat the ice like a cat does a bath, well…

“What if you just hold on to me for now?” It’d be easier to keep him steady closer to the rail, but between her lucky push and both their flailing, it’s a trek they’re unlikely to make. At least with all these other skaters between them and the wall. “Once you get some momentum, it’ll be easier to start moving, you know?”

“I think,” he sniffs, stiff as a board beside her, “I have experienced enough momentum for a lifetime.”

“Good thing you’ve got several to go then, huh?” She grins, even in the face of his withering stare. “Come on, ‘fall down seven times, get up eight,’ right? You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

“I have no interest in falling down seven times,” he informs her. “The once was enough.”

“No, no, you got it now, I can tell. Here”— her hand wraps around his, palm hotter than those drug store hand warmers even through his gloves— “just let me pull you a little.”

“N-no, I”— there’s not so much words but noises as she squeezes, and all of them are negative— “don’t…”

Nanami hasn’t gotten this far listening to kami that tell her no, and she’s not about to start now. Botanmaru and the other little tengu might have quivered under Jirou’s glare, but she only grins.

“Come on, just a little— there we go!” Her own skates catch under her, the energy she’s putting in finally equal to the energy he’s putting out, tipping their momentum from a standstill to a gentle— albeit wobbly— glide. “You’re moving!”

Jirou might be the size of a man— larger than one, really, one of the tallest ones she’s seen on or off Kurama Mountain— and his legs might not shake beneath him, but just like every other kid’s first time on the ice, they widen, nearly tipping him right over before he catches himself. One skate stamps on the ice before it smooths to a glide, dragging the other behind. He doesn’t get far before he nearly overbalances again, struggling to get the other foot beneath him, to stand the way he might on solid ground, but—

But he does it, this time pushing off the leg the way he’s supposed to, weight a little too much on the inside to get him much farther than a few stuttering slides. There’s a light in his eyes though, a spark of interest, a puzzle halfway solved. It’s easier for him to get the next foot beneath him, then the next, falling into a toddling rhythm of step-skate, step-skate, and—

And he smiles. Not one of those nasty little sneers he wore when he got one over on Kurama or one of his other brothers, or the shy tight-lipped smile he would give her when they spoke, but— victorious. Joyful and dangerous all at once; the sort of grin generals must have gotten in ancient times when the battle was won and they could start looking forward to the spoils.

It’s not until his eyes lock on her, dark and focused in a way that makes her breath catch, that she remembers: she’s the only prize on the ice worth taking. At least to him.

It should be terrifying— he’s so much bigger than her, a kami in all the ways that count instead of just in name, and she’d seen the cruelty he’s capable of, given the right incentive. But the shiver that runs through her is a promise instead of a plea, growing warm-- no, hot as he straightens, approaching her not with a bird’s grace but a predator’s slow prowl.

Maybe this is the reason for all of Kurama’s rules; that laundry list of no-nos the Soujoubou has posted up in every brother's heart. It wasn’t the tengu who found themselves distracted by the mortal woman at the foot of the mountain, but the village women seeing J-Pop idol faces and shoulders used to bearing wings large enough for a man to take flight, and just thinking, what do the guys got around here that can compete with this?

He’s close enough to loom now, extended to almost his full height, and oh, if he just unfurled his wings this would be like one of those book covers she sees in the store, dangerous and divine all at once. And then his eyes widen, her only warning before he completely overbalances the other way, sprawling ass-first on the ice— and with her hand still locked in his, taking her with him.

“Ow,” is the first thing she thinks to say, followed by, “Oh, no!”

It requires a little wriggling to get an arm free, the ice seeping through the fleece-lined stretch of her tights as she rolls up onto her knees. “Are you alright? It doesn’t hurt too much does it?”

“It will take more than that to harm a tengu of Kurama Mountain,” he informs her, sitting upright— fast enough that she nearly spills back into the ice. But one of his hands shoots out, steadying her, and she settles onto her heels instead. “You, however, are only human.”

Another girl might shrink under the measuring stare he turns to her, quailing under the narrow angle of his skepticism, but Nanami only waves him off with a laugh. “I’m fine. Really! I’m made tougher than I look, okay!”

He grunts, unconvinced, but at least he doesn’t start fussing the way Tomoe would, checking bones and joints for the smallest twinge of pain. Instead he just sits there, staring, and—

Oh, she’s…she’s right between his knees. Kneeling there, having a whole conversation, when he’s only…

“Maybe skating was a bad idea.” The words all fall out of her in a jumble; she hardly even knows she’s said anything— like really said anything, not just thrown up some word salad— until Jirou’s eyebrows furrow. “It was silly to think you’d pick up on it the first time you tried. I’m not even that good at it either! It's like the blind leading the blind in here, right? If you’re getting tired of this, we can just go back and—”

“What do you mean ‘if I’m getting tired of this?’” He bares his teeth, surveying the rink with all the eagerness of a kid half his age. Well, half the age he looks, anyway. “I’m only just starting to get good at it.”

There’s no production when he stands now, skates staying right where he puts them.

“Come, Nanami.” He holds out his hand, that grin aimed directly at her, way too dangerous. “What was it you said? We have only fallen down twice, which means there are five more times to go.”

“That’s not what that means,” she says, but she’s already getting to her feet. “But sure. Falling five more times seems like a plan.”

Jirou might have promised falling down, but in the half hour since he’d given her a hand up, he hasn’t done it once. He just watches a few of the better skaters glide past, and in no time he’s speeding around the rink, spraying ice as he pulls to a stop beside her, the little shavings melting the instant they touch her tights.

“I must admit,” he says, watching where she idles against the railing, thighs already burning from her few shaky passes around the rink. “When you first proposed this ice skating, I did not quite understand the appeal. But now I see— it’s the closest these frail mortal bodies of yours can come to flying.”

It’s tempting to put him in his place, to tell him about airplanes, or skydiving or parasailing or any of the half dozen ways all these frail mortals have found to bring themselves a little closer to the sky, but instead she goes with, “So you like it?”

This is where Tomoe would fumble, would trip over himself to deny anything of the sort; it was natural for a yokai like him to excel in any human endeavor, but another thing entirely to enjoy it. So when Jirou turns to her, smile all victory and teeth, she’s unprepared for his enthusiastic, “Yes!”

Her jaw smacks her scarf, but there’s no time for her to recover, for her to even wrap her mouth around a shocked oh before he’s holding his hand out to her. “Would you do me the honor of joining me?”

It’s gloved of course, supple leather clinging to every contour of his knuckles, hand-picked by Kurama to fit like a— er, well, glove. They would have to be, after all; Jirou doesn’t come in a size that’s off the rack. Nanami might not be tall for a girl, but she’s not small either, and yet when she’d tried to wrap her hands around his earlier, her thumbs and fingers hadn’t even come close to touching, like a little girl trying to hold her dad’s hand—

“Nanami?”

Oh gosh, she’s staring. At his hand. “Y-yeah!”

The night might be cold, but Jirou’s hands are warm. Seriously warm, even with the layers of leather and cloth knit between them. She’d known that, of course— how could she not, when he’d had to catch her time after time those first few days at Kurama. Her new wings had been weak as a hatchling��s when they’d first grown, feathers patchy in places and grown in at odd angles, and though she’d been happy enough to fling herself from the highest outcroppings, the wind wouldn’t catch her the way it was supposed to. Wouldn’t hold her the way the other tengu told her came naturally.

And so it was Jirou who would scoop her out of her falls, stomach swooping with the sudden stop, patient in a way she hadn’t seen during that first visit with Botanmaru. Even with all the other tengu whooping and hollering— encouragement for her, and heckling for their former Soujoubou— he’d kept putting her on solid ground and telling her, give it a moment before you try it again.

She hadn’t of course, but, well, time was of the essence. Tomoe had been waiting for her.

Fat load of good that’d been in the end. Maybe she should have left him with his sky princess. At least then he wouldn’t be mad at her anymore.

“Nanami.” Her name rumbles out of him, concerned. “If you do not pay attention to what is in front of you, you’ll stumble once again.”

It’s kind of stupid how quickly he's picked all this skating stuff up-- some real godly bullshit, honestly. If she wasn't enjoying herself so much, she might start taking it personally that this being-naturally-good-at-stuff thing never seems to happen to her.

“Oh!” She shakes herself, tracing leather-gloved hand to woolen sleeve to furrowed brow, and— and it’s strange how Jirou doesn’t look away, doesn’t pretend he’s not concerned for her at all. How he doesn’t tell her to hurry up and pay attention, but lets them coast until she does. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Sorry about that.”

“There’s no need to apologize to me.” The serious line of his mouth hooks at a corner, and he squeezes her hand. “I am not some weak human. I have all the time in the world.”

For you. He doesn’t say it, but somehow his eyes do, right before he turns them back to the ice, guiding her around the corner. I have all the time in the world for you.

“So what next?” Nanami flops down onto the bench, thighs already burning. Hopefully Kei’s apartment has one of those fancy baths, the ones with all the jets and stuff, otherwise she’ll be all aches in the morning. “We’ve done shopping, ice skating…any other human stuff you’ve been dying to do?”

“I believe that is up to you.” Jirou does much better untying his skates than he did tying them; with only a few tugs he has both sitting on the bench beside him, socked feet hovering uncertain above the pavement before he reaches for his boots. It seems cold concrete is too much even for yokai— or kami, or whatever the tengu considered themselves. “You are my guide, are you not?”

“Well, yeah.” Her shoes are easy to handle— just little boots that zip up the side, heels giving her an extra couple of centimeters, enough to at least give his shoulder a run for its money. But Jirou is used to tabi and wara-zori, stuff he can just slip on his feet and forget about, so of course Kurama’s settled him with a pair of boots that require strategy to get on and off. When he settles his boots in front of him, it’s clear he doesn’t know where to start. “But this is your first time down here. I figure I can take requests.”

“That is kind of you, Nanami.” It’s funny to watch his feet flex, uncertain, before he grits his teeth and shoves one of them down past the laces. Kurama could have been kinder when he selected these from whatever fancy Big & Tall section he found; there had to have been ones that pulled on or zipped up instead of laced, jack boot style. “But I trust your guidance. That is why I asked you to take me, and not Shinjirou.”

It doesn’t take much to imagine what sort of tortures Kurama would inflict on his least favorite brother: crowds and concerts and high class clubs with VIP rooms— or, if he was feeling particularly perverse, maybe even karaoke. A dream for any one of his fan club, for sure, but an expertly curated nightmare for the former fourth Soujoubou.

“Well, if you’re sure.” Nanami leans back on her hands, the metallic chill of the bench biting through her gloves. “I am starting to get hungry. Maybe we should go and get some din—”

Her teeth clamp hard around that last syllable. Dinner. It’s a definite date activity, for sure; one that would really double down on the good time she intended to show him, but—

But she hadn’t meant for this to be a date, not when she agreed to this whole tour guide thing. It was just supposed to be an outing, the kind friends did when they had nothing better to do on their day off. Just because Mizuki said that Jirou thought they were on one doesn’t mean she actually has to follow through— or that she should. After all, what would Tomoe think when he came back? She wouldn’t keep something like this from him— not when Mizuki would be so quick to inform him of his new position as persona non grata, no longer needed now that Nanami would clearly be packing her bags for Kyoto soon. And then she’d have to explain herself, like always, and she’s pretty sure I went on a date by accident because I have a real fear of disappointing people wouldn’t be as compelling explanation for a fox who lived by the motto of act first, laugh at the idea of permission later.

“Nanami.” It’s gruff, the way he says it, as stilted as the line of his shoulders. “You seem…uncomfortable.”

“M-me? No, No.” She shakes her head way, way too hard. “I’m not, really. I just…”

Am already tired of dealing with a problem that hasn’t even happened yet. No way she can say that either; she may not be able to see Mizuki, but she’s certain those words would wend their way back to Tomoe’s ears somehow.

Jirou stares at her, frown as furrowed as his brow. “We do not have to continue if this is not an enjoyable encounter for you. You have more than fulfilled your end of the bargain, there is no need to—”

“No!” Ah, she hadn’t meant to shout— and hadn’t meant to grab him either, but here she is with a death grip on his sleeve. “No, I’m…I’m having fun, really. Loads. Honestly, this is the most fun I’ve had since…”

Gosh, it’s embarrassing that she can’t even remember. The past few weeks have just been one crisis after another, blurring together into one endless bad time that stretches infinitely forward and back.

“A while,” she finishes, lamely. By the skeptical look Jirou slant at her, he’s not convinced.

“If you are concerned about injury to my feelings”— his voice may be gentle, but every part of him is braced, waiting for impact— “you may take heart in the fact that I would prefer a small discomfort on my part, rather than pain on yours.”

“I’m not uncomfortable! I’m having a really good time!” She huffs, her breath ruffling the hair that’s fallen out from where she’d parted it. “It’s just…”

He turns to her, boots on but still untied— it’d be a look if Kurama did it, and Jirou’s nearly handsome enough to pull it off too— and simply…waits. Just stares at her, all the intensity that stole him the Soujoubou’s seat now directed at her.

She doesn’t mean to say anything, really— at least nothing important— but those dark eyes fix on her, just her, and she blurts out, “Doesn’t this feel like a date or something?”

He blinks, long and slow, before saying, “I’m not sure I would know.”

Of course not; he’s never even been off the mountain before. Had barely known women existed until she traipsed onto the mountain, trying to fix all of Botanmaru’s problems. And here she is, worrying that he’s thinking about dates, that he might even be disappointed if she didn’t perform one to his exacting standards, and—

“But I was hoping it would be.”

Her jaw jostles from how hard it drops. “E-excuse me?”

“Please do not misunderstand. I would never presume that you meant for this to be anything more than a favor to a fellow god.” His arms fold over the wide expanse of his chest, eyes closed and turned from her. “It is simply…just as crows cannot change their color, a man cannot change what his heart desires.”

The air in her lungs is entirely too thin to manage more than a soft, “Oh.”

“You need not worry, I have no expectation of my hopes being fulfilled in that regard. My brother has already happily forewarned me that you were still wasting your time with that wild fox. My only wish was to see the world you belonged to, and”—for all the stern lines he’s structured his frown around, it does nothing to hide the pink that seeps into the tips of his ears, or at the highest parts of his cheeks— “why you loved it. I was simply…curious as to why you would choose to live here, rather than on Kurama Mountain. I am sorry if my intentions seemed…unclear.”

“No, that’s…they were clear.” Provide you were looking, and that you weren’t an idiot. Both things Nanami missed the mark on. “And this isn’t just some favor to a fellow god. This is a favor to a friend.”

He blinks. “…Friend?”

“Yeah, one who helped me when I don’t think they really wanted to.” By the rueful grin he tries to hide behind his coat collar, she's not wrong. “And I think…”

She swallows, gathering her courage. “I think it would be fine, if this was a date. Not a real one of course!” she hurries to clear up as his wide eyes dart toward her. Tomoe might not be able to admit he wants to date her himself, but there’s not a doubt in Nanami’s mind over just how well he’d take the information that she’d been out on a date with some other god. “More like…a demonstration. A, er, practice date.”

A stormy little knot ties itself right above Jirou’s nose. “Practice…date?”

“Right.” She nods, as if that might lend this an air of authenticity. Or intelligence. “So you know what to expect when you go on a real date.”

“Ah.” His teeth flash in a quiet sort of humor. “Of course. A…real date.”

It’s her turn to frown, now. “Is there something wrong?”

“No.” He fixes her with that singular attention again, and really, this guy needs to meet another girl, if only so that someone gets to take advantage of all this tengu intensity. “If that is an amenable solution to you, then I have no complaints.”

“Great!” She claps her hands together, pleased. “So is there anywhere you want to go? Now that we’re on a date, I mean.”

He tilts his head, considering the question. More than it really warrants, in her opinion, but Jirou’s not the sort of guy to take things easy. “You mentioned you were hungry, did you not?”

“Oh, yeah!” She leans toward him on the bench, grinning. “You know, dinner’s a pretty common thing to do on a date. Looking for anything in particular.”

“I must admit…” His gaze shifts, embarrassed. “I am curious about these donuts you once spoke of.”

“Donuts?”

“Mamorinogami once traded you his Peach Elixir for a taste of one, did he not?” His cheeks might still be red, but Jirou turns to her, stretching every last centimeter to loom over her. “They seem to be a worthy meal, even if they were made by human hands.”

“Ah…right.” No need to tell him it was actually a meat bun, made to taste like a donut. That's another one of those little things she doesn't need making it into godly ears. Gossips, the whole lot of them. “Donuts for dinner it is!”

#jironami #nanami momozono x jirou #kamisama kiss #kamisama hajimemashita #want your heart to be for me #my fic #GOD i wanted this to be two parts so bad but LOOKS LIKE IT'S GONNA BE THREE #what can i say originally ice skating was like a 2 paragraph overview in ch 1 #and then my betas said jirou needed to eat ice at LEAST once #and i was like who am i to deny the people their amusements #but really. NEXT PART IS THE END #and will hopefully be out before the end of next year #because i'd LOVE to have something off my plate for once 🤣

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wakabahan · 9 months ago

Text

what if you got read something of mine? what if that happened to you? i always use songs for chapter titles, the link is to the song.

Threshold

Shasta and Mamoru had decided on Boogie Woogie Steakhouse for dinner while her sisters all scattered to their own destinations. The night was perfect, warm but not overbearing. The mother and son decided to walk back to their hotel. That, and Shasta needed the fresh air, the aloha blonde she had ordered had gone to her head just a little more than she liked and the bbq chicken, while delicious, was heavy.

They chatted together happily, Mamoru swinging Shasta’s hand as they moseyed down the street. Her youngest was currently over the moon with his meal and couldn’t wait for when they flew back home and he could tell his older siblings all about it along with everything he had yet to experience. Mamoru was feeling particularly spoiled to be spending a holiday on his own with Shasta. At first he was put out that he wasn’t included in his older siblings’ trip, stating he was too young. Now it was the last thing the kid could possibly care about.

The quiet of the area was shattered by a door bursting open. Shasta immediately stopped and yanked Mamoru behind her on instinct to guard him. The door bashed against the wall, sprung on its hinges it couldn’t even swing back.

Shasta watched as a young man wearing a white polo over blue jeans and loafers in a wheelchair was hurried out of the room like a bat out of hell. Pushing the man was a face she remembered from photos, or rather, she remembered his hair and red suit.

“...Ichiban…Kasuga?” Not entirely sure she remembered the name right.

He didn’t notice her and continued to fly down the street, fleeing something.

If she were anyone else, she’d leave it alone. But no one launched themselves out of a room like that unless there was trouble. She waited a beat, not seeing anyone following after Ichiban and his companion. From across the street she could see the faint light of a knocked over lamp.

“Hold my hand tight. We’re going to cross the street.” Shasta instructed.

Mamoru did as he was told. Together they quickly jay walked the quiet street.

Hearing no sounds of alarm from the ground floor hotel room, Shasta parked her son between the door jamb and the broken window. She took Mamoru gently by the shoulders.

“Stay right here, okay? Do not go inside. I’ll be just a second.”

Mamoru looked up at her with big, curious eyes. He nodded eagerly, knowing his mother's tone when she was absolutely serious.

Shasta couldn't hear anything but exhausted breathing. The room was trashed as she crossed the threshold; broken chairs, an end table with a snapped leg slumped with a lamp hanging off it by its cord. It smelled faintly of sweat underneath the natural perfume of the city.

Who the hell are these guys? Stepping passed two men, walking on the outsides of her feet, soundless in her sandals.

“What the hell happened in here?” She whispered.

She gave each man a cursory glance. Shasta was looking for someone who seemed like the one in charge.

Not him, not with those sandals. Several of them wore aloha shirts and sunglasses despite the sun being long set. Her foot tapped someone else's.

Looking down it was a sizable pair of feet, wearing double monk strap loafers. She followed the length of his long legs. Tall, broad shouldered and spread eagle on the floor. He wore a nice pinstripe suit. Of all the other men sprawled on their asses, it was clear he was the one in charge.

Shasta crept down onto her hands and knees beside him. He was so still Shasta couldn't be sure if he was even alive. She reached under the neck of his sweater, two warm fingers pressing into the side of his throat.

He's not dead, good pulse but his skin is cool, weird with this weather.

Slowly, she slipped a hand into the breast pocket of his suit, pulling out a plain black wallet and she flipped it open.

Up close she smelled good soap, masculine and woody; but little else. Judging from his face and hair; she figured he didn't spend too much time on himself other than keeping his facial hair groomed.

“Yutaka Yamai…with a nicely done fake ID.” She mumbled, pausing for a second. “That's probably the best I've seen.”

She made a note that his photo was just as ugly and unflattering as any officially issued license, including hers. Quickly she put it back, he still hadn't stirred.

Yamai was conscious. He was just waiting. The smell of high end perfume as the person kicked his foot and bent down told him it was a woman. He sensed her kneel down, keeping still as her fingers, the tips soft, pressed into his neck.

Yamai let her reach into his breast pocket. With the intoxicating perfume; the sound of her voice made it hard to picture what she looked like, low and soft, but raspy as she mused over his ID. She leaned over him, the ends of her hair brushed over his cheek, tickling.

“Hey, Scarecrow.” She called softly, tapping his gaunt cheek with the back of two fingers.

He then stirred. Despite his size he was quick, snatching her by the wrist, just tight enough where she couldn't worm away. Lurching up off his back he came nose to nose with her, Shasta felt her nose briefly tickle. Meeting his eyes directly, they looked a little worn, deep set with dark shadows under them. Yamai and sleep were estranged if she had to guess.

“You know Kasuga?” His voice was very deep and round, a little reedy; it rumbled in Shasta’s ears.

It's almost eighty degrees, is he sick? Spying a peacoat cast aside beside them that paired with his suit overtop a ribbed turtleneck. The thought of all that fabric made her itch. Shasta mentally picked him apart. His demeanor, neck length black hair he let hang in his face, his dogged stare. He could be bad news.

“I know you can speak, little sister. Heard you when you came in.”

Shasta swallowed, keeping her nerves and temper in check.

“He's a friend of my cousin’s. I saw him leaving just now like there was fire on his heels.”

She watched his tongue run along the inside of his mouth in front of his bottom teeth, deciding if she was telling the truth. All she could do is be calm and wait.

Yamai gazed at her, her jet black eyes in the low lamp light glittered. She was pretty with fine lines at the corners of her eyes, beauty marks scattered on her face. Thick, well-groomed brows bent into a bit of a scowl. She didn't take her eyes off him and she didn't cower away from him.

“Do I know you?” He asked absently. Something about her face struck him as familiar.

Sizing her up; petite but buxom, her chest raised calmly with each breath. Wearing a dusty pink short sleeved turtle neck tucked into high waisted light wash jeans. She had curvy hips that were brought to attention by the thin white belt at her slimmer waist. Casual but she reeked of class. Money.

But she looked familiar, something about her was like a memory.

Yamai wondered how a woman like her would know a yakuza, and one who inadvertently spearheaded the ending of the two largest clans in Japan.

“We’ve never met.” She replied curtly. Her mouth; full and rosy blush colored, naturally set into a frown. Her head tilted down and in slightly, trying to ease her wrist from his long fingers without seeming desperate.

Yamai caught a glint by her right ear. The tips of her ears stuck out from her silky faux blonde bob. He let go of her wrist and nonchalantly moved her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Brassy gold hoops that hugged the lobe, with a connecting ring that held a pear cut yellow diamond. It caught the light and sparkled, almost dripped from her lobe.

“Your fuzzball friend cost me a lot of money. How much do these go for?” He asked, flicking the jewel with the pad of his forefinger.

Yamai fixed his gaze back to center away from her ear, fingers still lazily teasing her. She licked her lips before she spoke feeling a bit like a prize the way he leered at her like a crow to something shiny. Shasta couldn't help but flush as he continued to play with her ear.

“...As a pair they're 45k, so half that. I imagine not a single one of your lackeys has ever made you that much…except maybe that kid with the glasses by the door, he's cute.” She replied calmly, tone certifiably bitchy.

“Mama?” Mamoru interrupted them.

“I told you to stay outside, honey.” She called back.

Yamai watched her expression flit to panic for just a split second, but she never took her eyes away from Yamai.

He could feel her body wind up. Every muscle torqued and ready to fight if he decided to divert his attention to her kid. Just the two of them, she’d been letting him lead. Now she was going to strike if need be.

“But Mama, you’ve been inside for–”

“Mamoru!” Her voice with its rasp was harsh, putting her son in his place.

She's a fighter.

Saying nothing, Yamai popped the latch of her earring with his first finger and slowly slipped it through the soft tissue of her earlobe and into his hand. He watched her eyes cast down, lashes obscuring her eyes, watching him rolling the stone in his palm with his thumb. Her face gave nothing away as she watched his hand.

Guess she wouldn't care, they're probably insured.

“Go.” Ticking his head back towards the open door.

“What, you don't want the other?” She asked, eyes cutting back up to him. He scoffed, he liked her prissy attitude.

“I’ll come find you if I change my mind.” He snarked back.

Shasta gave him one last long look before pushing off her knees and onto her feet. Her face rocked dangerously close to his. Yamai felt her breath breeze past his cheek and another waft of her perfume hit his nose. It wrapped around him for a moment and then was gone. He swallowed the weird unidentifiable twinge of emotion.

Without another word she moved past his men, bonking the one she had called cute in the head as she went.

Yamai got to his feet, and cleared the room to the door, also giving Tomizawa a knock in the head. Tomizawa balled himself up and held his head tight, groaning loudly.

Yamai skulked out of the room and watched Shasta walk quickly down the street, holding her son's hand while she texted someone with the other. The boy had a mop of curly black hair. He looked up to his mother, talking to her, still within ear shot.

“Mama, who were those guys? Why did they leave the door open? That's not safe.”

She looked from her phone to him and squeezed his hand, giving him a smile. “Those guys were up to mischief.” A bit of humor in her voice.

“So they’re bad?”

Yamai staring after her so hard Shasta turned, eyes meeting at a distance. The smile she gave the kid was still in place for a split second that hammered right through Yamai. Again a memory he didn't have that faded along with her smile.

She blinked and turned back to Mamoru.

“No, baby. Not everyone who does a bad thing is bad.”

The boy thought about it before nodding. “Okay. So where is Wakaba’s friend?”

Yamai just barely heard the ping of her phone. “That…is what I am about to find out…” Trailing off as she sent another text.

Walking around the corner out of sight, Yamai couldn't hear the rest. She had a cold snobby air about her and a bitchy expression. But she was classy. To Yamai she was reminiscent. The diamond earring was warmed in his hand, rolling it between his fingers, a shiver ripped viciously down his spine.

Walking down the avenue with Mamoru, she rolled through her contacts. Down to the J’s she called out.

In Chicago a cell phone angrily buzzed on a desk. Jay Halstead was fried. It was going on two in the morning. His fair, freckled skin had a chill from being tired. He had been zoning out watching snow flurries dance in the windows. He grimaced at his phone, wondering who could possibly be calling him.

Jay had drawn the short straw and was stuck drawing up the DD5s on their latest case. The cold quiet made him all the more tired and the coffee he brewed tasted like shit. If he had thought about it, he'd have brought better from home. But he was so confident that he'd get to go home at a reasonable hour.

He scratched his jaw, feeling the day growing in as he turned over his phone and saw Shasta’s name flash on the face.

“C’mon.” He complained, answering. “Hawaii sucks that bad you have to call me?”

Shasta wrinkled her nose. “You answered so you're worse off than I am, it seems. Can you ping a phone for me, please?”

“You’ve been in Hawaii for like, what, two seconds? How are you already working?”

The dry humor of the young detective made her roll her eyes, she could picture his snarky expression, those big blue eyes bright.

“I’m not trying to, but of course, I stepped into something.” She rattled off the number to Jay.

“Uh-huh!” He chirped sarcastically, quickly waking up his computer, and pulling up the proper software. “I got an…Ichiban Kah-soo-gah..?”

“Not quite, but you tried. Does it show where he is?” Shasta asked.

“Guy pinged a cell tower heading west on Aloha St.”

“Thank you, Jay.” Ready to end the call.

No way he was going to let her off the phone without giving her a hard time.

“Shas, you gotta bring me back something cool, or I’ll be totally put out. I- I might even die if I don't get cool swag–” Feigning hard his impending doom.

“Goodbye, Jay–” Promptly she hung up on him.

Shasta sighed, slipping her phone into her back pocket. Mamoru looked up at his mother and smiled, a coy smile. He was waiting for his mother to explain properly.

Shasta let go of his hand and put her arm around his shoulders and hugged him to her.

“It's probably nothing, baby.”

Despite her words; Shasta had a feeling that there was a lot more than Ichiban pissing off a small group of small-time shitkickers.

Dug out of a box he carelessly tossed CDs and DVDs that sat in the corner or his room. It wasn't the original. That one was vinyl and was still in his childhood bedroom.

That is if his older sister didn't shitcan everything he had left behind when he left home.

It was vivid in his mind. Yamai could see himself, that gangly, homely preteen. He remembered that his arms and legs had ached like hell all that summer from a growth spurt. He was passing a little record shop and in the window an album cover had caught his attention.

The record was a bait and switch. It had the clear look of an indie pop album; a young girl, maybe a few years older than he was, with a smile that rotted the teeth. It was so sweet, too sweet. The girl had mostly straight teeth, canines top and bottom a little crooked. The top of her gums visible as she beamed. She was standing in a sunlit field, shielding her eyes from the sun, long black hair swept up in a heavy breeze looking directly at you. Her ears stuck out, adding to her darling charm. She wore a sleeveless denim dress with a floral sailor collar.

The music was pure unbridled anger. The heavy chug of guitars, deep moody bass, drums that if you pressed your headphones hard enough to your head it threw your heartbeat off. The woman was a singer with a smoky siren allure but could startle with gut wrenching growls. It was everything a bratty teenage boy could want.

But it was the girl on the sleeve who pulled Yamai in. He jumped another kid to steal his allowance to buy that record. He had beat the kid bloody to get what he wanted. He had to have it. That girl with her goofy ears and smile wooed him for years until he was an adult.

Yamai found the CD and sat on the edge of his bed, staring hard at the disc cover. His teenage muse was still as beautiful as ever. When CDs came out the booklet had more pictures that didn't make the final cut. He hadn’t really looked at the booklet, he had merely seen the album in a second hand shop here in Honolulu and picked it up without thinking about it. He had been moved purely by nostalgia. A time where life wasn’t frigid and didn’t suck shit.

Thumbing through it there was no doubt about it. Her body was a little different, hips and breasts fuller from age and childbirth. Her jaw was a little softer, crows feet from scowling. But there was no mistaking the placement of the moles on her face. The flare of her ears that made them peek through her hair. One of the pages the girl wasn’t smiling, just her face at rest. That natural downturn of her mouth at the corners.

The woman in the hotel room was this same girl.

#yakuza #after writing #oc spewage #yutaka yamai #shasta shizuka days #yakuza oc #oc x canon #rgg oc #this is technically chapter two but it can honestly stand on its own as chapter one whatever #oc good days #uhhhh idk i guess if you read it tell me what you think but be polite im a crybaby

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