8 Flashfics (1 Samurai Champloo, 2 Soul Eater, 2 Star Wars, 1 Superman Returns, 2 Teen Wolf)
Fandom: Samurai Champloo
Request: tsubasafan, "…i'd love some Jin/Mugen or Erwin/Levi."
Notes: I went with Jin/Mugen since I had some inkling of an idea, and I haven't read the manga for SNK yet.
Word Count: 434
Jin sat by the open door of his small cabin, yukata half open, and contemplated the view. Outside, he could see the mist lingering over the small pool in the garden courtyard. Fuu had splurged for a nice inn this time, as her last job tending an old lady had proven lucky—the old woman had been generous. Toads croaked in the distance, attempting to attract mates. They apparently did not enjoy being alone. Every night they sang the same song, begging for company, never holding onto the mates they had called for the night before.
Mugen snorted and rolled over beside him. Jin ignored him until he felt Mugen's rough fingers scale his spine. "Fucking asshole, why are you still awake?"
"Go back to sleep."
"Dun wanna." Jin could feel Mugen sit up behind him, as he slid his bony body up against Jin's. His wiry arms wrapped around Jin, offering warmth against the chill of the night air drifting in.
"You know, just because Fuu could only afford one room for the two of us doesn't mean that you can just touch me whenever you want."
Mugen rested his pointed chin in Jin's shoulder. It hurt until Jin rolled his shoulders. "You let me touch you an awful lot not even an hour ago," Mugen drawled, running his fingers in circles over Jin's abdomen. The touch was pleasant, yet Jin still felt like stones were sinking in his stomach.
"Almost three hours ago, actually. And that's different."
"Because I wanted you to then."
Mugen made a noise not unlike a cat dislodged from its perch and pulled away. "You're such an asshole." There was a thump, and when Jin glanced back, Mugen had laid back on the futon they shared.
Jin glanced back out the open door again. The toads continued to croak.
"We'll be in Nagasaki soon," Jin finally said. He had no illusions about Nagasaki. He knew he would be as alone as the toads loudly calling for mates in the pond after they reached it.
Mugen said nothing at first, then gripped Jin's wrist. As usual, his grip was too hard and pain shot up Jin's arm. Jin suspected he would find bruises in the morning. Fuu would think they'd been fighting again.
When Jin glanced back at Mugen, he couldn't see his face. It was too dark. Mugen tugged him back onto the mat, and Jin let him. The pain in his wrist didn't matter that much. Jin had felt worse. Would feel worse.
"Fuck Nagasaki," Mugen murmured into Jin's ear and held him tighter than usual.
Title: Open Door, Open Invitation
Fandom: Soul Eater
Request: traxits, "Soul Eater! Spirit/Stein, maybe?"
Notes: I'm taking that "maybe" as the prompt, even if it wasn't meant to be. :D Set shortly after Spirit and Stein helped defeat the Star Clan.
Word Count: 563
The door opened, but did not shut. Spirit glanced over to find Stein in the doorway, holding open the door and staring inside. Lightning crackled outside, leaving him a dark silhouette, all but for his glasses that reflected the dim light of the television.
"Very dramatic. Now come in, already," Spirit said, and turned back to the variety show in Japanese. He had no idea what they were saying, but they all seemed very happy about it. It was weird to think of Kami growing up watching such shows. She was nowhere near as happy and energetic as everyone on television.
Stein stepped in and let the wooden door slam shut behind him. The small cabin they had been given to rest in after the assault on the Star Clan shook at the impact. "Are you sure you want that, senpai?" He draped his patchwork lab coat over a stool. "I'm in a mood tonight."
"It's not about what I want, Stein. We share this cabin. Trust me, I'd rather if we didn't. Knowing you're sleeping in the next room makes my skin crawl."
"Does it, really. Your proximity does not have the same effect on me." Stein leaned over the back of Spirit's chair, leering at him like a kishin egg drunk on souls.
Spirit's heart pounded against his chest, and he hopped up and away from Stein. "Hey! Don't do that!"
Stein sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Yes, yes. You've made it quite clear I'm not wanted. You have Kami now, and your unborn child, yet I do wonder if that will be enough for you, given… your appetite."
"Hey!" Spirit cried, his feelings shifting from surprise to offense in a flash of lightning. "Are you suggesting I am cheating on my wife?"
Spirit looked to the side, his stomach now churning. Once or twice didn't count, did it? "I, uh, well—"
Stein grinned and stepped in front of Spirit. "It appears the mood I'm in now is a mood you are always in, senpai."
"The mood you're in now?"
Stein grabbed Spirit by the shoulders faster than he could react and slammed into a nearby wall. The cabin shook again, windows and doors rattling. Japanese cabins really aren't very durable, Spirit thought wildly, as Stein's warm mouth covered his own.
Struggling was not Spirit's first reaction. His first reaction was to kiss back. It was actually quite nice, though a bit rougher than he was used to. It was only after he realized he was kissing a man, and that man was Stein, that Spirit pulled away. Stein let him go.
"It's up to you, senpai. I am not often in this mood, to be honest. But since I am, and you are here, well…" Stein looked up and smiled. The light of the television no longer reflected off his glasses, giving Spirit a look into his eyes. They seemed wider, almost young-looking.
With a push off the wall, Stein backed off, taking his surprisingly pleasant body heat with him, and headed into his room. He left the door open, an apparent invitation. Spirit swallowed, his stomach now fluttering, and his heart racing. Stein's offer both intrigued and repulsed him. Sure, Stein was a man, and likely half-insane, but he wasn't actually unattractive, and sex was sex.
Spirit stared at the open the door, unsure how to respond.
Title: Things Black*Star Does For Attention
Fandom: Soul Eater
Characters/Pairings: Black*Star/Death the Kid
Request: ukefied, "Soul Eater, Black*Star/Death the Kid…I remember that a couple times Black*Star fought out his frustrations or confidence issues by deliberately provoking Kid."
Word Count: 306
"So I bet you think you're something now, don't you?"
Kid sighed and tilted up his shinigami hood. "Black*Star, come down from there. You're throwing off the symmetry of my office entrance."
Black*Star peered down from the right side of the guillotine gate and crossed his arms. "Just because you're in charge doesn't make you bigger than me!"
Kid felt his right eye begin twitching in sympathy with the lack of symmetry to his office. "Get down from there!"
Kid rubbed his temples. He had to be better than this. He had taken over the DWMA now, and he had a duty to carry on his father's work. He would not give in. He could do this. Mustering every ounce of will he had, he straightened his shoulders, making sure they were perfectly symmetrical, and swept into his office under the guillotine gates, black robes fluttering behind him in a way that he hoped was completely in the center of his back.
"Hey!" Black*Star cried, and hopped down from his perch. He followed Kid in. "Don't ignore me!"
"I have things to do," Kid said, sniffing. "I don't have time to play with you any longer."
"Oh, yeah?" Black*Star's tone had a hint of danger.
Kid spun around to ask him to leave and immediately regretted it. Well, sort of. Black*Star seized Kid around the shoulders mashed their faces together, forcing their lips together. Oddly enough, despite the sudden violence of it all, it felt oddly pleasant. Enough that Kid forgot to wonder if they were standing symmetrically.
Black*Star pulled back, grinning ear to ear. "Got your attention now, huh? Now you're gonna have to find me!" With that, he released Kid and darted out of the office.
After blinking for a few moments to clear his head—and failing—Kid chased after him.
Title: Dinner Conversation
Fandom: Star Wars
Request: trouble, "…Han/Leia fic. How did Han respond to finding out that Leia is Darth Vader's daughter?"
Notes: Post-OT trilogy.
Word Count: 265
"Did you not hear me?" Leia asked, bewildered by Han's nonchalant attitude. He had helped himself to more junjun pasta, apparently more interested in their dinner than in her parentage. "I said my father was Darth Vader."
"Yeah, I heard you. Not sure what you want me to say. After finding out your brother is Luke, this is sort of anticlimactic."
"Why can't you get past that?"
"Well, I mean there was a time, when I thought, well, you and him…" Han wisely trailed off after glancing at Leia's face. She hated being reminded of the confusion she and Luke and felt for each other when they first met. It was embarrassing, and, by now, Han ought to know better.
"I just thought it would provoke more reaction."
"Did you want me to get upset or something?" Han frowned at her, finally ignoring his pasta. "It doesn't matter, Leia. Sure, Vader was, well, a bastard. Luke's got some nice things to say, and that's good, I guess, for you, but all I remember is Bespin. That doesn't matter when it comes to you, though. You made Bespin something I could live through."
Leia smiled at him and reached out to take his hand, warmed by his words. She had struggled with realizing Vader was her father, and only Luke's idealized visions of Anakin Skywalker had helped her deal with the revelation of her biological parentage. Han's acceptance somehow soothed that raw spot. "I just needed to hear that, is all."
"I know," Han said, grinning, and ducked when Leia threw a napkin at him.
Title: The Power of Confession
Fandom: Star Wars
Characters/Pairings: Padmé, Anakin, Obi-Wan
Request: beatrice_otter, "Star Wars! …Anakin/Padme where Padme doesn't try to downplay Anakin's nightmares, she is practical and knows her husband has prophetic dreams and drags him with her to her next checkup as well as telling Obi-Wan so that protection can be arranged."
Notes: Not very shippy, but sort of an AU where Padmé's confession has a huge effect.
Word Count: 438
Padmé stood outside the observation window, watching the medibots examine Anakin inside the treatment room. She felt bare and empty without the twins in her arms, but that would soon be rectified once she returned home. They bestowed life and energy on anyone they touched, and Padmé found herself craving it, especially in Anakin's absence.
A whisper of cloth drew her attention to Obi-Wan. He had walked up beside her as silent as a cat. He smiled briefly at her before turning to the observation window. "Is he doing better?"
"It seems so. All considered. He's lost all his limbs now." Padmé felt a lump in her throat as she watched Anakin flex his cybernetic arms again for the tech droids examining his durasteel joints.
"He will be home eventually." Obi-Wan glanced at Padmé. "He won't be expelled from the Order, you know. We cannot afford to lose any more Jedi. And considering that your confession led us to examine his dreams, and, that without his help, we would never have defeated Palpatine, we owe him."
"We have children, Obi-Wan. He's a father. He has a duty to them, as well."
Obi-Wan rested a heavy hand on her shoulder. He did not offer the warmth that Anakin or her children could, but there was a thrum of energy to his touch. This was the power of Jedi, to carry life itself in its touch. Thanks to Palpatine's machinations, half of the Jedi had been lost, but if Padmé had not confessed her relationship to the Jedi Council and begged them to examine Anakin's frightening prophetic dreams, it could have been worse. So much worse. She had the darkest feeling that had she not confessed, they would have ignored Anakin's abilities, Obi-Wan would have left for his mission on Utapau, and Anakin would have been left vulnerable to Palpatine's machinations. As it was, that battle had cost Anakin his three remaining limbs. Padmé looked up and studied Obi-Wan.
"I promise you, we will not force him to abandon you or his children, Padmé. And when they are older, and if you are willing, they are welcome amongst our number. Things will change now. They have to. Only Yoda and I remain of the Council."
Padmé gave Obi-Wan's hand a squeeze. "The Jedi have lost so much. I am so sorry."
"No more sorry than I." Obi-Wan offered her a sad smile. "But we will persevere. And so will you."
Obi-Wan bowed and left without another word. Padmé turned back to watch her husband recover a moment longer before returning home to her children, oddly grateful for no particular reason.
Title: No Place Like Home
Fandom: Superman Returns
Characters/Pairings: Richard, Martha Kent, Clark, Lois
Request: beatrice_otter, "Superman Returns, Lois/Richard and Clark…all of them visiting Ma Kent out in Kansas."
Notes: Post-film. Very much gen, though Lois and Richard's relationship remains as it is in canon.
Word Count: 949
Richard had no idea what to do inside a small farmhouse in Kansas. All the furniture and family heirlooms were crowded against the walls in the living room, like an antique shop without the price tags hanging from each ite,. Pictures, old and new, lined the walls. Nothing matched. The couch was overstuffed, and the chairs worn. The place was warm, at least, and significantly drier than outside, where the wind howled and pelted rain against the windows.
"Your, ah, wife, is upstairs, settling your son into the spare room," came the voice of Clark's mother as she entered the room. There seemed to be a question in her statement. Behind her, Clark peered at Richard, a slight frown crinkling his brow.
"She's my fiancée, and thank you. We really appreciate you putting us all up, Mrs. Kent. It's lucky for us that we were nearby when the storm hit. We definitely wouldn't have made it back to Metropolis in one piece tonight."
"You're most welcome, but I'm sure Clark would have figured out something for you even if you weren't passing through Smallville." Mrs. Kent glanced back at her son, smirking ever so slightly, then turned her attention back on Richard. "Are you a reporter, too?"
"Me?" Richard grinned, suddenly feeling like he was meeting his mother-in-law. "No, no. I'm just one of the editors."
"Ah." Mrs. Kent smiled. "Well! I'm going to start dinner, then. Does the young lady—"
"—Lois—" Clark interjected, his finger up, like some sort of stereotypical professor. Richard couldn't help but smile.
"—Lois, then. Can she cook?"
"To a degree. I'm a better cook, though," Richard said. "Allow me to help. It's the least I can do."
"Very well." Mrs. Kent led Richard into her kitchen, which was far more spacious than her over-decorated living room. Richard soon found himself chopping vegetables on an impeccably clean, if cracked, marble counter.
Lois walked inafter a while, a towel around her head. She peered at Mrs. Kent and Richard. "Oh, you're making dinner? Fantastic!" She entirely lacked any shame or awkwardness about invading someone else's home. Richard smiled at her, and found that his smile was mirrored by Clark, who stood in the doorway.
"How's Jason?" Richard asked.
"Much better now, thank you. I found a box of Legos in another room, and he's playing with those right now in his bed."
"My Legos?" Clark asked, looking somewhat alarmed.
"Ah!" Richard turned to Clark quickly. Lois really did get too comfortable in other people's homes. "I hope that's okay, Clark."
"Oh, it's fine," Lois said, waving her hand and leaning over Mrs. Kent's shoulder. "Sautéed chicken with mushrooms and cream. Isn't that a Julia Child recipe?"
Mrs. Kent chuckled, much to Richard's relief. "Such a forward young lady. I like you. And yes, it is. Are you a fan of hers?"
"I had to do a biography piece on her when she died. Watched some of her cooking series." Lois snitched a mushroom and popped it in her mouth.
Clark shook his head, grinning. "Mom only does Julia Child recipes when there's company."
"She was a fine lady. Jonathan loved her recipes." Mrs. Kent smiled, but Clark's smile faded. Richard recognized the look. Jonathan Kent clearly no longer numbered amongst the living.
"Most of America does. Fascinating woman, actually." Lois sat down in a kitchen chair offered to her by Clark, who sat next to her. He leaned forward, his hands folded before him on the table. Those hands looked so familiar that Richard stared at them until Mrs. Kent poked him in the side and asked him to finish chopping the mushrooms.
"Jason needs organic food, though," Richard said..
Mrs. Kent smiled at him. "Oh, it's all organic, dear. Kent family organic produce, or organic produce from other local farmers. The chicken is one of ours. We've doing it the old-fashioned way for generations."
"Oh, I didn't know that. Sort of interesting," Lois said in a tone that threatened to expose the opposite.
"My father insisted on organic produce before it was even fashionable," Clark said. "The use of too many chemicals never sat well with him. He always felt nature gave us everything we needed exactly as we needed it."
Richard turned back to the food, helping Mrs. Kent, half-listening to Clark blather on about local produce. He was certain Lois could not care less, but she was trapped now, and had nowhere else to go as Clark described the types of fertilizer they used on the Kent family farm. The meal took very little time before they all sat down around the table. Lois had brought Jason down to the overly-curtained dining room. Jason clutched a bucket of Legos in his arms. Clark kept looking at them longingly, which made Richard chuckle a little. He never expected Clark to be so protective of his old toys. For some reason, sitting in the Kent family home, sheltered from the nastiest storm in Kansas for ten years, Richard could not help but watch Clark and listen to his remarkably dull lecture on organic produce. He grew increasingly familiar to Richard the more he spoke, the more he relaxed in his childhood home, surrounded by family and friends.
It wasn't until Clark passed the roasted potatoes that Richard realized why. Clark's large hand wrapped around the handle of the potato tureen, just as it had Richard's hand when Superman pulled him from the sinking oceanliner last year. The grip was the same, the fingers, even the whorls on the knuckles.
Richard grinned through the rest of the meal, speechless. For once in his life, he had figured something out before Lois.
Title: Cry Wolf
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Request: traxits, "…how about a Teen Wolf, Derek/Jackson?"
Notes: Set between Season 2 and Season 3.
Word Count: 297
"C'mon. It'll be fun."
Derek rolled his shoulders when Jackson's fingers stroked the back of his neck. "Stop that."
"But I want to know what it's like."
Derek went back to studying the map of Beacon Hills, trying to figure out where Erika and Boyd might be hiding. Before he could give the location any considerable attention, Jackson's hand slipped down his back, and Derek had to admit it felt good.
"I'm leaving for London soon. Show me before I go."
Snarling, Derek whipped around and grabbed Jackson's hand. "If you did that to a woman, they'd arrest you for sexual harassment. It's no different with a man. Knock it the fuck off."
Jackson's eyes glinted blue. A very familiar blue. It disgusted Derek to see eyes so similar to the ones he had before becoming an alpha, even if the rest of Jackson was quite pretty. "I'd love to knock it the fuck off with you. So why don't we?"
"Don't you have a girlfriend?"
"I do, but she's not like us. She's not a werewolf." Jackson leaned forward, smirking. He smelled of over-priced French cologne. "But you are. And I want that right now."
Derek felt a warmth crawling up from his abdomen. The more Jackson looked at him like that, eyes half-lidded, wide lips smirking, the more his cock twitched. "And you think I'm just going to fuck you, is that it?" he asked.
"I think you're going to fuck my brains out."
Cocky little bastard. "Fine." Derek yanked Jackson towards him by the wrist he still held and then flung him forward, so he sprawled out across the table. Derek leaned forward to undo Jackson's expensive jeans, intending to ensure Jackson got exactly what he wanted. "This will teach you to cry wolf."
Title: Won't Say Goodbye
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Characters/Pairings: Derek, Cora, Scott, Stiles
Request: nan, "Teen Wolf, Derek doesn't understand the force that is Scott+Stiles."
Notes: Set right after the mid-Season 3 finale.
Word Count: 293
Derek had never known friendship like that. Not even in the distant past, not even when surrounded by blood family, not even with Peter (it was all lies, anyways). He watched Scott and Stiles from a hill, the last hill in Beacon Hills, and watched as they walked towards the woods, whispering like children telling each other secrets. They were always by each other's sides. They always saved each other. The power of their presence alone could stop the other from madness. Derek did not know how two friends could be so close, and yet not be lovers. He had loved three women, but still never had a relationship as close as theirs. He wished he had. Nothing really stood between him and madness. Even Cora would prove a flimsy barrier, just as everyone else in his life had. But so long she lasted, Derek would enjoy the company of his youngest sister. Perhaps, if he was lucky this time, he would go first.
"Are you going to say goodbye to them?" Cora asked, fidgeting with her bags.
Derek watched Scott and Stiles disappear into the woods, no doubt up to their usual mischief. They looked nothing alike, but no two boys had ever looked more like brothers. "No."
"But you like them. Why not?" Cora's eyes were as clear as their mother's had ever been. Perhaps she'd inherited some of Talia's wisdom. Derek had received none.
Derek shrugged. "They don't like me. Let's go," he said, and walked past her.
Cora sighed, and, after a moment, followed him. Her hesitation told Derek everything he needed to know about how bleak his future was. Cora walked just behind him, out of step, never beside. Just like everyone else Derek had ever cared about.