hi i hope im doing this right can i get kafka,narumi, reno, and hoshina with fem reader at the beach?
ᝰ.ᐟ OUT OF UNIFORM. → kaiju no 8
synopsis: a rare day off turns into something warmer (colder) by the sea. ft. kafka hibino, gen narumi, reno ichikawa & soshiro hoshina
warnings: cursing, suggestive wording (my fault), female reader but nothing is gender specific! can be read as gn
author’s note: IM BACK GNGGG WELCOME 2026!! ready to be back on the grind and work on reqs i’ve been receiving ✌️ btw my banners still don’t work so have these lines ig 🥀
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
KAFKA loved the beach.
not in a chill, relaxing way—no. kafka loved it like a kid who had way too much sugar.
the moment your sandals hit the sand, he was already kicking off his shoes, jogging ahead with a wide grin. “c’mon, the water’s perfect!” he called out, waving you over like he’d discovered a treasure instead of the ocean.
you barely had time to set your bag down when cold water splashed against your legs.
“KAFKA—!”
laughter shook through his shoulders as said man stood a few feet away in the shallow waves, hands raised in surrender. “sorry, sorry! i just wanted to test the temperature for you”
you shot a glare at your lover, right before splashing him back.
that was all it took.
soon it escalated into a full on water fight, kafka gasping dramatically whenever you doused him more in the cool liquid.
“HEY—that one was personal.”
“you started it!”
he chased you through the waves, laughing so hard he ended up tripping and swallowed a load of water after falling face-first that resulted in you hauling him out by the waist as the poor guy coughed violently.
once you laid him back on the towel, kafka seemed to revive; sitting up instantly and scratching the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. “sorry for that..” he trailed off, a faint blush on his cheeks from embarrassment. “are you cold?” he asked suddenly, noticing you shivering a little from the breeze.
when you nodded, he grabbed another towel and draped it around your shoulders, pulling you into his side without hesitation.
“see? that’s why you’ve got me,” he said proudly. “professional warmth provider.”
you rested your head on his shoulder, listening to the ocean and the steady heartbeat under your ear.
kafka stared out at the horizon, content.
moments like this—having fun, being close, feeling normal—were his favorite. though he secretly prays you don’t mention his small incident to any of your friends.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
NARUMI had claimed his spot on the beach the moment you arrived; towel set perfectly, sunglasses on, phone in hand. he was already deep into a game, thumbs moving rapidly as the sun shined overhead.
“this is peak relaxation,” he muttered. “try it sometime.”
you stood over him, hands on your hips. “we just got here.”
“exactly,” narumi replied lazily, not bothering to look up from his phone. “and i’m already winning.”
oh well. if he wasn’t going to make this easy, then you weren’t going to either.
you leaned down, placing your palm directly over the screen to block his view.
“come swim with me.”
your boyfriend sighed. “the ocean is wet. and cold. and full of effort.”
ignoring his whines, you grabbed his arm.
he didn’t budge.
you tugged harder—which made him groan.
“unbelievable...i’m being bullied at a public beach.”
but eventually, with enough pulling (and mild threats), he stood up. “fine, fine—but i’m blaming you if i lose my streak.”
at first, he dragged his feet through the sand, clearly unimpressed.
then someone nearby started a casual volleyball game.
one ball bounced a little too close—gen caught it without thinking.
it was in that moment when narumi quite literally locked in.
his slouched posture straightened, his eyes sharpened behind the sunglasses.
“oh? so that’s how we’re playing huh?”
next thing you knew, he was diving for balls, spiking like his life depended on it.
and the yelling. guess he doesn’t shout only in videogames.
“LET’S GO!” “POINT FOR US!” “DON’T UNDERESTIMATE ME YOU—”
you could only stare in disbelief.
“weren’t you just tired five minutes ago!?”
“that was before competition was involved!” he shot back.
by the end, narumi was breathing hard, messy hair stuck to his skin everywhere. but he was grinning in victory.
“...okay,” he admitted, pushing his glasses up (how did they not fall off?). “that was actually fun.”
you laughed, handing him a drink.
he flopped back onto the towel beside you laying on his side, chin in hand.
“next time, you better be on my team.”
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
RENO lingered a few steps behind you, soles half-buried in the sand as he stared out at the water.
“...it’s brighter than i thought,” he mumbled, tugging at the hem of his shirt.
glancing back at him, you smiled. “you okay?”
he nodded a little too quickly.
“yeah! totally. just uh—sun, you know.”
it wasn’t until you noticed how stiff his shoulders were that it clicked.
“reno,” you said gently, holding up the sunscreen bottle. “c’mere.”
he froze.
“you can just—i mean, i can do it—” he stammered, the tips of his ears turning red.
raising a brow, you countered with a simple “you’ll miss spots if you do.”
that was enough to convince him.
he turned his back to you after pulling his shirt off, shoulders tense as you spread sunscreen over his skin, your hands careful and cool. reno sucked in a breath at the first touch, fingers curling at his sides.
“s-sorry. i’m just not used to this.”
“it’s okay,” you reassured softly. “you’re doing fine.”
by the time you finished, his blush had crept all the way down his neck.
later, you walked along the shoreline together, shoes abandoned behind somewhere, waves brushing your ankles. reno kept glancing down at the sand, crouching every so often to pick something up.
“this one’s kinda cool,” he held out the small shell to inspect. “it’s not broken.”
“like you.”
that made him laugh a little. “you’re bad at compliments.”
yet he still pressed the shell in your hand.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
“yer gonna get knocked over if ya keep standin’ like that.” HOSHINA warned.
you shot him a look in response. “i’m fine.”
the wave that hit you immediately after proved him right.
he caught your hand just in time, fingers firm but warm.
“told ya.”
“you didn’t have to grab me like that.” you responded, steadying yourself while the water receded.
“yeah,” he said lightly. “but i wanted to.”
as you paddled deeper, hoshina positioned himself slightly in front of you, shoulders squared toward the incoming waves. every time one crashed a little harder, he adjusted to shield you without hesitation.
“ya swim slow. ever consider training more?” he teased.
you splashed water at him. “says the guy who’s holding my hand.”
soshiro grinned at your tone. “exactly. gotta protect ya from yerself.”
another wave rolled past, and before you could brace yourself, the swordsman tilted his head, eyes opening to glint with something unmistakably mischievous, letting go of your hand.
“race ya to the shore,” he said casually.
“what—hey—!”
too late.
the violet-haired menace took off, slicing through the water with infuriating ease. you followed after him, competitive instinct fueling in despite yourself. for a moment, you were keeping up—and you were just about to feel smug about it— when he disappeared beneath the surface.
you paused, looking around. “soshiro?”
a second later, you felt it.
a hand wrapped gently around your ankle, tugging you under with not-so-gentle force. your breath hitched as the water swallowed you whole, panic flaring—until his other hand wrapped around your waist.
before you could react, hoshina pulled you close, bubbles escaping in a quiet chuckle as he pressed a quick kiss to your lips. then kicked upward, bringing you both to the surface in one fluid motion.
you gasped for air, heart racing, though his arms were still secure around you.
“SOSHIRO!”
the grin on his face told you that he was clearly unapologetic. “you okay?”
you stared at him for a second, trying (and failing) to hold onto your anger.
“next time you pull shit like that,” you jabbed a finger lightly into his chest. “i’m actually pushing you under.”
Okay. So i just can't get this off my mind! i have found reno cute since the first episode and the new episode just made me fangirl cuz this man doesn't get much screentime!!!
So can i please request my usual with hoshi and gen +reno?🥹 I just want to feel bonita and am requesting a scenario were there's a kaiju attack and they save us?✨ didkfbfjsjsj Like and we flirt with them👉🏻👈🏻
Reader isn't apart of the df and we just went out to do stuff but suddenly there's a kaiju attack and like we get knocked out by something or tripped and fainted before we could evacuate and then here comes our knights in shining combat armor and saves us but we're like in a daze and our saviour is totally our type😍🤭 so we flirt while they try to multitask (we love multitasking kings) fighting with kaiju and carrying us to the evacuation centre. Tags can be anything!
It'd be fun of we went out on a date after that lol
𝕯𝖊𝖋𝖊𝖓𝖘𝖊 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖈𝖊 𝕯𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞
Pairing: Soshiro Hoshina x fem!reader + Gen Narumi x fem!reader + Reno Ichikawa x fem!reader
Fandom: Kaiju No. 8
Genre: honestly idk
Warnings: injury mentions, swearing
Word Count: 8.9k
Summary: Three different battles, three different rescues—chaos.
A/N: thank you for your patience! unfortunately my word limit made it impossible to squeeze in dates — forgive me darling 🙂↕️🙂↕️
𝕾𝖔𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖔 𝕳𝖔𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖆
The city folded in on itself under the weight of the sirens. First came the alarms, slicing down from the high-rises like knives. Then came the screams. They spilled out of shops and across intersections, sharp and scattered, colliding with the roar of something too large, too alive, for human hands to stop. Glass trembled in its frames. Concrete shivered underfoot. The world seemed suddenly unstable, as if the ground itself had forgotten how to hold still.
Y/N ran with the rest. She didn’t remember dropping her bag, didn’t remember the moment her phone skittered across asphalt. She only remembered the shove of the crowd, the taste of smoke burning at the back of her throat, and the jolt of pain when her knees hit pavement hard enough to jar her teeth. For one terrifying second she couldn’t breathe. The world was noise and blur and heat.
And then there was him.
A shadow cut across the chaos, not stumbling, not lost. Purpose moved in each line of him, shouldering through fleeing civilians with the ease of someone who knew the weight of fear and didn’t carry it himself. Combat suit clung tight across his body, black plates shining dully under the erratic streetlamps, marked at the shoulder with insignia that caught her eye even through the haze. Third Division Vice-Captain.
Soshiro Hoshina.
He dropped into her line of sight with the smooth precision of a man who’d done this exact thing more times than anyone should have to. One knee bent against the street, one hand braced near her hip—not touching yet, not until he’d looked at her face. His eyes were dark, clear despite the sweat sliding down from his hairline, and the focus in them pinned her to the ground as effectively as any restraint.
“You hurt?” His voice came steady, low, carrying just enough weight to cut through the panic around them.
She blinked, mouth dry. “I—I don’t think so.”
“Can you stand?”
Her attempt at pushing herself upright failed before it began. Her arms shook, her head swam, and the rush of bodies around them felt like it might trample her if she even tried. She swallowed hard, throat catching. “Maybe—give me a second.”
His eyes narrowed, scanning quickly. Not leering, not lingering—professional. The efficient sweep of someone who could spot a break, a bleed, a bad angle in an instant. His hand finally came down, gloved fingers firm around her forearm. Heat radiated through the fabric where his grip steadied her, the effortless strength in it at odds with how careful he was not to bruise.
“Shock,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Alright. Stay still.”
She should’ve nodded. Should’ve kept her mouth shut. But adrenaline and the wild edge of fear made everything spill out sideways, unfiltered. “You’re… ridiculously handsome, you know that?”
For the barest second, the corner of his mouth lifted. It wasn’t much—half a smirk, quick and fleeting—but it cut through the sharp planes of his face like a crack of sunlight.
“Timing could use some work,” he said dryly, the humor threading through despite himself.
Before she could even wince at her own words, something hissed. A shadow scuttled across a parked car—smaller than the main beast tearing through the district but no less deadly. A yojū, all twitching limbs and gnashing teeth, lunged straight for them.
Hoshina didn’t so much as blink. His arm moved, blade clearing its sheath in one smooth arc, and the yojū split neat down the middle before it even reached the ground. His follow-through ended with the edge of the sword balanced easy against his shoulder, as if he’d been showing off rather than defending. The smirk deepened, just enough to edge into cocky.
“You alright?” he asked, voice steady, though the faint quirk of his mouth suggested he already knew the answer.
“I—yeah. Just…” She swallowed, nerves buzzing. The words slid out before she could catch them. “You make that look way too good.”
Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, quick, then gone. The smirk came slower this time, tugging deliberate at the corner of his mouth.
“Guess that’s one way to say thanks,” he drawled.
Heat flooded her cheeks. She scrambled for something else, anything else, but before she could trip over her tongue again, the ground shuddered with another impact. His gaze sharpened instantly, sliding back to her with renewed focus.
“You’re not steady on your feet.” It wasn’t a question.
“I can try—”
“Don’t.” The single word cut firm, leaving no room for argument. Then his arms were under her, lifting in one practiced motion. Her protest died in her throat as her body folded instinctively against the hard lines of his chest, the warmth of him startling even through the layers of armor.
Her breath caught. His scent—sweat, steel, the faint acrid tang of energy weapons discharged too close—pressed in around her. His hair, damp and dark, clung to his temples, the strands brushing his brow when he glanced down to check her again.
“Better?” The word brushed against her ear, softer now.
Her fingers curled instinctively into the fabric of his suit, knuckles pressing against the ridges of his armor. Heat crawled up her neck. “God, you’re… comfortable.”
The laugh rumbled through him, low and easy, vibrating against her ribs where she clung. “Concussion, definitely.”
He shifted her higher in his arms, not toying but practiced, his grip precise—always efficient, always steady. The flex of his forearm tightened under her thighs, muscles shifting like coiled rope under the smooth sleeve of the combat suit. Each step carried him forward as if the chaos were nothing more than background noise, each movement an economy of force honed over years.
Around them, the city crumbled. More yojū darted from alleys, quick as shadows, but his stride never faltered. Blades flashed in arcs so clean they almost didn’t register until the bodies hit the ground, his balance never wavering even with her weight hooked against him. She should’ve been afraid. She should’ve shut her eyes. Instead, she watched him. Watched the way his jaw tightened in the seconds before he struck. Watched the lines of his shoulders, loose even in motion. Watched the small flickers of amusement that slipped past his focus whenever he caught her staring.
“You always this chatty in a crisis?” he asked between cuts, voice pitched just loud enough for her to hear over the noise.
Her mouth worked, heat still blotting reason. “Only when carried by someone this… unfair.”
That earned her a laugh, sharp and genuine, even as another yojū fell at his feet.
He moved like the city had learned to make space for him. With her tucked in his arms, the chaos around them blurred into edges and noise; the only steady thing was the way his chest rose and fell against her shoulder and the measured cadence of his boots finding clean earth in a broken street. Up close, the details multiplied—sweat at his temple beading and running into the sideburn line, the faint nick on his bottom lip that the camera never caught, the way his lashes cut small clean shadows on his cheeks each time he blinked away grit. His suit whispered where plates met the flexible fabric at his ribs, matte black catching violet flashes from emergency strobes. He wasn’t big in the way statues are big. He was built for motion—compact, balanced, every line of him a promise that he would be where he needed to be a heartbeat before anything else.
Another yojū scissored into the crosswalk, legs splayed, mouth working. He didn’t even pause. Her weight shifted in his arms as his right shoulder rolled and the blade came free in a single clean breath. The swing was small, almost rude in how little effort it showed; the creature fell apart like a trick done with hidden wire. He let the blade rest a moment on the ridge of his shoulder to drip, then slid it down and back, never jostling her, never once letting his grip loosen.
“Head still rattlin’?” His words came down quiet, pitched so they belonged to her and no one else.
She shifted her face against him, dizzy but present enough to answer. “A little. And… you’re really warm.”
That earned her the curve of a smile, felt more in the rumble of his chest than seen. “Better than cold steel, I guess. Call it one perk of bein’ carried.”
The stench of ichor burned faint in the air as the yojū halves sizzled on the concrete, steam curling into the night, but he didn’t so much as pause. His stride carried forward with the same deliberate rhythm, boots finding clean purchase even where the pavement fractured. She clung tighter when the sound of the main body’s roar rolled through the district, something deep enough to rattle her teeth, and he responded without thinking, the press of his arm firming around her spine in an unspoken I’ve got you. His eyes never stopped tracking shadows, corners, rooftops, always searching for the next thing stupid enough to move.
“You make this look like walking home after groceries,” she muttered, her voice muffled against the solid plate of his chest, equal parts awe and embarrassment bleeding through.
“Groceries don’t usually scream back,” he answered easily, his mouth pulling into that half-smirk that never quite reached arrogance, though it came close enough to sting. He shifted her weight a little higher in his arms as if she were nothing at all, like carrying her was as natural as carrying the sword balanced against his back.
Her laugh came out strangled, shaky. “God, stop. I’ll end up saying something worse.”
“Don’t hold back on my account,” he said, tone smooth, teasing but not cruel, like he was enjoying watching her trip over herself more than the fight itself. His eyes flicked down to her knuckles where they fisted white into his collar, and his smirk softened at the edges. “Though if you keep squeezin’ me like that, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you like it here.”
Heat shot through her face; she turned it away, groaning softly. “Please ignore me. Please.”
“Not a chance,” he said, almost gently, like he meant it.
The street narrowed again, a burned-out car half-blocking the way, and he shifted sideways with her braced firmly against him, sword clearing the space in a single quick motion to dissuade the next skittering shadow before it even got close. She felt the jolt of muscle under armor as he moved, precise and coiled, every part of him tuned for this—yet never once letting her slip.
When silence fell again, broken only by the sirens somewhere distant, he tipped his head enough to glance down at her, eyes catching hers with an ease that stole her breath. “See? Nothin’ to it.”
“That’s the problem,” she murmured before she could stop herself, her throat tightening around the words. “It’s… unfair.”
“Unfair?” His grin cut wider, sharp under the dim light. “You callin’ me a cheat now?”
Her face burned hotter; she ducked back into his chest, mortified, and his laugh rolled low through her bones, carrying her forward into the smoke without falter, like the chaos belonged to him alone.
The street widened into light, the harsh glare of portable lamps cutting the smoke into sharp planes. Soldiers shouted orders at the barricades, medics moved quick between clusters of the injured, and the wide roll-up door of the fitness gym yawned open like a lifeline. Hoshina didn’t slow until he’d stepped over the threshold, the chaos behind them muffled by the hum of generators and the busy calm of triage.
He stopped just long enough to shift his grip, lowering her to the cot as though she might bruise if he let gravity touch her too fast. Even seated, her knees wobbled, and his hand stayed at her waist for a beat longer than necessary, fingers steady against the thin fabric of her shirt. His eyes scanned her face again, sharp as they’d been the moment he found her, cataloguing color, breath, the tremor in her hands. Only once he seemed satisfied that she was stable did he straighten, rolling his shoulders like he was reacquainting himself with his own weight.
A medic cut across the room toward them, penlight already in hand, but Hoshina lifted one gloved palm without looking. “One second,” he said, the words mild but firm enough to reroute the medic instantly toward another cot. His attention dropped back to her, mouth pulling into that crooked grin that felt dangerous only because of how easily it landed.
“C’mere,” he murmured, and before she could ask, his fingers slid gently around her wrist. He turned it palm-up, steady in his calloused grip, and uncapped the medic’s pen he’d snagged from a tray. Numbers traced into her skin with neat precision, each stroke deliberate, ink settling into the rapid beat of her pulse. She stared, caught between disbelief and the heat rising uncomfortably high in her chest, as the line of digits scrolled down her inner wrist.
“That’s for later,” he said, voice pitched low enough to hum through her bones. “When you’re not slurrin’ compliments at me and you can actually mean ’em. You’ll text me a place, and I’ll show up clean—no blood, no blades. I’ll show you I’m worth the compliments when I’m not covered in kaiju guts.”
Her lips parted, a weak sound catching at the back of her throat, but before she could summon a reply, he dipped his head. The warmth of his mouth pressed quick and deliberate against the spot where the ink had settled, the brush of his lips startling in its softness compared to the steel and sweat and noise of everything else. It was barely a kiss—more a brand, a quiet mark—but her breath caught all the same, her wrist tingling like it had been scorched.
By the time she blinked back to herself, he’d straightened, that grin still curling at the corner of his mouth as if he knew exactly what effect he’d left behind. “Don’t lose it,” he said, thumb brushing once over the damp smudge where his lips had been before he let go.
The medic was returning, patient but insistent now, and duty called again from the door in the form of shouted names. Hoshina stepped back, blades catching faint light as he rolled his shoulders into readiness. His eyes cut to hers one last time, darker than the grin suggested, and he tilted his head in something almost like a promise.
“Second round’s on you,” he said. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
And then he was gone, folding back into the chaos with the same certainty he’d carried her through it, leaving her with the sting of ink on her wrist, the ghost of his mouth on her pulse, and the dizzying knowledge that the night had ended not with an ending, but with a beginning.
𝕲𝖊𝖓 𝕹𝖆𝖗𝖚𝖒𝖎
The city was a mouthful of static—sirens layered over sirens, the shriek of metal peeled back from its frame, the wet percussion of something too big moving in too small a street. Y/N had made it half a block from the fall before her knee gave out, shock stealing the strength faster than pain could announce itself. She hit the ground in a crouch and stayed there, teeth clenched, the air around her vibrating with the kind of noise that made every instinct want to run. Running wasn’t an option. Not with her vision still pulsing black at the edges.
The gunfire that cracked overhead wasn’t panicked. It was punctuation. Clean, bright, too confident to be anything but deliberate. She forced her head up. Through smoke, a silhouette cut sharp against the lamplight—tall, balanced, moving like the chaos was choreography and he was the only one with the script.
Gen Narumi shouldered through the street with his bayonet already braced, the massive double-blades gleaming each time the emergency lights strobed red. It wasn’t just a weapon; it was theater. Each swing clipped the air with precision, every strike folding a yojū in half as though it had stumbled into rehearsed stage direction. When he punctuated the rhythm with gunfire, the recoil slid through him without resistance, the shot another perfect note in the score only he seemed to hear. Yojū dropped off walls and out of half-lit alleys like bad extras; he cleared them with the kind of economy that felt more like arrogance than necessity. He didn’t so much step into her line of sight as arrive there, as if the city had made room because it knew better than to block him.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered, eyes slicing down to where she crouched, still catching her breath. Not unbelievable, you’re hurt—but unbelievable, you’re here at all. The curve of his mouth was half-smirk, half-grimace. “Civilians and their timing. Lucky for you, Captain Narumi’s on the clock.”
She opened her mouth, whether to argue or thank him, she couldn’t tell. Nothing came out.
Another yojū clattered low across the street. Gen didn’t even break stride. The bayonet swept, both blades singing through the air, and the thing folded clean in half before it could leap. He took three steps closer, boots steady against the uneven pavement, and dropped into a crouch sharp enough to feel impatient. The bayonet stayed slung with casual mastery in his grip, balanced effortlessly despite its size. His free hand came back over his shoulder, palm flat in silent command.
“On,” he said, eyes cutting back at her. “I’m not kneeling here forever—climb up, or I’m gone. Five seconds. Choose.”
Her pulse jumped. For a moment, pride argued; her knee answered by throbbing like a live wire. She moved before she could overthink it, arms looping around his shoulders, chest pressed to his back, legs clumsy until his hand caught behind her knee and hauled them into place. The heat of him bled instantly through armor and suit alike, her cheek brushing the damp edge of his hair.
“Good girl,” he said, standing without strain, settling her higher with a quick jerk that tightened her grip whether she meant it to or not. “Hold on. If you fall, I’m not stoppin’ twice.”
The bayonet swung up again, its weight an extension of him, blades catching the faint light as naturally as breath. She felt the vibration of each impact against his back, like the rhythm of his body had synced to the weapon. His voice carried easy over his shoulder, casual as if they weren’t running through a warzone.
“And hey—when you tell this story later, make sure the headline’s right.” His grin flashed against the corner of her vision, shameless. “Captain Gen Narumi, coolest bastard alive, saved your ass. Don’t cheapen it with anything less.”
Her fingers curled tighter against the chest plates of his suit, knuckles whitening with every jolt of his pace. She wasn’t even aware she was holding that hard until the ache in her hands cut through the throb of her knee. He moved like the whole street had been measured out for him—boots kissing down in the narrowest spaces between rubble and glass, shoulder angling to keep her out of the spray each time the bayonet came down.
It should have been terrifying, being carried like luggage through a warzone, her ear pressed close enough to catch every ragged inhale, every shift of muscle under armor. Instead, dizzy and dazed, her thoughts betrayed her. Too warm. Too steady. The faint bite of gunpowder in his hair, sharper than cologne, filling her head like something she wasn’t supposed to enjoy.
“You’re—” The words slipped out unguarded, breath catching on the edge of them. “You’re really strong.”
She felt it happen: the sudden hitch in his shoulders, the split second of imbalance that had nothing to do with rubble. He caught himself fast—of course he did—but the laugh that rolled back at her was rougher, lower, more defensive than smug.
“Strong?” he echoed, half scoff, half deflection. “Yeah, well, don’t spread it around. People might start expectin’ me to carry ‘em too. I don’t do repeat performances.”
But she heard it anyway, the way his breath had shortened in the beat between her words and his answer. The way he adjusted her weight higher, unnecessary, as though covering something up.
She buried her face closer to the line of his neck to hide her own heat. The worst mistake she could have made. His skin there was hot from exertion, damp where hair clung, the scent of him stronger than before. A helpless little laugh escaped her.
“…you smell good.”
This time, the stumble was real. His boots scuffed against broken asphalt before finding themselves again. His head tilted fractionally like he wanted to look back at her but knew better, and when he spoke, the words came out edged in sharp, bratty disbelief.
“You—what? Are you serious right now?” He gave a short, incredulous bark of laughter, more embarrassed than amused. “Lady, that’s sweat and gunpowder. Unless that’s your type—hell, maybe it is. Figures.”
But the tips of his ears betrayed him, flushing dark under the mess of his hair.
The bayonet came down hard into the skull of a lunging yojū, almost too hard, the kind of swing meant as much to burn off energy as to kill. He yanked it free with a sharp twist and spat the next words like he needed them out of his mouth before they stuck.
“Don’t go sayin’ weird shit while I’ve got you on my back. People hear that, they’ll think you’re tryin’ to flirt with me. And I don’t need the headlines.”
He said it like a joke, biting it off with that same cocky drawl, but she felt the way his grip on her legs tightened, just for a moment, before loosening again. Like the idea wasn’t as easy to laugh off as he wanted it to be.
Up close, Gen Narumi was sharper than the broadcasts made him out to be. The cameras always caught him in after-battle smirks, casual and clean, but here in the grit of it his edges were undeniable. His hair was a mess of white streaked with darker roots, pushed up by sweat, strands clinging to his forehead where the dust hadn’t settled yet. Blood painted a faint streak along his jaw, a careless badge he hadn’t bothered to wipe. His eyes—pale and cutting—flicked quick across the street, cataloguing threats like it bored him, the rest of him moving lean and precise under the weight of the bayonet strapped against his back. He didn’t stumble. He didn’t strain. Carrying her was nothing, and somehow that insulted her pride almost as much as it relieved her.
She adjusted her grip clumsily, arms tightening higher around his shoulders to steady herself. The heat of his body seeped through armor, breath rising steady and infuriatingly calm despite the chaos roaring around them.
“Tch.” His voice came sharp, dismissive, pitched just loud enough for her to hear over the wail of sirens. “Cling like that and people are gonna think I’m running a taxi service. You wanna pay the fare, sweetheart?”
Her lips parted before she could stop herself. “What if I said yes?”
For the first time, his rhythm stuttered. Barely—but it was there, a hitch in the smooth cadence of his steps, covered instantly by the jerk of his head toward the alley they cut into. His hand flexed against the back of her thigh, grip tightening as if to remind her who was holding who.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered, and the words carried an edge that sounded more rattled than annoyed. “You hit your head harder than I thought. Keep talking like that and I’ll—”
His bayonet whistled up, twin blades gleaming violet as he split a yojū that had lunged from a wall. The halves hit the ground wetly; his shoulders never dipped, her body never jarred. He swung the weapon back into balance with insulting ease. “—I’ll drop you right here and let you crawl to evac on all fours. How’s that sound?”
The threat curled hot at the back of her neck, more bark than bite, but he delivered it with enough conviction that her heart skipped anyway.
“You wouldn’t,” she said, reckless with adrenaline.
He cut her a look over his shoulder, eyes glinting pale in the strobe of emergency lights, grin tugging sharp. “Try me. I can shake you off like a bad jacket and keep moving faster without the extra weight.”
Her stomach dropped at the words even as her arms betrayed her, tightening around him instinctively. The smug curve of his mouth widened at the pressure.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he muttered, satisfied, before adjusting the bayonet’s angle across his back and striding forward like the street existed to carry him alone.
The street hissed with heat and dust, neon flickering through smoke like the city couldn’t decide whether to keep breathing or collapse. Y/N clung to Narumi’s back, the heat of him bleeding through his combat suit, her breath catching with every jolt of his stride. She tried not to notice the details, but up this close there was no avoiding them: the sharp smell of sweat and gunmetal, the twitch of muscles across his shoulders as he swung the bayonet, the arrogant tilt of his grin every time he landed a kill like it was routine.
“Hope you’re not too comfortable back there,” he drawled, ducking under a cracked streetlight as if this were a stroll and not a warzone. “I don’t give piggybacks for free, y’know. You’re racking up debt.”
“Debt?” Her voice was thin, her pride stretched taut against the ache in her knee. “I didn’t exactly ask for this.”
“You didn’t have to. You looked pathetic enough on the ground, I felt bad for you.” He smirked, unbothered, as though she weighed nothing. “Five-star service, though. People would kill for this seat.”
Before she could fire back, the sound came: claws dragging stone, a low chitter that vibrated wrong in her teeth. Her stomach dropped. The yojū was behind them—too close. She twisted, eyes wide, but Gen was already moving.
The claws screeched closer than she could track, a shadow spilling wide across the cracked pavement. Before panic even had time to land, Gen moved. His hand hooked her knee, hauling her up and forward in one sharp motion. She gasped, the street tilting away, and then she was clinging to him, arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders, legs pulled tight to his sides.
He barely adjusted his stance. One arm locked under her thighs, anchoring her like she weighed no more than the weapon slung in his other hand. His bayonet came up in the same breath, steel flashing violet as it carved a brutal arc across the yojū’s path. The creature hit the ground in two uneven pieces, twitching.
“Better,” he muttered, almost to himself, but the smirk tilted down at her gave it away. “Now I don’t have to keep checkin’ over my shoulder to see if you’ve keeled over. Front seat, sweetheart. Don’t waste it.”
Her breath stuttered, half from fear, half from the sudden heat of being pressed so close against him. “You—you can’t fight like this—”
He laughed, sharp and dismissive, already pivoting to meet the next threat. The muscles in his arm flexed around her, steady as steel. “Watch me. You fall, I’ll call it natural selection. So hang on tight unless you wanna be kaiju chow.”
Another yojū lunged from the alley; the bayonet snapped up, blade cleaving through the air with a whistling crack. Y/N felt the vibration of the strike reverberate through his body, the shock of impact carrying into her chest where it pressed against his. His grin widened like this was less battle, more performance.
“Yeah,” he said over the roar, cocky even as blood hissed against the steel, “this looks good. Hope you’re takin’ notes for when you tell your friends. Remember to get the title right—Captain Narumi carried you with one arm while killing monsters with the other. Anything less, and I’ll be very disappointed.”
The street bent into narrower corridors now, the sound of shouting and gunfire thinning under the rise of evac sirens ahead. Gen shifted her higher against his torso with one sharp jerk of his arm, like he was adjusting the weight of a pack, not a person. His breath came steady despite the pace, sweat shining at his temple, eyes cutting clean lines through smoke.
“Almost there,” he muttered, glancing at the glow of floodlights bleeding out from the high school gym repurposed as shelter. “You’ll be on a cot in five minutes, some rookie medic poking at you, and then I get to go back to the fun part.”
Her head lolled against his shoulder, still dizzy from the hit she’d taken earlier, but the smirk she pulled together was lazy, unbothered, too honest for her own good. “Maybe I’m dreaming. No way someone looks this good up close.”
He stumbled. Not in his footing—his boots kept perfect rhythm across the broken asphalt—but in his composure, a hitch of breath sharp enough to cut the air. His head whipped down toward her, eyes wide, ears already flushed red under the messy fall of black hair.
“Are you insane?” he snapped, volume cracking sharp over the next gunshot as his bayonet ripped another yojū in half without him even looking. “Who the hell says that when they’re being carried through a goddamn kaiju nest?!”
Her laugh was too soft, more a sigh against his throat. “Just… telling the truth.”
“Truth—?!” He barked a laugh that wasn’t even close to amused. “Lady, a high school cafeteria doesn’t have the amount of delusion you’ve got packed in your head right now. Seriously, what is wrong with you? Flirting with the guy saving your reckless ass from a pile of nightmares like this is some kind of—of—” he cut down another creature mid-sentence, blade hissing, “—rom-com meet-cute?!”
She only hummed, eyes slipping shut for half a second before fluttering open again. “Could be.”
Gen nearly lost it. He huffed through his teeth, shifting her against him again, tighter, like the hold itself could squeeze the nonsense out of her. “Unbelievable. Absolutely un-fucking-believable. You need serious help if you think this is normal. Professional, medical, maybe spiritual. Because I swear, if you keep lookin’ at me like that, I’ll drop you right here and let the PR team spin it as ‘tragic civilian error.’”
But the flush at the tips of his ears, the hard set of his jaw, and the way his grip never wavered under her thighs betrayed the truth: Gen Narumi, strongest man on the field, was rattled to hell by one dazed compliment.
The floodlights ahead finally cut through the haze—bright white spilling across the cracked asphalt, bouncing hard off armored trucks and the aluminum roll-up of the high school gym now stamped with evacuation signage. The chaos thinned here, soldiers funneling civilians toward the open doors, medics already barking orders over the din. Gen’s stride never faltered, her weight locked tight against him, his bayonet still slick at his side.
“See that?” he said, words sharp but winded with relief. “Civilization. Walls. People who aren’t me. Which means I get to stop babysitting your disaster of a life in about thirty seconds.”
Y/N stirred against his chest, her lips curling into that same dazed, lazy smirk that had already nearly undone him. “You’re really loud, you know that? Pretty, but loud.”
Gen’s ears went hot again, rage and embarrassment mixing into one volatile cocktail. “Loud?! Lady, I just dragged your ass through a goddamn warzone! Loud is the least of what you should be calling me right now!” He adjusted his grip, hauling her up higher as if to prove a point. “And quit with the pretty crap. I swear, if you keep sayin’ that shit, I’ll actually hand you over to the medics and tell ‘em you’re concussed beyond repair.”
She giggled—actually giggled—and he nearly lost his footing for the first time all night.
By the time they hit the threshold of the gym, the air inside shifted—cooler, brighter, antiseptic overlaying the copper tang of blood. Rows of cots, harried med techs, civilians wrapped in silver blankets. Gen pushed through like he owned the place, eyes daring anyone to make him stop.
He crouched, lowering her down onto a cot with more care than he’d ever admit to. His arm lingered at her waist just long enough to steady her before pulling back, jaw set like stone. A medic was already threading through the crowd toward them, clipboard in hand. Gen shot them a look that said wait.
Then, with the same shameless audacity he’d fought with all night, he leaned down, close enough that his breath skimmed her ear. “Where’s your phone?”
“What—” She blinked, still muzzy.
“Phone. Now.” His hand was already fishing into the loose pocket at her hip, too fast for her to protest. He came up with the device, flicked it open, thumbs moving with infuriating precision despite the blood still drying across his gloves. He tapped in a number, saved it, and shoved it back into her palm.
She glanced down. The contact glared back at her: CAPTAIN GEN — HOTTEST SAVIOR ALIVE.
Her laugh burst out, breathless, scandalized. “You didn’t—”
“Oh, I did.” His grin slanted wicked, the kind that looked good on posters and even better up close. “Now you’ve got my number. Which means you can thank me properly later. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
She blinked up at him, still in a daze, smirk tugging lazy at her lips. “You’re… really close.”
“Sharp observation.” His mouth curved in a grin that was too sharp for comfort. “Guess that means the concussion didn’t fry all your brain cells.”
Her laugh slipped out before she could stop it, small and reckless. His grin widened at the sound, then cut into something more dangerous. He leaned down, slow enough to make her pulse spike, the heat of him closing in until his lips ghosted a breath from her cheek. For one dizzy second, she thought he’d actually kiss her—here, in front of everyone.
Instead, his mouth tilted toward her ear, words sliding in like they belonged under her skin. “I hate boring dates,” he murmured, voice a low rasp. “So let’s hope you weren’t only fun ‘cause of that little head knock.”
And then, just like that, he pulled back, smug as sin, leaving only the phantom of his breath and the taunt hanging between them.
Bonus:
The evac doors clanged shut behind him, and the night swallowed him up again—sirens, smoke, soldiers shouting orders. Gen kept walking like nothing was wrong, bayonet slung cocky across his shoulder, head high. Captain of the First Division. Coolest bastard alive. Totally fine.
He made it half a block before the composure cracked.
“What the fuck was that?!” he exploded under his breath, whipping around into the shadow of a ruined bus stop. He pressed both hands over his face, muffling the sound, ears burning like a siren of their own. “Did I seriously just—‘hope you’re not only fun because of your little head knock’? BRO?!”
He crouched down, pacing in a tight circle, hands dragging through his hair like maybe he could scrub the memory out of his skull. “What is this, some shoujo anime cutscene?! An otome game route?! God, kill me now. I’m never living that down. Ever.”
He straightened, pointed at nothing, then jabbed himself in the chest like he was giving a post-battle debrief. “Note to self: you are not smooth. You are not mysterious. You are a walking PSA for why concussed civilians should not be allowed within flirting distance. Jesus Christ.”
A groan tore out of him as he tilted his head back against the glass, eyes squeezed shut, full-body cringe radiating off him. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, a wheeze-laugh slipped out.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered, kicking at a loose can, watching it clatter down the street. “Captain Gen Narumi. First Division. National hero. Local clown. Great job, man. Ten outta ten. Totally nailed it.”
And even as he kept muttering, dragging his hands down his face like he could peel the embarrassment off, the corner of his mouth betrayed him—curling upward, sharp and crooked, like maybe he didn’t regret it half as much as he pretended.
𝕽𝖊𝖓𝖔 𝕴𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖐𝖆𝖜𝖆
The city came apart by degrees—first the alarms, thin and surgical, slicing down the glass faces of buildings; then the heavy-bodied wail of municipal sirens taking up the pitch; then the wrong, wet thunder of something too large turning a street into a throat. Neon hiccupped and died. Smoke slid low along the sidewalks like a tide that had forgotten how to retreat. It smelled of hot wire and ruptured coolant and the sweet, high note of concrete dust, the kind that coats the tongue until water tastes like chalk. People became water under pressure: sluicing between cars, pooling at corners, breaking into spray when a shout or a shudder hit them sideways. Y/N moved with them until the current she followed turned into a whirlpool around an overturned tram. A shoulder hit hers, a bag strap caught her wrist, and the curb she’d meant to step over came up wrong—too far, too fast. She went down hard on one knee, then both, palms skidding, the impact knocking her breath out so cleanly the world made a hollow sound.
For a beat there was nothing but the wind of bodies around her and the heat of the street under her hands. The pavement vibrated with a distant, regular percussion that felt like a heart in the wrong place. Someone shouted to her left. Farther off, a car alarm insisted on its own small tragedy. She tried to stand—the world pinwheeled left, then farther left, as if the buildings themselves tilted to watch her. Her phone sheared out of her pocket, spun twice, and slipped neatly through a storm grate with a cheery clack that sounded like mockery.
“—Miss!”
The voice didn’t bark; it carried. It had the clean edge of urgency and the soft center of someone who’d learned the difference between command and reassurance. Bootfalls cut through the smear of sound, headed toward the problem and not away from it. He broke the plane of smoke at a sprint, a blue-black shape shouldering the air aside, momentum gathered clean and kept. Armor hugged him close in matte plates and flexible weave, the suit cut for motion, not for show. A respirator canister bumped against his sternum on a webbed strap, tapping once against the chest plate like a metronome. An earpiece gleamed white inside the warm shell of his ear when the emergency strobes timed it right.
Up close, motion collapsed into detail. Ash-blond hair, too straight to be obedient, fell in damp sweeps across his brow, strands clinging where sweat had made a paste of dust and heat. The angle of his cheekbone carried a faint scatter of color—sun freckles, or the ghost of them under the grime—that made his face read younger than the set of his jaw allowed. Someone had nicked him earlier; a thin, clean slice curved under his left ear like the closing line of a parenthesis. And his eyes—she caught them and then couldn’t not see them—were a clear, startling violet, the kind of color that looked accidental here, in the ruin-light, and therefore more true. They were quick, too, always moving, cataloguing the corridor of danger and then flicking back to her as if the world could go on fire behind him and he would still hold a single point steady.
He dropped to one knee with practiced disrespect for the shock that traveled up it. The rifle in his right hand stayed high, his left braced her shoulder without jostling. “Miss, can you hear me?” he said, and the way he said Miss made it sound less like a box to put her in and more like a promise about how he would handle her. “Look at me. Eyes on me. Can you stand?”
She tried; the street rolled under her like a deck. The black at the edges of her vision moved inward with the slow, lazy certainty of tide. “I—give me a second,” she said, which felt brave in the mouth and useless everywhere else.
His mouth went a narrower line. The crease between his brows deepened, not impatient; busy. He swept her fast with a medic’s eye borrowed for the moment—skin tone, pupil response, breath cadence—and then looked past her shoulder. Claws clicked overhead, the skittering arithmetic of a yojū testing angles. He made a decision that had nothing to do with asking permission and everything to do with the shape of the street.
“Right,” he said under his breath, like he had a list and he was checking boxes. “Airway, breathing, circulation, move. With your permission, Miss.” His arm slid behind her shoulders, careful, the glove warm and textured against the thin fabric at the back of her neck. The other arm hooked under her knees. He lifted in a single, efficient pull that treated gravity like a negotiation he had come prepared to win.
The ground fell away. Heat replaced it—his, banked and steady under the tactical fabric. Her body found the hard centerline of him as if it were a thing she’d been unconsciously aiming at. The respirator canister tapped lightly against the crest of her ribs; the strap rasped softly where it crossed the plate. His breath moved against her temple in quick, measured strokes that betrayed pace but not panic. The rifle braced to his shoulder in the crook of his right arm as if it had grown there.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered, more weary than angry. “Whole block to choose from, and this is the exact spot you pick to drop.” His arms adjusted their hold with practiced steadiness, the rifle balanced easily against his side. “Not behind cover, not near evac—no, right out in the open.”
A figure dropped from the wall to their right with a clatter and a hiss. His rifle barked twice; the thing folded, limbs splaying like a bad card trick across the pavement. He didn’t look twice, already moving forward. “Perfect. Reno Ichikawa—pack mule of the day.”
The name carried its own weight. Reno moved through the flood of chaos like a wedge, not pausing, not yielding, the crowd bending around him as if pushed aside by sheer intent. His steps had none of the performance of someone fighting to be seen, no polish meant to impress. There was only purpose, pared down to its simplest form: advance, protect, endure. The street obeyed him because he left it no other choice.
Her brain—traitorous, floating, reduced by adrenaline to what it found most essential—focused on his face. The violet eyes, yes, bright as cut glass. The hair, damp and a shade that had not decided between sand and ash. The shape of his mouth when he concentrated; it had corners that wanted to soften when not policed. There was a small squirrelly scar over his right knuckle where the glove stretched, the kind of mark training leaves on a person who stays late and hits the bag until the bag hits back. She was aware of the heat of his forearm under the backs of her knees and, mortifyingly, of the sure solidity of his bicep where it lifted her, all rope-and-iron under fabric. Up this close he smelled like clean sweat and burned propellant and the sharp, battery-ozone of charging cells—battlefield and workshop both.
“You’re…” The words slid out stripped of anything but their own need. “You’re very handsome.”
The sound he made did not belong to the monsters. It belonged to someone who had been handed a live sparker with the polite expectation that he juggle it. He didn’t stumble in his feet; he stumbled in his temperature. Color surfaced quick under his skin, a high flush that raced the line of his cheekbone and jumped his ears. His eyes snapped down and then away in the same breath, as if looking at her were a hazard and also the only safe thing left.
“Miss,” he said, breath tight but steady, “this is the worst time for this.” He cut left, fired once, and the wall-creeper fell in a heap, his rifle already swinging back to ready. His voice dropped lower, muttering like he couldn’t help himself. “Out of all the things to start talking about—why that?” His ears were already red, heat climbing fast. “Just… just focus on staying awake for me.”
“You’d rather I stay quiet than tell you you’re good-looking?” she asked, reckless in the haze.
His head jerked, almost like the words had struck him. “I—Miss—no, that’s not—” He stumbled over the thought, swallowed hard, and forced the rest out. “Nobody says stuff like that. Not like this. Not while I’m hauling you threw a battlefield.” His voice cracked at the edge, not from fear, but from embarrassment that had nowhere to go.
“Sorry,” she whispered, then ruined the apology with, “but your eyes really are… something.”
The sharp breath he took carried frustration and disbelief in equal measure. His grip shifted, careful, as if adjusting her higher might steady himself too. “You’ve definitely hit your head,” he muttered, the words hot under his breath. “That’s the only reason you’d say something like that right now.” The rifle fired again, precise as punctuation. “We’ll get you looked at soon as we’re through those doors, God knows you need it.”
The street did its bad geometry: angles too many and too fast, shadows that moved wrong, light that came in slashes. Ichikawa mapped it anyway. He took the long side of the U around a bus that had opened its steel skin like a sardine tin, kept the building facades on his right so the reflections wouldn’t flashblind his dominant eye, shouldered through a knot of civilians with a murmured “Excuse me, excuse me, please keep moving,” that somehow worked where shouting would have sharpened panic into something ugly. A yojū skittered out on too many joints, mouth working. He turned his body so the spray would hit his plate and not her, shot through the mouth, stepped past the collapse.
“Status, Ichikawa?” a voice rasped through his earpiece, warping a little on the tail of each syllable.
“Carrying one civilian, conscious, possible head injury,” he replied, professional locking into place like a second spine. “South corridor to the gym. Third Street is clear enough if we keep roofs under observation. Recommend suppressing fire along the eaves. Copy?”
“Copy. Third is hot on the roofs; keep your head low. Hoshina is sweeping east to west.”
Ichikawa’s mouth flicked—gratitude, relief, respect—minuscule and unshared. “Understood.”
The floodlights of the evacuation hub threw a clean plane of white into the smoke ahead, bleaching color from everything it touched. Between here and there, the street narrowed and guttered, a choke only idiots or heroes tried to run with a carry. He went anyway. A yojū dropped down behind them with a sound like cut rope and skittering bone. He felt the air change, turned on the pivot point of his heel like a drill sergeant had threaded the motion into his muscles, and fired one-handed while keeping her weight perfectly married to his center of gravity. The recoil jumped through his frame and into hers; he ate it, gave her none.
“Still with me?” he asked, not looking down because the rooftop line deserved his eyes. His voice had gone low and smooth the way voices go when someone is telling a frightened animal the leash is a good thing. “Tell me your name.”
She gave it. The syllables landed between them and felt strange in this light, like the name of someone braver.
“Good,” he said, and the word sounded like a small coin he pressed into her palm for safekeeping. “My name is Reno Ichikawa. If you need to yell at somebody later about being manhandled through a warzone, that’s the one you want.”
“I don’t want to yell,” she said, then flinched because the honesty was too bare. “I want—”
He was merciful. “To sit down,” he supplied. “That makes two of us.”
The gym doors yawned wide now, the inside bright enough to pinch the eyes after the street’s bad light. Medics vectored people with gloved hands and clipped, kind voices. Soldiers made funnels out of their bodies and their training. The smell shifted hard at the threshold: antiseptic and old varnished floors and the wet-metal tang of blood hammered thin by air. Ichikawa didn’t slow until the change in ground under his boots told him he could. Then he did, all at once, like someone had pulled a plug.
He set her on the cot as if she were made of blown glass—not theatrically, not in a way that performed gentleness; in a way that was gentle because anything else would be incorrect. His hand stayed at her back until gravity proved it remembered its job. Up close, without the warpage of smoke and siren, he was even more himself. The violet of his eyes went darker in the even light; the pupils still wide from the street made the ring of color look like something lit from within. Sweat had cut a clean line through the dust along the edge of his hair where it met his temple. His mouth, relieved of its battle shape, looked too honest for a poster.
“Eyes on me,” he said, crouching so he wasn’t standing over her. His gloved fingertip tracked slow from left to right and back. “Follow without moving your head. Any double?”
“No.” Her voice came out steadier than she felt. “Just… you.”
He blinked. It was not a tactical blink. The flush rose again, obedient to some private law of physics where compliments fell like flares and detonated in his ears first. He cleared his throat, failing to hide the way his smile wanted to happen. “Headache? Nausea?”
“Headache—mild. Nausea—just the kind you get when a very handsome man carries you like you weigh nothing through a battlefield.”
He froze. The gym clattered on around them—metal cart wheels, orders, sobs, the zip of a curtain—and for a second it felt like none of it reached the little circle of air over this cot. He looked down at his own knee, as if it might contain policy, then back at her. “Miss,” he said helplessly, and his voice was both an apology and a request, “I am trying to be professional.”
“You are,” she said, and meant it in precisely the way that rearranged a person’s insides. “It’s not your fault your eyes are doing… that.”
He made the smallest face, somewhere between despair and reluctant amusement. “You really are something.” he conceded. The medic shouldered in—penlight up, questions ready. Ichikawa rose like a tide shifting, not taking attention with him as he made room. He started to step back. Stopped. Reached, then checked himself. The medic waited, impatient but not unkind.
The medic shifted closer with her penlight, but Reno stayed a moment longer, the weight of his rifle strap biting against his shoulder as if reminding him he had no right to linger. His eyes searched her face once more, sharp in their focus, as though he needed the confirmation for himself.
He exhaled, low, almost like the end of a laugh that hadn’t made it. “I’ve got to get back out there,” he said, voice pitched steady but softer than it had been on the street. “But… after it’s over, I’ll find you. Just to see how you’re holding up.” His ears burned even as he forced the words out, honesty pushing past the edges of his embarrassment. “So don’t vanish on me, alright?”
It wasn’t slick, and it wasn’t meant to be. It was the plain promise of someone too stubborn to let go without leaving a thread behind.
The medic cleared her throat pointedly, drawing attention back to the work waiting. Reno straightened at once, the soldier sliding back over the boy, posture crisp again.
Still, before he turned away, his eyes caught hers once more. The flush in his face hadn’t faded, but there was resolve under it now, the kind that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but truth.
“I’ll come back,” he said simply. No hesitation, no qualifiers. Just that.
And then he was moving again, folding back into the floodlit night, a compact figure swallowed up by smoke and sirens, violet eyes cutting forward into the dark.
Can i request? Kaiju no 8 boys x reader? Romantic, fluff headcanons? Any kind of plot, up to youu!
Take your timee sweet bunny!! And thank you as always (≧∇≦)/
I procrastinated over this because I got lazy with the aesthetics KWNDNANDN
ENJOY MY DARLING ANON
༊*·˚ Kafka Hibino
✎ Meeting him – You first notice him during a kaiju cleanup shift. He's wearing a worn-out uniform, muttering to himself while trying to lift a chunk of concrete twice his size. It doesn't budge. He trips over a rebar and lands face-first in the mud. You offer a hand. He looks up at you, mud dripping from his chin, and says, "I'm okay! This happens all the time!" His smile is so bright you forget to be annoyed.
✎ Falling in love - He starts finding excuses to work near you. "Oh, you're sweeping that rubble? I'll just… sweep this rubble. Over here. Next to you." He talks about his dream of joining the Defense Force like it's a secret he's scared to admit. You're the first person who doesn't laugh. One night, after a close call with a yoju, you see him transform into Kaiju No. 8. He expects you to run. Instead, you step closer and ask, "Does it hurt?" His eyes go wide. "No one's ever asked me that before."
✎ Who confessed first – He blurts it out during a thunderstorm. You're both huddled under a collapsed overpass, waiting for extraction. He's rambling about how he doesn't deserve to be near you, how he's a monster, how you should leave him. You grab his face—gently, careful around his kaiju markings—and say, "Kafka, I'm not going anywhere." He freezes. Then whispers, "I love you." Like he's been holding it in for years. Like it hurts to let out. You kiss his cheek. He cries a little. He'll deny it forever.
✎ Fluffy moments—He saves every note you write him in his locker—even the ones that just say "buy milk." When you're sick, he shows up at your door with seven different kinds of soup because he couldn't decide which one you'd like. He doesn't sleep well unless you're nearby; his hand finds yours in the dark, and his thumb traces small circles until his breathing evens out. Once, you catch him practicing how to say "Will you go out with me?" in front of a mirror. He's on his thirtieth take. You never tell him you saw.
༊*·˚ Reno Ichikawa
✎ Meeting him – You're both standing in line for Defense Force registration. He's quiet, flipping through a dog-eared handbook, underlining passages with a mechanical pencil. Someone cuts the line. He doesn't say anything—just shifts his weight and keeps reading. You're the one who calls out the line-cutter. Reno glances at you, then back at his book. But the corner of his mouth twitches. Later, he finds you during break and says, "That was smart." Not "brave." Smart. He noticed.
✎ Falling in love – He watches you train from across the field. Not in a creepy way—he's cataloging your form, your stamina, your tells. One day, you stumble during a drill, and he's the first one beside you. "Your left foot is landing too hard. Adjust your stance." No pity. Just help. You start studying together in the library. He talks more at 2 AM—about his parents, about why he joined, about how he's scared of being average. You listen. He notices you listen. That's when he knows.
✎ Who confessed first – You do. He's been dropping hints so subtle that even Kafka didn't catch them. (Kafka catches nothing.) One night, you're walking back to the barracks. The moon is bright. You stop walking. "Reno. I like you." He stops breathing for a full three seconds. Then: "I know." A pause. "I mean — I like you too. I've known for a while. I just didn't know how to —" You take his hand. His palm is warm. He doesn't let go for the rest of the walk.
✎ Fluffy moments – He always carries an extra energy bar because he noticed you forget to eat before missions. When you fall asleep on his shoulder during briefings, he doesn't move—even when his arm goes numb. He fixes your gear without being asked; you'll find a loose strap tightened, a scratched visor replaced. His love language is I noticed. You once mentioned in passing that you liked a certain brand of tea. Three days later, there's a box on your desk. No note. Just the tea.
༊*·˚ Soshiro Hoshina
✎ Meeting him – He's running a sword drill when you first see him. The way he moves is almost lazy—loose wrists, half-lidded eyes— until the blade connects. Then it's a blur. You're standing too close to the practice ring. He finishes his set, turns to you, and says, "You're in my light." Not angry. Just stating a fact. You step aside. He doesn't look at you again. But the next day, during your own training, you feel someone watching. It's him. He's leaning against a post, arms crossed, that same lazy expression. "You're dropping your shoulder on the recovery," he says. "Fix it." Then he walks away.
✎ Falling in love – He starts giving you "pointers" that are really just excuses to stand close. His hand adjusts your grip on a practice sword. His breath is warm on your neck. "Like that," he murmurs. "Now don't mess it up." You catch him staring during meals. He doesn't look away—just smirks and takes a bite of his food. The moment you know it's real: You're both pinned behind cover during a live-fire exercise. A kaiju's tail swings toward you. He pulls you behind him, blades out, and says, "Stay down. I'll handle it." Not "stay safe." I'll handle it. Like it's obvious. Like he'd never let anything touch you.
✎ Who confessed first – He does, and he makes it a game. During a sparring match, he disarms you (easily) and pins you to the mat. His face is inches from yours. "You know," he says, voice low, "I don't let just anyone get this close." You're breathing hard. "Is that your way of saying you like me?" He grins. "Depends. Is it working?" You flip him over—you'd learned his tells by then—and kiss him. He laughs against your mouth. "Yeah," he says. "That's what I thought."
✎ Fluffy moments – He leaves his favorite sword oil on your workbench because he noticed you struggling with yours. When you're tired, he pulls you into an empty storage closet and holds you for exactly five minutes—no talking, just his chin on top of your head. He calls you by your last name in public but whispers your first name in your ear when no one's listening. One time, you catch him sharpening your blades instead of his own. He shrugs. "Yours were dull. Annoying to watch." But the tips of his ears are pink.
༊*·˚ Iharu Furuhashi
✎ Meeting him – He shoulder-checks you in the hallway on your first day. Not on purpose—he's just running at full speed, as always. You both go down in a tangle of limbs. He's on his feet instantly, offering a hand, already talking. "Oh man, I'm SO sorry, I wasn't looking, are you okay? That looked bad. That looked really bad. Are you bleeding? You're not bleeding, right?" He's still holding your hand. You haven't said a word yet. "I'm Iharu! Iharu Furuhashi! What's your name? Wait, don't tell me—let me guess—" You tell him your name just to make him stop. He grins. "Nice name. I'm gonna remember that."
✎ Falling in love – He's loud about it. Everyone knows. He shouts "GOOD MORNING" a little too enthusiastically when you walk into the mess hall. He volunteers to be your training partner every single time. During a break, he throws an arm around your shoulders and announces, "This one's my favorite person here." Kafka raises an eyebrow. Reno hides a smile. You shove him off, but you're laughing. The moment you know: He gets hurt in a mission—a gash on his arm, nothing serious—and you're the first person he looks for. "Did you see me out there? I was so cool, right?" You're cleaning his wound. Your hands are shaking. "Don't do that again," you say. Your voice cracks. His eyes go soft. "Hey," he says, quieter than you've ever heard him. "I'm okay. See? I'm okay."
✎ Who confessed first – He yells it. Of course he yells it. You're walking back from the training grounds, and he's been uncharacteristically quiet for about thirty seconds. Then he stops dead in the middle of the path. "I LIKE YOU. LIKE, A LOT. GO OUT WITH ME." A bird flies away. Somewhere, a door slams. You stare at him. His face is red. His fists are clenched. "That was the plan," you say. "The whole time?" "The whole time." He makes a sound like a deflating balloon. Then he grabs your hand and starts walking again. "Okay. Cool. Great. I'm gonna be normal about this." He is not normal about this.
✎ Fluffy moments – He gives you his jacket when you're cold—even if he's colder. He shows up to your bunk with snacks at 2 AM because he "couldn't sleep" (he was thinking about you). During group photos, he stands next to you and throws up peace signs, but his other hand is always hovering near your back, not quite touching. Once, you fell asleep during a movie night. You woke up to him carrying you to your room. "Didn't want to wake you," he whispers. He tucks you in. He steps on the corner of your blanket and almost trips. You pretend to stay asleep. You're smiling too hard to open your eyes.
༊*·˚ Gen Narumi
✎ Meeting him – You're assigned to a joint exercise with the First Division. He doesn't show up on time. When he finally strolls onto the field—yawning, uniform half-untucked_he barely glances at you. "New faces," he mutters. "Great." He wins the exercise in four minutes. You're the only one who noticed he cheated. Later, you find him alone in the equipment shed, cleaning his combat suit. "You used a banned stabilizer," you say. He doesn't look up. "Got proof?" "Your left gauntlet has a scratch pattern that doesn't match standard issue. Want me to keep going?" He finally looks at you. Really looks. "Huh," he says. "You're not boring."
✎ Falling in love – He starts "coincidentally" being where you are. The mess hall. The training yard. The armory. He never admits it's on purpose. "I eat here sometimes," he says, sitting across from you with a tray. He's never eaten here before. During a mission, you get separated from your squad. He finds you first—not because he was looking for you, he insists, but because "your comms signal was weak." His voice is calm, but his hands shake slightly when he checks you for injuries. The moment you know it's real: You're both pinned in a collapsing building. He could escape easily—he's faster, stronger. He doesn't. "Go," you tell him. "I'm not leaving you," he says. Flat. Final. Like there's no other option.
✎ Who confessed first – Neither of you say the words for a long time. It's a game of chicken. He shows his feelings through actions: he leaves his favorite protein drink in your locker, he "accidentally" saves you the last seat next to him in briefings. One night, after a near-fatal mission, you're both sitting on the roof. He's looking at the stars. "You scare me," he says. You wait. "Not because you're dangerous. Because I don't scare easily. And you—" He stops. Rubs his face. "I think I'd burn the whole world down if something happened to you." You lean your head on his shoulder. "That's a lot of pressure, Narumi." He laughs—a real laugh, not the sarcastic one he uses on everyone else. "Yeah," he says. "Welcome to my life." You never say "I love you." You don't need to.
✎ Fluffy moments – He falls asleep on your shoulder during transport. His head is heavy, but he looks younger, softer. You don't move. When he wakes up, he pretends it didn't happen—but he stays close for the rest of the ride. He learns your coffee order without asking; one day, your usual cup just appears on your desk. No note. He's the only one who could have known. On rare quiet nights, he lets you play with his hair. He doesn't admit he likes it. But his eyes close. His breathing slows. Once, he whispers, "Don't tell anyone about this." You pinky swear. He rolls his eyes. He pinky swears back.
✦ BONUS: Haruichi Izumo (Tech Nerd Sweetheart)
(so this is extra. I couldn't write the others if ever it's cause I barely did any character analysis of them.)
✎ Meeting him – You walk into the tech bay with a broken comms unit. He takes it, fixes it in seventeen seconds, and hands it back without a word. "Thanks," you say. He grunts. You come back the next day with a "broken" tablet. He fixes it in twelve seconds. "This wasn't broken," he says. You blush. He doesn't smile, but he doesn't tell you to leave either.
✎ Falling in love – You start bringing him snacks. He starts saving you a seat in the corner of the tech bay. One night, you fall asleep on his workbench. You wake up with a blanket over your shoulders and a sticky note on your forehead: "You snore." It's written in his handwriting. You keep the note.
✎ Who confessed first – He leaves a folded piece of paper in your locker. Inside: "I would like to date you. Please initial below if interested." There's a checkbox. You write "YES" in all caps and add a smiley face. He initials it back. It's the most romantic thing he's ever done.
✎ Fluffy moments – He sets up a secondary monitor on your desk just for your favorite shows. He never explains it. When you're stressed, he wordlessly pushes a cup of tea toward you—perfect temperature, every time. He doesn't say "I love you." He says "Your left bootlace is untied." That's how you know.
Synopsis: [Hoshina x Reader] Someone informs Hoshina of your not-so-secret tea stash. It's now only a matter of time before you're in over your head, where the alluring Vice-Captain is concerned.
Part 1, Part 2
Fox Hunt
Synopsis: [Hoshina x Reader] With the emergence of highly intelligent and evolved kaiju, Hoshina has his hands full after being tasked with heading a newly formed investigative unit.
Complex and twisted as these cases turn out to be, your role as the team’s assigned forensic analyst is a crucial one … along with concealing your growing infatuation with the charming Vice Captain under a polished and professional exterior.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 Part 7
8 Days of the Week
Synopsis: [Kafka x F!Platoon Leader Reader] As a platoon leader of the First Division, you’ve earned something of a reputation with your strict, harsh nature and hard edges. All of this is threatened, however, when Hibino Kafka is assigned to you for physical training.
How are you supposed to maintain your composure when the most attractive man you’ve ever met comes crashing through your atmosphere like an asteroid, leaving a heart-shaped crater in his wake?
Contents: Romance, humour, fluff, crack.
Part 1
Let Loose
Synopsis: A Kn8 series in which you convince your lover that holding their desire for you at bay is entirely unnecessary. You want all they have to give. [Kn8 x Reader]
Contents: Romance, humour, fluff, explicit sexual content, developing relationship, smut with feelings.
Narumi: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
The Gamer's Guide to Making Friends
Synopsis: After overhearing a charged conversation, Gen takes it upon himself to help Soshiro with his family troubles ... and forges an unlikely bond along the way.
Synopsis: After an operation goes terribly wrong, the Vice-Captain is transformed into a little cat-kaiju hybrid. The 3rd Division, together with Hoshinya, set out to try and regain his human form!
Synopsis: After his recent appointment as Vice Captain of the Third Division, Hoshina lets exhaustion get the better of him after a mission, and falls asleep on your shoulder.
Contents: Fluff, angst, character study
Pie in the Sky
Synopsis: Hoshina suffers a grave betrayal.
Contents: Angst, humour, crack.
The Game
Synopsis: Hoshina lets you sneak up on him.
Contents: Humour, fluff, character study, short drabble. [Slight Hoshina x Reader]
Oh Captain, My Captain
Synopsis: Narumi starts to find mysterious love notes placed around the base that seem to be from a secret admirer.
Contents: Humour, fluff, crack, mystery.
Closer
Synopsis: Since you've embarked on a relationship with him, it's only a matter of time before Soshiro starts ticking up your cuteness aggression meter. [Hoshina x Reader]
Contents: Romance, humour, (extreme) fluff.
He's a 10
Synopsis: When Narumi receives news that Numbers Weapon Ten has abandoned Hoshina, and will only agree to be worn by him, he really should have been more suspicious.
Contents: Humour, crack, crack and more crack.
Spring Comes Softly
Synopsis: Vice-Captain Hoshina isn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but you're nothing if not perceptive. [Hoshina x Reader]
Contents: Humour, fluff, romance, angst.
Unravel
Synopsis: When the tentative dance of mutual attraction reaches its natural culmination, you come to understand that knowing Hoshina carnally is to know his truest self. [Hoshina x Fem Reader]
Contents: Romance, sexual content, developing relationship.
Sweet Tooth
Synopsis: You're ready to ring in the New Year with Soshiro, but your curiosity gets the better of you when you spy the package he's been awfully secretive about ...
Contents: Humour, romance, extreme fluff.
Watch Over Me
Synopsis: You're hurt during training, and Hoshina's words soothe more than any balm. [Slight Hoshina x Reader].
Contents: fluff, hurt/comfort, humour.
Dressed To Kill
Featuring: Hibino Kafka's Shirt, Ashiro Mina's Stockings, Hoshina Soshiro's Belt and Narumi Gen's Sweatpants.
Spray Job
Synopsis: Hoshina's car is involved in a mix-up, and ends up with an ... unusual spray job.
Contents: Crack, humour.
Two-Finger Salute
Synopsis: You'd never equated flirting with psychological warfare, at least, not before Soshiro Hoshina. [Hoshina x Reader]
Contents: You'd never equated flirting with psychological warfare, at least, not before Soshiro Hoshina. [Hoshina x Reader]
He's got LEGS!
Synopsis: Hoshina is sighted in a pair of shorts and the internet will never be the same. The brave members of the Third Division save the day!
Contents: Crack, humour, fluff.
Praxic Blades
Synopsis: Multi-character x Reader fic, featuring Hoshina!
A Small Victory for Love
Synopsis: You find Hoshina, working late in his office.
Contents: Romance, fluff.
Heat Sink
Synopsis: Inspired by a highly suggestive art by @radish-breath , involving Narumi gaming while gifting us a 'full frontal' view.
Synopsis: Multi-character fic, featuring Narumi and Hoshina! A series of one-shots, in which your lover finds supreme pleasure under the benediction your erotic praise.
Contents: Explicit sexual content, romance, humour.
Sledgehammer
Synopsis: In which Gen returns exhausted from his day, and grants you the benefit of his ... full body weight on top
Contents: Romance, humour, explicit sexual content.
A Model Officer
Synopsis: Hoshina shows up for a standard photoshoot with some reluctance ... but things don't go quite as he expects.
Synopsis: Even the strongest soldiers can fall prey to hurt feelings and self-doubt. x Reader, featuring Narumi and Hoshina
Contents: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Romance.
A Sweet Repast
Synopsis: An evening with Soshiro takes an unexpected turn when he agrees to try something new ... [Hoshina x Reader]
Contents: NSFW! Romance, established relationship, explicit sexual content, oral sex, face-sitting, rimming, anal play (all male receiving).
Fearful Symmetry
Synopsis: In which a field test for speed results in an embarrassing situation, when Numbers Weapon 10 blows your shirt into oblivion while taking off at close range.
Contents: Humour, romance, Hoshina x Reader, suggestive themes.
King of Hearts
Synopsis: Part 1 of a Kn8 super-fluff short. Narumi seeks affirmation as your lover with a small gift he's custom-made for you. [Narumi x Reader]
Contents: Romance, humour, extreme fluff
King of Diamonds
Synopsis: Part 2 of a Kn8 super-fluff short. After the battle with no. 10, Soshiro resolves to open his heart to you with more effort. [Hoshina x Reader]
Contents: Romance, angst, super-fluff.
Enter the Ho-Tang
Synopsis: Based on the Kn8 Relax chapter that gave us Rapper Hoshina. In which Hoshina embraces his career as a rap artist with some ulterior motives ...
Character Headcanons, Analysis and Appreciation
Contents: Extreme crack, humour, my questionable lyrics.
Kn8 Kiss Headcanons
Gen Narumi
Kikoru Shinomiya
Kn8 B-Side manga
Hoshina Angst/Romance
Kn8 Swords and Sorcery Headcanons
What it would be like to wake up to ... Kn8 characters
As they breathe their last, the character's thoughts are of you ...
Just a couple blurbs/headcannons
Summery: What your lazier low-effort days are like with Reno Ichikawa, Kafka Hibino, Shoshiro Hoshina, and Gen Narumi.
CW: Nothing! just pure fluff!
Reno
Even when he's being as lazy as he possibly can, he still needs provide for you somehow.
It's not often Reno gets a day off. Between training and the defense force, Reno's got a pretty full schedule. So when he gets the chance, he wants to spend his time with you relaxing a bit. He's not the type to go full potato like Narumi, but he loves sitting in bed with you all day. Usually the two of you guys will still go out and eat or something, but he was feeling particularly lazy today, so here you are in bed binge watching some drama with him. He's holding your waist, rubbing circles into your hips while you guys both face the TV. There's a bag of popcorn to your side, and bottles of whatever beverage he felt like drinking that day.
"Sorry, we should've gone out to get food or something…" he whispers softly into your ear.
"No, nothing to be sorry about. I like this, it's chill, nice, easy. Don't even worry about it." you respond. "I just want to take it easy today, I know your job is hard. Here, lets order in some food." You pull out your phone and open whatever delivery website is available.
"No, here-- let me make you food. Least I could do." He gets up out of bed and heads to the kitchen. Even when he's being lazy he still goes out of his way to provide for you somehow.
Kafka
He indulges in every single impulse he has, food, candy, snacks, and blankets surround the two of you on his days off.
Between training and the defense force, he's needed a break for way too long now. Once he's finally gotten the chance to spend the day with you, he'd usually opt for something BIG, the beach, an amusement park, a concert, etc. However today, he'd decided that he needed to take things slow and easy. Which to him, means staying on the couch with you and doing NOTHING! He'll put on some sort of comedy movie, grab a bunch of snacks and candy, and cuddle you to death. He's holding you with your head on his chest while staring up back to the TV. His arms are sitting around his back, with one running gently through your hair. He whispers sweet phrases every now and then.
"I love you so much baby. I'm so happy I get to hold you like this." He says softly. He's not upset you aren't out, he just happy, and comfortable with you veging out on the couch with you all day long. You might even stay up late like this. "Wait, are you hungry?"
"Yeah a little, I can make dinner." You respond.
"Nahhh, let's order in. What do you want? Mexican, Chinese, Japanese?" He asks while shuffling around to find his phone. He pulls out his phone and opens up the app. He hands you his phone.
"Pick whatever you want, I'll pay!"
Hoshina
He's got absolutely no chill. You have to drag him from the training room before he even considers settling down with you and relaxing.
He's always training. You never see him not training, and when he isn't he's off at work keeping Japan safe or whatever. You just want to sit down with him and relax a little today. Today is his day off, which he rarely ever gets. But he's nowhere to be found. You just need to find him and sit him down, but where is he? In the training room of course. You stomp down to the training room to find him practicing new sword techniques in complete silence.
"Shoshiro, do you want to come back to mine later?" You ask, with a little frustration in your voice. Why isn't he taking a break, he's always busy.
"Yeah sure, just give me a couple more hours, I'll be out soon!" He says with his trademark smile.
"HOURS!?!? When was the last time I've even seen my boyfriend!? Turn of vice captain Hoshina and turn on boyfriend Shoshiro!" You playfully yell back at him. "You're coming with me NOWWWWW and I won't take no for an answer." You say grabbing his wrist literally dragging him along with you.
You end up back at your house. You're cuddling on the couch, your dinner on the coffee table, his arms around you giving you the occasional kiss. You're watching some sort of TV show that Shoshiro let you choose. The scene isn't particularly messy, he doesn't have the willpower to get as messy as Narumi. He leans into your ear.
"I'm happy you dragged me out, I love you." he whispers gently.
"I love you too, Shoshiro."
Narumi
It's Narumi, the king of laziness, captain comatose; the whole room is the messiest thing on the planet, you guys just play games the whole day.
You and Gen sit upright, your head resting on his shoulder. He's slumped over a bag of chips, with candy, trading cards, and even more chips surrounding you guys. You guy's are playing some sort of two player fighting game; he's aggressively key mashing as you beat him in the game.
"NOOOOOOOO! YOU'RE CHEATING SOMEHOW! YOU'RE COPYING THE BOWL CUT LOSER OR SOMETHING!!!" He screams out. He playfully pushed you over. You scream out and hit him back in response. The game ends while you guys begin to play fight. "You wanna start a new game? I've got smash bros or something?" He asks
"Yeah okay sounds good, you're gonna loose to me AGAIN!" you playfully say back to him.
"Yeah you're gonna be the only loser here! I will win, and then you're gonna have to stop copying whatever bowl cut does." he responds nudging your arm.
"wait can we eat first? Like order in?" You ask.
"Ugggh sure. I've got cup of noodles though if you want that instead."
"Sure, I don't see why not." You don't. But also you don't really feel like going outside, and neither does he so it works out. You get up to heat up the water, and disappear for a bit making the noodles. After a couple minutes pass you return with the noodles handing him one.
"here you go, be careful, it's hot."
"So are you." he responds teasingly.
"Okay bud, pack it up." You say back to him. You love that man to death, you just wouldn't admit it.
﹙ 💭 ﹚reno ichikawa x f!reader ⸝⸝ yearning, flirting and puppy love?? reno is a dedicated man 🤷♀️ (potentially ooc, not proofread)
forewarning ─── reader is lowkey cold bcs she has problems w showing emotions, and she's also a little in denial of someone actually falling for her. mentions towards the death of a family member. be warned, reckless and suicidal tendencies in the reader’s behavior. for the sake of the story, reader is described as athletic/built. btw im lowk inexperienced when writing yearning ;( also i was listening to “my way of life” by frank sinatra while writing this, highly recommend u do that too (honestly this is so old, i finished it months ago and just found it again, thinking of a part 2 tho)
disclaimer ─── this fanfic is for entertainment purposes only. the use of this text for ai model training, data mining, commercial purposes or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without my (the author's) explicit consent. translating or reposting to other platforms is also strictly forbidden without my permission.
You weren’t scared.
How could you be, when Kaijus have become a common sight for you? Not because you were a JAKDF officer, not yet, but because you learned to analyze and move instead of staying stuck with one problem.
Many people thought that ignoring a botheration would make it disappear. That the less you acknowledged it, the more it would cower into nothingness.
You learned very early on that it was never that easy. So, you trained. Because lying in wait wouldn’t bring back your sister from her grave. But neither would fighting, you knew.
The closer you got to death, the closer you got to her.
That’s why you threw yourself into battle, eyes focused front with your heart pounding in your chest.
The suit fit like a second skin, your finger resting on the trigger of the gun. It was an unfamiliar weight that you welcomed, even if this was just an exam and your acceptance into the force wasn’t confirmed. You would keep trying until you couldn’t.
Couldn’t stand, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t live.
Reno Ichikawa, on the other hand, was dumbfounded. He couldn’t understand your disregard for your own safety. That confusion sprouted from you jumping into the mouth of Kaiju after pushing him out of the way.
He stood to close, still nervous in the first moments of the exam, eyes darting left and right with hand shaking.
A shadow threw over his figure, the sunlight outlining a Yoju. Then, a push. A call. “Move!”
His back met the floor, and the last thing he saw was you, one of your feet slotted between the teeth and muscle of the creature as you pushed yourself forward.
Its mouth closed around you. A deafening silence surrounded the area, the smell of fresh blood and steel still occupying every corner you walked. All of a sudden, a voice. Muffled, but loud enough to be heard from inside the Yoju. Unleashed power: 40%
A ringing filled the quiet, organs flying like a wave. It rained purple, the iron smell of the flesh becoming clear and nauseating.
You stood, unbound and unaffected by what you had just done, weapon strapped to you and the thin pin of a grenade stuck between two of your fingers.
In that moment, he had believed you were born to fight. Born to protect. And so much further than him.
Your head turned to the side, eyes not betraying your appearance. Sharp and calculating. “Keep moving, Ichikawa. There’s no use for people who freeze.”
It was harsh, but true. He couldn’t afford to fail this and lose his opportunity.
When he found out you were accepted, something in him was proud.
It didn’t surprise him that you were, with the stunt that you pulled off and survived. But what he did notice was you pulling away.
Straying away from crowds, avoiding conversations and training alone. You were closed off, never entering the space of another and never letting someone do the same to you.
He took it as his chance to approach you.
Your chest heaved, sweat dripping down the side of your face as you stopped in your tracks, taking the moment to breathe.
Your palms settled on your knees, spine arched in as your sight began to blur. From exhaustion or the sweat dropping into your eyes, you couldn’t tell. You always pushed too far when your head was too loud.
“Here,” a shadow fell over you from your left, a water bottle entering your vision as you felt your throat dry.
Your hands clenched, eyebrows furrowing as you tilted your head up, (e/c) hues meeting a soft purple-lavender wrapped in sunlight. The boy you pushed, you remember. “No offense, but you look like you could use it.”
Pushing yourself to stand straight again you accepted the bottle, twisting the cap open and taking multiple gulps. He took the soundless space as his shot to speak. “I wanted to thank you for saving me back then.”
You only hummed in response, glancing at him as you drank. Wiping the dampness from your forehead you scanned him from head to toe, studying him. Awkward silence wove between you, your heavy breaths becoming a quieting sensation.
“Um,” he sweat-dropped, “I know it’s not my place to ask, but why do you never hang out with the other girls or generally anyone?”
You paused at his question. If I get close again, they’ll die, you wanted to say. I carry so much bad luck with me. But you couldn’t bring yourself to. “It’s not your place to ask.” Had you always been so mean?
Of course not. When Emiko was alive, you made sure to share whatever you had with her. A flower crown, your lunch, a camera. She tethered you to this world until fate decided you’ve become too dependent.
He gulped, nodding hastily. “Of course. I just think none of us are necessarily bad, if that’s what you’re scared of. I’m sure Kafka and and Kikoru wouldn’t mind if you joined us for dinner at a ramen shop tonight? Only if you want to though!”
Your eyes didn’t stray from his own, the water he offered now resting lazily in your hold, reminding you of the situation. He was trying. Out of all the other in-training-officers, he was the only one to attempt and become closer with you.
What if you hadn’t saved him? He would’ve failed the exam. He could’ve died. But you didn’t let that happen. Even if you hadn’t, would he still have approached you like he did now?
Emiko would’ve liked him.
“Fine,” you broke your thoughts with verbal response, screwing the drink shut and brushing past him. “But I don’t plan to stay for long.”
You didn’t linger long enough to hear his answer, continuing your jog.
Showering beforehand, you threw on casual clothes, baggy jeans and a shirt, before stepping out of your dorm, coming face-to-face with Kikoru Shinomiya.
Awkward silence followed. Again.
You were well aware of her heritage and skill, far above any trainee. By calculation, you’re certain she would leave her mark on the world. You didn’t bother to understand what you appeared like in the eyes of others, but you knew too you weren’t far behind her.
“You finally look normal for once,” you tilted your head at her words, pocketing your phone and wallet. “Normal?”
“Yeah,” she hummed, beginning to walk after you closed your door. “You always just look tense in that suit. If you weren’t as talented as you are, I would’ve told you straight up that it isn’t made for you.”
The rumors do her justice then. Bold and straightforward, confident in her skill, but even she sometimes pushes her limits too far.
“So, was that an insult or?” Your words trailed off, walking side by side with her. “Back-handed compliment.”
You recognized it. The layer of protection that she coated over herself like a silk cloak that bore her name, the refusal to let others see that she cares deeply. It felt like looking in a mirror.
Dinner felt loose with the three of them. Not the kind that had you hanging on for more, but the kind that had you realize the moment you’re in. Sitting bathed in the gentle orange hue of the ceiling lamps, laughter soft with the air light, yet full of conversations that seemed endless.
You found yourself smiling again, glancing down at your bowl of ramen with something akin to reminiscence. This is what authors wrote about when hearing friendship, the moment people thought about when meeting their friends, the memories elders look back at when storytelling.
There was a nudge at your right side, soft and reminding, but not with force. Reno’s eyes met your own before they fell onto your lips, “Are you alright?”
Your ears drowned out Kafka and Kikoru as they argued, may that have been about battle strategy or personal vendettas they had grown for another, your focus shifted.
It was a simple question, not intruding or trying to make sense of your emotion with knowledge. Simply asking. And your eyes softened. “Never better.”
From then on, Reno’s presence seemed to haunt your own, a quiet shadow that became light in your routines. You would encounter him in the halls, training area and outside the building. Though your meetings were always inevitable.
He never intruded, never came to close and never forced words out of you, he simply stayed in the silence you excused as acquaintance.
You learned his shape and he learned your silence. You read his body language, calculating his thoughts while he waited for your words, observing you. He became a constant.
You shared hollow pants in a room full of gear, you advising and guiding him to find his own fighting style. When you suggested he changed his bullets to a different material, a crystal blue of ice, he mocked you with a grin. “I thought there was no use for people who freeze.”
“Dangerous game you’re playing.” You retorted.
“Then stop losing.”
You stood up from where you sat on the floor, feet padding lightly as you made your way to stand and stop in front of him, your breath mixing with his. His eyes were still annoyingly beautiful, unwavering. “I don’t lose.”
He smiled, the corners of his mouth crinkling slightly, “I know.”
So um im sick and what better time to write this then now right :D (kill me)
Also tries something "new" with the layout:3
Charakters:Hoshina,Narumi,Izumi,Reno
He propably noticed before you do.
The slower movements
The tired look on your face
And eventally when you start to caugh more.
And you can forget that he'll let you train, yet alone fight, when you're sick. So he makes you go to bed until you're better.
Now, as much as he'd love to stay with you and help you get better, as a vice-captain, he doesnt have that much free time.
Hoshina will still come by at least once a day, no matter how busy it is (he says its only fair). But for most the time he'll have to ask someone else to check in on you.
Hoshian would be the type to first interogatey you if you
1.took your medecin
2.drank water
3.Rested enough
4.feeling better
If any of those are answered with no he'll make sure u do so now.
And after all of that he'll consider spoiling you just a big with affection (no kisses when sick thouh)
Ok so um.
Well usually he just trust that you know your limits and doesnt pay too much attention to it but it was undeniabel that you were sick judging on your caughs and sniffles from your running nose.
Even if its just a cold
(Its never just a cold.)
suprisingly enough Narumi insisted that you rest and since he (unlike a certain vice-captain) is just in his room if there is no Kajiu alert you have to can just stay in his room.
At first it was just you, bed, Narumi, games and propably alot of cuddles.
But hey at least you werent lonley?
If it get worse, which is most likely gonna happen, Narumi might acually use is brain and help you with things like
Getting you water
Checking your tempeture
Getting you blanckets and most other stuff you need/ want.
Though if we are talking medecin he gon' ask hasegawa.
When he first noticed its was just the usuall
"Are you feeling ok"
Or
"Maybe you should take a break for a few days"
You know everyone gets sick sometimes so its really nothing too worrying to him.
When you dont do anything for your health is when he steps in. First by trying to get you to take a break and if you refuse he'll try getting hoshina to make you take a break, in the hopes that you cant say much if the vice-capatain tells you to rest.
Izumo is not gonna be mean or nag you about that though, he'll just provide you with the things you need and lets you be if u want to be alone
Might be one if the best candidates here i dont know why just feels like it.
Like Izumo he'd ask you alot just like....alot more.
Not in like a paniced way hes just worried.
He'll get you to rest eventually, somehow, even if it is just continuously asking you to take a break.
Reno is the kind of person who'll try to make the medecin at least taste as bearabel as possible to get you to take it.
He'll not let you do anything that'll take to much energie.
Even when you're good again he'll insist that you wait 1 or 2 days til you go back to training just to make sure
