“And to think I’d come back to you with a girlfriend,” she murmurs out loud.
He laughs quietly, holding her hips steady and craning his neck up to look at her. “What? Jealous?”
Fandom: Dr. Stone
Pairing: Kohaku x Senku
Rating: M
Word Count: 2,320
Warning: Mature themes but nothing too explicit. Also no beta-read. Minor spoilers for the upcoming arc (if you are anime-only).
A/N: This originally was supposed to be a small portion of a longer one-shot that referenced the fic a mix up by @glycenings (wonderful fic—please go read if you haven't already!). However, I got a bit carried away so it ended up being longer than intended, and so I referenced multiple parts of their story! It will still be in the one-shot, albeit a slightly shorter version.
EDIT: Here's the full fic — Proximity.
--
It’s been several weeks since she’s seen Senku and within those weeks, he has managed to get shot, somehow recover from it enough to rig a plane, and has welcomed new people onto their crew. Then comes and picks up the enemy scientist that apparently used to be his mentor. Yes, it’s a lot.
He seems to be moving fine so Kohaku doesn’t fret about it. What she finds peculiar is Luna, the pink-haired girl that seems to have an affinity for, well, Senku. It’s a strange sight to see him being so actively pursued. The closest would be Amaryllis during their first meeting, but she had quickly realized he didn’t have a lick of interest in that kind of romance. Regardless, Kohaku does find Luna to be a sweet person. After all, she works hard and helped save Senku’s life.
Kohaku can’t help but take pity on Luna once she hears the whole story though. It’s just like Senku to use relationships as a political alliance, even if it means leaving the other party confused. No harm, no foul, she supposes, but…
What am I supposed to do now?
Luna comes up to ask her about Senku, or rather, Kohaku’s relationship with Senku specifically. Kohaku answers the questions as honestly as she can while simultaneously dodging the crux of the questions themselves.
That doesn’t feel odd to you? Working with your sister’s ex?
No, it could hardly be called a marriage. She really does often forget that it actually happened.
Is it true that you kissed Senku?
For a moment, she thinks Luna is talking about one of the many times she and Senku have, indeed, kissed, but quickly realizes that can’t be the case. Only one person could have told her such a thing, and Gen would only have shared something that is public knowledge.
That kiss was nothing, Kohaku ends up saying. And it hadn’t been, at that time. It was also nothing compared to all the ones that followed.
She realizes that she isn’t used to being questioned about her involvement with him—their friends having been long accustomed to their closeness. It’s odd trying to put words to it; nothing really fits. Lovers seem too serious, friends too shallow. Perhaps just partners on a quest to save humanity.
She also doesn’t know how to explain the restlessness she currently feels. Is it due to the time apart? Or simply that they are now on the run from Stanley? The days are exciting and the nights unbearably stressful. She isn’t used to being hunted, usually being the one to do the hunting.
Kohaku rolls her eyes at herself. If Senku could hear her thoughts, he’s call her a—
“Lioness.”
“Not a lioness!” she hisses as Senku comes up beside her. They’re trudging through a marsh in their nearly acquired rubber boots, fatigue marring all their faces.
“That was a nasty scare out there earlier with Suika. How are you holding up?”
“Hah. Did I make you worry?” She puts on a brave face, but then it softens immediately. “We have a good team and we’re safe.”
He doesn’t say anything for several minutes, but his shoulder brushes against hers as they walk. It’s all they’ve been able to do since meeting back up, these small comforts. She’s starting to become acutely aware that it isn’t enough.
“We should be able to make camp tonight,” he finally says, “and take a bit more time to ourselves.”
She doubts anyone can hear them above the slushing of the water but she doesn’t blame him for being extra safe.
A bit of relief floods her. Briefly, she tangles her fingers with his before pulling away just as quickly to sweep her hair behind her ear.
“That will be a welcomed change.”
The sun sets and they all dine and make merry. Kohaku takes the first shift of the night watch as the fire’s embers dim to a soft glow. Most of the team goes to sleep at a decent time whereas Dr. Xeno, Ryusui, and Gen hang out by Senku’s tent near the river. The only thing she can tell is that they’re hashing out some plans, swarming around something Senku had drawn out. She’s surprised Chrome hadn’t joined in on the party.
Eventually, it’s just Senku right outside his tent adding some final touches to what looks to be a road map of his latest idea. It’s not until the moon, full and bright, reaches its peak in the sky does he glance at her and disappear into his tent.
Not long after that, Tsukasa joins her and she passes the proverbial mantle to him. He pretends to look the other way as she heads towards the river.
Or rather, to the tent by the river, where she finds Senku laying out his bedroll. Kohaku wastes no time, straddling him and sliding off his tunic in one fluid movement. The weather is warm and the night has settled and she realizes she really is just impatient after being away from him for so long.
But she stops when she sees his wound, the one he had gotten from Stanley. It makes her blood run cold despite the humidity of the Amazonian forest.
“So you’re concerned after all?” Senku smirks as he looks up at her. “I was second guessing myself when you made no mention of it.”
“Oh please. I knew you’d be fine.”
Even so, her fingers quiver as she traces the outline of the gnarled skin near his chest. Its location is just so close to his heart, she shudders just thinking about how he only narrowly avoided death. With their Medusa out of commission, they wouldn’t have been able to mend him through petrification.
One of his hands finds her thigh, eyes soft as his thumb strokes calming circles into her skin. The tension in her shoulders deflates a level.
“Does it still hurt?”
He shrugs. “A little sore if I move certain ways, but I’m managing just fine.”
She nods, allowing her fingers to glide up his chest and over his shoulders. “Does that mean I should be extra gentle with you tonight?”
“I think,” he starts, lips grazing her collarbone and working up her throat, “you can take me however you want.”
Another shudder runs down her spine, but for different reasons this time. He looks annoyingly pleased at himself.
He works at her dress, untying the rope beneath her bodice and slipping the blue fabric over her head. They’re skin to skin as she leans down for a kiss, purposefully slow to let him acclimate. He responds by pressing into her, hands running up her back to undo the bonds in her hair and letting her golden locks cascade past her shoulders. She melts into him and he hums appreciatively, fingers strumming across her skin as if to reacquaint him with her body.
Her hips move in small circles. She feels more than she hears the way his breath quickens with how his face is buried into her neck. This must be her favorite part of their union, the way the ever-composed Ishigami Senku unravels under her touch. In terms of affection, his actions always spoke louder than his words, and his actions during their private nights sing of devotion.
“And to think I’d come back to you with a girlfriend,” she murmurs out loud.
He laughs quietly, holding her hips steady and craning his neck up to look at her. “What? Jealous?”
His cheeks are flushed and he’s so warm beneath her. She knows no one else ever sees him in such a state.
“Not at all.”
“Good.”
He says it so smugly that she doesn’t miss his implicit trust in her and her ability to read the situation. And she’d have to agree. Doubt is not something she has ever associated with in terms of her feelings for him.
She knows him well, and he, her. When she feels the tremors in his body from holding up their weight, she coaxes him down until his back hits the sleeping mat.
Ah, but I don’t intend to let you sleep much, she thinks.
“I expect nothing less from a ravenous lioness.”
She makes a face but he just laughs again, pulling her down with him.
Senku has never been one to say something as mushy as I love you, but when he kisses her behind the ear, she thinks it sounds quite similar.
They do sleep—after she tires him out. It’s been a long time since she’s been able to wake up next to him. It’s only been a few hours but the sun's rays have begun to peak over the horizon. The diffused glow splashes across his face, highlighting the slope of his nose and the angle of his jaw. He looks peaceful and serene.
He stirs when she moves, turning to bury his face into whatever part of her he can find. It’s so endearing she can’t resist planting a kiss on his forehead.
“I’m going to go rinse off in the river,” she says quietly, feeling as if she spoke any louder, it would break the tranquility. He mumbles something into her skin, and then rolls her on top.
“You need more sleep,” she insists, though makes no effort to resist. He’s mumbling again, something along the lines of whose fault is that.
His fingers skim along the side of her body, starting at her thighs and wandering up until he’s lazily drawing figures in the space between her spine and shoulder blade. More likely than not, he’s doing some sort of calculation and using her flesh as a makeshift canvas.
Already, this early in the morning.
She rolls her eyes, and then drags the tip of her nose along the column of his throat. Finding the spot where his pulse throbs visibly, she nips at his skin, sucking gently at the spot until it blooms into a lovely shade of red. She doesn’t miss the stutter in his fingers nor the hastening of his heart rate.
“Sleep,” she insists again, then pushes off of him. He follows abruptly, glaring at her as he sits up, sheets pooling around his waist.
Instead of throwing on her dress, she steals his tunic, and he almost convinces her to stay a bit longer.
Perhaps not staying was a mistake, however. She exits the tent and nearly jolts when she feels someone watching her. She turns to see Luna wide-eyed with a water flask in hand.
Ah, trust Senku to rub his bad luck on her.
“Good morning,” Kohaku says as sunnyly as possible, very much ignoring the obvious. Luna tries to smile back but it comes out more like a grimace, the question or accusation at the tip of her tongue barely contained. Kohaku has no desire to explain anything; she’s sure doing so will cause the very distractions she and Senku are trying to avoid. So she pushes on with small talk, keeping her face and tone neutral even as the conversation inevitably turns into one about the scientist behind the tent flaps.
Maybe I can double check him, Luna persists. Actual confirmation of his health, or to see if Kohaku in Senku’s clothes is truly indicative of what she suspects? They both know the answer.
But Senku is surely listening in on the whole conversation, so she trusts him to prepare accordingly and steps aside.
At least her luck is better than Senku’s, for she is saved by Ryusui intervening with a snarky remark and a rather knowing look. Though he could have been more subtle, she is ultimately grateful.
(And to be fair, wearing Senku’s tunic is not very subtle either.)
She takes her time in the river to prevent any more run-ins, and returns to Senku’s tent only after she sees Luna return to hers.
He’s still awake, with a very annoyed look and bags under his eyes, when she walks in.
She raises a brow. “What did Ryusui say?”
“Tch. Just called me out with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.” He then sighs, running a hand through his hair. “And offers his sympathies for Luna.”
She winces. “I guess wearing your clothes was a bad idea.”
“Ten billion percent,” he grumbles, but a sly smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “So I am going to ask Yuzuriha to make me a lab coat, and then I’m going to need you to wear that, and only that.”
“Hah, that sounds counterproductive.”
“I’d argue that you can make me quite productive on occasion.” She rolls her eyes, sitting next to him just to shove him lightly in the shoulder. His easy smile doesn’t falter. “Let them talk. People will always say things when they don’t understand what they see. Trying to deflect will only garner more attention.”
She hums in agreement, leaning her head against him. Glancing up, she notices the mark she left behind had begun shifting from a rich red to a deep purple.
“You’re going to need to cover that up.”
“Then I’m going to need my clothes back. Your dress doesn’t cover much.”
She laughs at him, removing his tunic and tossing it at his face. She then throws on her dress and straddles him, much like how she did just several hours prior. But instead of kissing him, she pushes him back down, pulling the sheets up to his chin. “You still need more sleep.”
It’s his turn to roll his eyes but he doesn’t deny it. “Fine, fine.”
She helps him put on his tunic then leaves after one last fleeting kiss. Ryusui is talking to Tsukasa when his eyes catch hers again. And he grins.
Very good morning to you, Ryusui had said to her earlier. She nods back a greeting and smirks inwardly in agreement. Despite some minor mishaps, it is a very good morning indeed.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Dr. STONE (Manga), Dr. STONE (Anime)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Ishigami Senkuu/Kohaku (Dr. STONE), Stanley Snyder/Dr. Xeno (Dr. STONE)
Characters: Ishigami Senkuu, Kohaku (Dr. STONE), Dr. Xeno (Dr. STONE), Asagiri Gen, Suika (Dr. STONE)
Additional Tags: spoilers all the way through 4D, Senku is kind of good with feelings, I spent way too much time combing through the manga and analyzing their interactions, Yes I took much liberties with their intimacy, Suggestive Themes
Summary:
“No matter how you look at it, you and Kohaku-chan are quite close, wouldn’t you ay-say?” the mentalist says in a sing-songy tone.
Or a look at Senku and Kohaku's relationship throughout the series and how their proximity changes.
@embyrinitalics asked if I wrote poetry, and my answer was, "Not since undergrad," which was over a decade ago.
I just got this lovely typewriter (Underwood Olivetti Lettera 32 in Script) so thought I should give it a go. Typed this out on handmade cotton paper with flower petals pressed into it (gorgeous paper, really!).
Dedicated to the lovely Embyr—here's to many more years of writing!
Oh Anon, I miss you too. 😭 I miss writing and being apart of this community. Really made the pandemic easier to navigate.
Seriously though, this ask made my day! So I wanted to share with you something I've been working on. It's far from being fully "back," but it felt easier to write compared to some other works of mine I've attempted recently. My intentions behind this is for it to be a prologue of sorts to a short multi-part thing (which you will likely be able to guess what it is by the end of this). Enjoy!
—Here, Lies—
Zelda never doubted that she was meant to be the one to seal Calamity away. From as early as two, peculiar dream sequences often plagued her sleep. A dark, snake-like cloud erupting from cracks in pavement, Champions swooping in atop mechanical creatures, red-eyed Sheikah commanding an army of large, metal spiders. By her side stood a Hero with a glowing sword.
Her mother told her she was having prophetic dreams, that the events she saw happened in a time long before either of them were born. Dreams of the past that chose her to forge a brighter future. Her mother believed in her, so Zelda allowed herself to believe in her success.
But the dreams of the past soon melted to visions of the future, and that future was anything but bright.
The first event she saw occurred on a stormy night. She was huddled between her parents on their bed much like she usually did during these storms, yet around them stood the castle’s doctors, nurses, and handmaidens. Her father’s large arms were wrapped around her and her mother’s waist, and she felt gentle fingers brushing through her hair. The sensation was familiar, but the touch more cold, the fingers less steady, and the hum of her mother’s voice, raspy.
She heard herself say, “You told me you wouldn’t leave me.”
“Little Bird,” she smiled, radiance dimmed by fatigue, “My brave Little Bird, I will always be with you in spirit, in heart.”
The dream had faded at that point, as though falling asleep in one realm woke her up in another. She ran to her mother immediately, an unexplained melancholy overwhelming her suddenly. Through broken sentences, hiccups and tears, she retold her dream in hopes her mother could tell her what it meant.
Groggy eyes grew alert, then solemn, but a soft smile tinged her lips nonetheless. Her mother’s arms held her snugly. “You should not worry, Little Bird, for the Goddess’s light shines upon you, and all that unfolds, unfolds with a purpose. Have hope. I am always a part of you.”
Her words sounded not unlike the words spoken in her dreams, meant to sound reassuring but missing a beat in the fourth or fifth measure. Still, her mother has never led her astray, and so, Zelda hoped.
But then spring turned into fall, and the vibrant greenery changed to glowing reds and yellow. She watched Silent Princesses thrive, then wilt and return to the earth. She watched her mother’s complexion dim until her skin became paper, thin and translucent.
And then that night came. It was not the palace doctors rushing into her parents’ room that tipped her off, that had her hands growing clammy and heart go numb. It was the way the clouds darkened and the thunder rolled in, steadily like a crescendo of drums. The way the lightning flashed on the other side of the draperies, jagged silhouettes piercing into rippling folds like she has seen only once before. The cold touch of her mother’s fingers.
“My brave Little Bird, I will always be with you in spirit, in heart.”
This time, however, Zelda couldn’t play the fool, couldn’t wish the outcome she feared wouldn’t come to fruition. The words stabbed her gut and carved her hollow. Wrenched at her throat and stole her breath. For months, she had prayed to the benevolent Goddesses, letting hope guide her because—“Have hope,” her mother had said.
There was never any hope.
She hadn’t told her mother the exact words she heard from her, but they fell from the Queen’s lips so naturally as if it was inevitable, as if the Goddesses willed it so. And just like that, it struck Zelda what the extent of her powers were, what her role in destiny was. A future dreamt by her that could not be changed, and she, not a savior, but the executioner with an ax. What hole had she dug? What more will she have to pay? How naïve had she been ?
It’s Hope that poisons you. That has you basking in its shining rays, allowing the warmth to seep into your bones, rotting them until they grow brittle. Hope that crushes you like a boulder—sits upon your shoulders as feet dig into the earth, squandering you beneath it.
The day her mother died, Zelda learned to never hope again.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, Hyrule Warriors: Age of Calamity (Video Game), The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, Zelda - Fandom
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Characters: Link (Legend of Zelda), Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Additional Tags: Fated: A Zelink Fanzine, Full version, Definitely spoilers for AOC if you haven't played it
Summary:
The boy who barely remembers, the girl that can’t forget, and the past that never came to be. [Written for @zelink-fanzine’s Fated]
Yes, I'm still writing! Though disclaimer: I feel super rusty like I don't remember how to write. It's been too long.
3. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.
Set during BotW 2 based on the scraps we've received thus far, with the take that the Link we see in the trailers is actually not our Link at all. 😉
—Vulnerable—
Zelda startles at the eyes watching her.
It takes her a moment to adjust to the darkness. The moon had begun descending from the sky but the stars were still bright out. The chilled air bites at her cheek but her back is warm. Behind her, the fire sparks and crackles loudly despite what should have been dying light.
Jolting up to peer through the flames, she meets the piercing blue gaze of Link. Except he isn’t her Link—not with the way his hair unruly tussles and his arm glows an eerie green. The garb he sports mirrors that within a tapestry once adorned in the castle, and the look he gives her is weathered and old.
“What are you—”
The words choke in her throat uncharacteristically; the hairs on her arm betraying her nerves. He claims to be the Hero from 10,000 years ago, here to help seal Calamity Ganon once and for all, and yet—
“The more he tries to suppress me during the day, the more exhausted he is at night. It makes him truly vulnerable.”
Toneless and blunt. Seemingly disinterested if she hadn’t known better. If Link hadn’t warned her.
He wants something from you.
Her eyes narrow, fingers curling around her bedroll. “You could just leave him alone. That would solve the problem.”
“It would not. I would not be here if I was not needed.”
Zelda grunts in agreement. She can’t deny that he’s been a huge help—from decrypting the ancient Zonai scriptures below the castle to utilizing his right arm against monsters that roam the plains. His actions have been good, friendly even, and yet—
She clutches instinctively at the Master Sword, entrusted in her hand since its original owner cannot wield it. Because while the Sword that Seals the Darkness has always been held by Hylia’s Chosen, it burns this Hero of the Past.
He sighs in a way that’s not so much exasperated as it is tired. “You can lower your guard, Princess. If he truly did not trust me, he would not allow me within your vicinity. He does not fear that I will harm you.”
He’s not wrong. “Then…?”
“You remind me of her.” A scoff. “Well, of course you do.”
“Your princess,” she says without a doubt. A glint flickers in his eyes. “What does she have to do with all this?”
He stands slowly like he’s not trying to scare her, but the tension in his stance reminds her of a predator approaching prey. Just like that, he turns from weary spirit to marksman, as if he’s been waiting for her to utter those very words. His eyes, sharp like a cat’s, zeroes in on her as his silent step draws him nearer. Maybe she should run, but the shiver down her spine tells her he would enjoy the chase.
He crouches low, kneeling in front of her as his left hand grazes her cheek. The warmth she’s accustomed to is nearly nonexistent in his touch.
“Are you curious? Of what transpired 10,000 years ago?”
Her ears involuntarily twitch and she grinds her teeth together to temper any further reaction. She wonders if he has access to Link’s memories of her, of the knowledge of her traits and therefore her inquisitive nature, with his attempt to lure her interest just so. Or perhaps she and her predecessor had more in common than she dared to believe.
Zelda swallows, grip tightening on the hilt. She swears it pulses within her palm. “We know what happened. It’s recorded in the texts—”
He tsks, interrupting her in a way her knight never would have. “The stories are always told from an outsider’s perspective. Always stop after Ganon is defeated.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Do you want to see it through our eyes?”
He says this gently, tone low and soothing, a stark contrast to how intently he stares at her. He harnesses her gaze as if he’s trying to peer into her soul, reaching deep to find remnants of something familiar. She doesn’t know what he sees, only that it causes his eyes to shine brighter and her own lids to grow heavier.
Her body sways forward and he catches her effortlessly, craning her neck up so as to not lose sight of her gaze. The gesture is intimate, the embrace natural like he’s held her like this before, but the books never spoke of such a relationship between the last Hero and Princess.
“I can show you what never gets recorded. What we hid for the sake of duty. What so many of us had to ignore in order to succeed, and how we are fallible regardless.”
His offer suddenly sounds much more enticing. The prospect of knowing a truth no one else knew. Of witnessing the success her kingdom failed to replicate a hundred years ago. Of deciphering why such tragedy had to befall them in the first place.
She knows better than to become a still target, and yet—
“How?”
He smiles, leaning in closer when she doesn’t fight him, a semblance of triumph etched on his lips. His breath fans across her face like a whisper, a promise carried into the wind. It’s then she hears it—a voice not unlike her own.
Okay, so one of my favorite things to read/write is how others perceive the relationship between my OTPs. In Troubled Waters Running Cold (aka Yiga!Zelda fic), Zelda is snarky, conniving, and definitely possessive of Link once their relationship progresses. At some point, she and Link go to visit Hateno, where Link's summer fling also resides (insert long car ride debate with hubby about how Link would try to keep his personal affairs quiet and away from castle grounds). Here's an excerpt in said fling's POV (warning, it's in first person. Why? idk):
“Hurry back, Hero,” she calls out to him, a semblance of a smirk on her face. I can’t see his expression, but I’m sure he’s suppressing a cringe. Link has always been too kind to correct others when he feels it to be needless.
She’s alone now with her long blonde hair sweeping gently in the wind. Her hands are clasped behind her back as she eagerly surveys the area, taking in the shops and the people, as if civilization is foreign to her. Maybe she’s harmless. Maybe Link is just being a gentleman or has orders to escort her. Either way, I can help Link by letting her know he prefers to be referred to by his name, not his titles. And perhaps, at the same time, get her off his back because Link is just not like that. He doesn’t cave for fake smiles and flirtatious gestures.
I steel my resolve and stroll up next to the girl, hoping that it appears more casual than confrontational.
“He doesn’t like being called Hero.”
“Oh?” she says, seeming unconcerned as she tilts her head towards me, pink lips forming a soft circle. She’s too pretty, too poised. Not at all his type.
I square my shoulders and declare proudly, “He’s told me himself.”
She gives me a once over with a quick flick of her eyes. “That’s rather interesting. He never seems to mind around me.”
Triumph. A sense of superiority shoots through me and I don’t bother to hide it. “He doesn’t open up to many.”
“And you think he opens up to you?”
Her voice is perfectly neutral, as it has been this entire time, but there is something scathing hidden beneath the even tones, like a thinly veiled threat.
I swallow. “W-We’re close.”
“I’m sure you were.”
Were?
“I’ll have you know,” I grind out, trying to exude a confidence I don’t feel, “he and I are very close. I don’t know who you are to assume—”
“I’ve assumed nothing,” she interrupts, smiling. It’s sickeningly pleasant. “He’s told me himself.”
My jaw drops as she parrots my words. She is conniving, I see, a manipulator of words and meanings. Perhaps she’s a harlot, after his money and title, and is scheming to isolate him from those who worry for his well-being. Either way, she is not good news.
“Who are you?” I ask, eyes narrowed at her.
She shrugs. “Why don’t you ask him?”
I follow her line of vision to see Link trotting back. His gaze flickers between the two of us, and his brows furrow imperceptibly. His name is on the tip of my tongue as he nears, but then I see it.
He steps too close to her, the swing of his arm allowing his fingertips to brush against hers momentarily. I’ve been watching him too long to miss the way they curled to prolong the contact. The look he gives her is subtle, secretive, and tinged with fondness. It’s the look I pretend he gives me when he lingers afterwards, waiting for me to sleep at my behest.
Just who is this girl?
This would happen in a side story/chapter kind of thing, not part of the main fic (because I seem to like writing things in the same universe and in different perspectives 🤷🏻). There would be more, of course, because Zelda isn't going to stop there, but TWRC isn't exactly a G-rated fic. 👀 Anyway, haven't talked about this story in a long while so *throws words at you* :D
