Hii I found your PHM writing and Iron lung stuff I love it so much. If you’d want to write, I’d love anything with more platonic Ryland and Simon comfort. I love the way you write dad Simon and Grace. I feel you characterized Simon so well as being like this really concerned but stern parent. I absolutely love his hurt comfort fics. You’re awesome ;)
Ooooh yes of course! Thank you sm! I try my best!
I feel like Simon is definitely the stricter of the two, but Grace’s “I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed.” Is worse than any lecture you could ever receive from Simon.
Anyways, enjoy!
Project Hail Mary x Iron Lung x reader (platonic!)
Reader is twenty, Simon is late thirties, Grace is early forties, Rocky and Adrian are old ass Rocks!
Maybe it was the trauma, maybe you were just having a bad day, or perhaps some secret third thing. You really didn’t mean to be the way you were, a festering mess of emotions you couldn’t sort out by yourself. You always felt like you were feeling everything as hard as you could, like your body was punishing you for ever thinking you could experience an emotion normally.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?! I don’t need you two hovering over me all the time like I’m some helpless kid!!”
You cringed at the memory of the fight that happened not even two hours ago, burying yourself deeper into your bed with a poorly contained groan. You said so many things, many you didn’t mean, maybe some you’d been thinking about for way too long.
“I’ve defended myself! Fought for what I needed! I stole and cheated just to survive and you two see nothing but some dumb baby who got shoved onto a ship! I chose to be there!!”
And you admitted things about your past you’d preferably never want them to know. You were not a good person on Asora- or maybe you weren’t a good person at all. Good people don’t steal from people who trust them just to feed their siblings, good people don’t break someone’s teeth for insinuating that they weren’t doing enough, and they certainly don’t look at the only people in the universe who love them and throw a fit.
“You guys didn’t have a choice! I did! I did and I took it! You stand in my shoes and decide at eighteen that you were going to go into space! You stand in my shoes and realize nobody came to see you off or say goodbye! You stand in my shoes and remember that I’m an adult!”
You felt like the worst person alive. How selfish could you get? You lived in a beautiful home with kind people and rock aliens who loved you and you- what? Feel the need to get mad over being babied a little? You’re less than half of Grace’s age, of course he’d see you as more of a child than an adult- and Rocky’s species sees twenty-whatever you are as practically babies.
“I’ve taken care of myself for this long! I-I could go back up into space and survive another ten years if I had to! I’m built for this! For survival! If I’m not then why else would I have been sent up?!”
Those words had really done Grace in, walking away with a strangled sob in his throat. You had stared after him, angry that he’d walked away when you were still talking, but Simon’s glare had been enough to shut you up.
“You’re being unfair. Go to your room until you remember how to act.” His voice was strained with barely contained anger, like he was holding back his own blow-up.
Simon being that mad at you, Grace being that upset over something you said, it killed something inside you. You weren’t good like they thought you were, now it was finally coming to light. Maybe it’d be better if you did get sent back up to space, die there like the rest of your crew. You felt like you made everyone’s lives worse, a wine stain on a wedding dress or a hole in a moth-eaten shirt.
The thought made tears finally spring to your eyes, an ache in your chest finally breaking open to spill all over the bed. You sobbed quietly into a pillow, praying to whatever gods were out there that your dads couldn’t hear you.
Were you still allowed to call them that? Were you still their sapling? Maybe they wouldn’t want you anymore, especially now that they knew how terrible you were. Given the world and you freak out and say things that cut deep enough to bleed. Maybe you deserved to bleed too. Would it be enough to be forgiven? Would it show them how sorry you are?? That the guilt was eating you alive? That you didn’t mean it?
You hadn’t even realized the junction between your thumb and pointer finger was in your mouth until you tasted blood. You didn’t stop when the pain stung or red stained your teeth, biting down harder and tearing your skin apart. It was punishment, a fucked up retribution for being the worst kid anyone could ever have. Your dad on Asora didn’t want you, now Grace and Simon probably didn’t either, but maybe you could be sorry enough if you spilt blood.
“[Name]? Hey, can we talk?-“ you heard a sharp gasp and a call of Simon’s name, suddenly wrangled by Grace as he ripped your hand out of your mouth, “stop that!! [Name]! No!!” He grabbed your wrists and held your hands down, stopping you from inflicting anymore damage to yourself. He stared down at you with blue eyes full of fresh tears and stains on his cheeks from earlier and you felt that crushing guilt increase tenfold. It pushed a devastating wail out of you, finally crying out after holding it in since the fight, “M’sorryyyy!! I don’t know why I’m like this! I can be better! I can!” Ryland tried to shush you, collecting you into his arms and sliding to the floor, his heart breaking as you begged him to forgive you.
Simon rushed into the room, making helpless eye contact with his husband, holding their kid as blood smeared over everything. Your hand twitched and Simon grabbed it when you tried to bite down again, the sight almost making him sick. He tried to suppress traumatic thoughts as he wrapped his arms around the both of you, his prosthetic cold and grounding as you felt it wrap around your back. Grace rubbed your back as you mumbled out a million apologies, begging them to forgive you, that you didn’t want to go back into space, how much you loved them, how badly you wanted to keep being their kid.
Grace started crying all over again when you begged them to still be your dads, hand against the back of your head as Simon swiped tears from your face. You’d been catastrophing the entire time you’d been alone and the two didn’t know how deep you’d gone.
“We’re still your dad’s. God- Sap, we love you. A bad fight isn’t going to change that.” You shook your head, smearing tears and snot into Grace’s shoulder, “You- y-you don’t understand! I’m not good! I’m not what- not who you think I am! I’m not! You should be angry! Why aren’t you angry?!” Grace squeezed you tighter, “we were, I won’t lie to you, but we were more worried than anything else. These outbursts are more frequent, you struggle to get out of bed most days, we notice how little you eat, and how out of it you’ve been. We think..it’d be beneficial for you to start seeing a therapist.”
“I don’t need one. I’ll be fine. I can get through this on my own..” you didn’t sound convincing, even to yourself. Simon lifted your face to look him in the eyes, “we aren’t asking. We love you, so we’re going to set up an appointment and then you’ll tell us how it goes. We’ll decide from there what to do next.” You sighed, exhausted and scared, the fight not strong enough in you to resist, “fine..”
—
“And how have you been feeling since our first session?”
“Uh- pretty good honestly. I’ve been communicating better..I think. The schedule we set up is helping a lot.” The purple Eridian in front of you trilled happily, “that’s so good to hear, I’m glad you’re feeling more like yourself.” You smiled a little, curled up on the couch. You’d been meeting with Icarus (you had no idea why Grace named them that) since the incident that left a bite-sized scar on your hand, steadily making progress towards a better tomorrow. You’d made up with Grace and Simon, stayed on a strict schedule, got out of the house by helping Grace with his classes, and started going through a sunlamp-radiation-therapy type thing.
It was just a big lamp they pointed at you once a week to imitate the sun and vitamins you needed.
You felt like a lizard.
Anyways, Icarus and you wrapped up the session and you waved goodbye as they left the biodome. You were by yourself until dinner, so you walked out into the manufactured forest, leaving a note on the table so your dads wouldn’t worry. A nice patch of moss greeted you to lay down, staring up at the sky.
I’m just trying to stay ahead of what’s behind me. The past doesn’t knock—it breaks in.
It wears old faces, speaks in lost voices, and waits for the moment I slow down.
Now, fire walks beside shadow— two echoes of something I almost believed in.
One pulls, the other reminds. Neither lets me forget.
Some days, I wonder if I’m still real, or just the echo of someone grief refused to let go.
Even silence feels heavy now—like it’s watching.
I want to live, even if it’s just for a little while.
But fate is cruel. And tragedy—
Tragedy has targets.
And it never stops until it hits the heart.
Chapter 1- Get the Family Together
I looked down at my bare feet as the tube started to fill with the thick, goopy water. The light at the bottom was blue today. It was pretty. I wanted to like it, but I couldn’t, because as soon as the liquid touched my skin, it started to burn.
It always burned.
But I couldn’t cry. I wasn’t allowed to cry. I had to be a good girl. If I cried like the little kids, then I’d be bad. The white coats didn’t like bad kids. Bad kids made them mad. I didn’t want them to be mad at me. I was one of the older ones, so I had to be the example. I had to be strong.
I clenched my fists tight—super tight—so tight my fingers hurt, but it was better than thinking about the pain creeping up my legs. I looked at the white coats outside my tube. The glass made them look funny, all big and wobbly, like when I used to play with water in a cup. The first time I was put in here, it made me giggle.
It didn’t make me giggle anymore.
Now, it just made my chest feel weird, like something heavy was sitting on it. Or maybe that was just the pain as the water got higher.
I looked down the line at the other tubes. A white coat was walking past them, stopping at each one, staring inside like he was looking for something. He was him.
The Doctor.
That’s what the other white coats called him. Just Doctor. He was the boss. He was in charge of everything. Everything they did. Everything that happened to us.
My fingers touched my collar. The one with my number on it. 1004-BR. That meant I was at the front of the line. Always first. The only one in front of me now was the last of the A’s. There used to be more B’s, but they were… gone. I didn’t know where they went. The white coats said they failed and had to go away. I used to ask what that meant, but they just got mad. I think… I think maybe it would’ve been better if I failed, too.
If I failed, maybe I wouldn’t be here. Maybe I wouldn’t have to hurt. Maybe I wouldn’t have to be a good girl.
I had been looking down, but when I looked back up, he was standing right in front of my tube.
The Doctor.
I had never seen him this close before.
He looked… normal. Blonde hair, slicked back. No beard, no mustache. Tall—really tall. His face didn’t look scary, but his eyes… his eyes were.
They were blue, but so dark they almost looked black. They didn’t have anything in them. No feelings. No nothing. Just empty.
And then—then I knew.
He wasn’t human.
I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. It didn’t make sense, but my brain just knew.
I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I really didn’t. But before I could stop it, I mumbled, “…he’s not human…”
It was so quiet, I barely even heard myself.
But he did.
“What did you say, BR? Speak up properly.”
His voice was cold. Hard. Like a block of ice. Like he didn’t even care what I was going to say.
My heart squeezed. My throat felt tight. I didn’t want to answer. I had to answer. I couldn’t make him mad. I couldn’t be bad.
But the water had reached my stomach now, and it hurt so much. It was getting harder to breathe, harder to talk, but I pushed the words out as best as I could.
“You’re n-not human.”
I tried to sound brave, but my voice wobbled.
I looked away fast, hoping—praying—he wouldn’t be mad.
Nothing. No sound.
I peeked back up.
And I almost screamed.
He was smiling.
But it wasn’t a nice smile. It was wrong.
His teeth were sharp—way too sharp. If he bit me, it would hurt a lot. His dark, scary eyes watched me like he was thinking about biting me. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide behind one of the white coats and make him go away.
But I couldn’t.
The liquid was at my chin now. Soon, it would cover my whole head.
I had to remember—had to—what to do next.
When it covered me, I had to breathe it in. It would hurt. It always hurt. But if I didn’t, it would be worse. If I held my breath too long, I’d pass out, and that was even more painful.
So when the liquid finally swallowed me, I forced myself to breathe.
It burned.
It burned so much.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to cry, trying not to scream.
When I opened them again, something was different.
I could see better.
Everything was clearer, like when I pressed my face against the glass to look outside. The Doctor was still watching me. Watching every little thing I did.
And he was still smiling.
The blue light at the bottom of the tube changed to green. That meant the tube was full. The white coats would know the tube was full.
The Doctor finally looked away, saying something to the others. I couldn’t hear what he said. I didn’t want to hear. I just wanted to sleep.
But I couldn’t.
I wasn’t weak enough for the water to make me sleep anymore. I was too used to it.
So I just looked down at the bottom of the tube.
Wishing—praying—to be let out.
Even though I knew I wouldn’t be.
Not for a long, long time.
I opened my eyes and sat up in bed, exhaling a deep sigh as I wiped the corners of my eyes. My fingertips came away damp. No surprise there—reliving old memories always left a bitter aftertaste. I hated thinking about the past. About what was done to me. No matter how hard I tried to move forward, those memories clawed their way back, whispering that the scars they left behind weren’t just skin deep. They lived inside me, buried but never forgotten.
I sighed again and swung my legs over the side of the bed, stretching my sore muscles before pushing myself up. The floor was cold against my bare feet as I padded toward the bathroom, the familiar creaks of the wooden boards beneath me grounding me in the present.
Focus on today. Don’t let the past win.
If I remembered correctly, Red Son had mentioned we had a packed schedule ahead. Something about the Demon Bull family’s grand plan to retrieve the Monkey King’s staff. Not that I particularly cared. What they did or didn’t do had nothing to do with me. I was just a contracted employee, nothing more, nothing less. As long as Lady Iron held up her end of the deal, I’d do whatever was asked of me.
I stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the light, squinting as my reflection came into focus in the mirror. My hair was a mess—defying gravity as if it had a mind of its own. My cat ears twitched in irritation as stray strands tickled them. I lifted a hand to push my hair back when I noticed something that made my stomach clench.
The dye was fading.
White roots peeked through, a stark contrast against the color I’d carefully applied. Another cruel reminder of what had been stolen from me. My natural hair color, gone forever. Now, my hair was ‘naturally’ white. I loathed it. Every time the roots started to show, I dyed it back, desperately clinging to the illusion of normalcy.
I tore my gaze away from the mirror, swallowing the lump in my throat. Later. I’ll deal with it later.
For now, I needed to get ready.
I hopped into the shower, keeping it quick. I hated the feeling of being drenched. The sensation of water soaking through my hair, clinging to my skin—it made my nerves itch. I scrubbed away the lingering grogginess, my mind drifting to the day ahead.
After drying off, I dressed in my usual attire: a black long-sleeved shirt and a pair of black cargo jeans. Practical. Not too tight, not too loose. Just right for mobility. I ran a brush through my hair, wincing as I worked out the knots from my restless sleep. My hands instinctively went to my neck, checking for the one thing I never took off.
A simple silver chain with a coffin-shaped charm.
I held it between my fingers for a moment, feeling the cool metal against my skin. The charm could be detached from the chain, and it had a tiny strap running along its length, as if it were meant to be carried on someone’s back. A strange design, but it held meaning to me. A piece of my past I wasn’t willing to let go of. Holding everything I’d ever need in it.
Shaking off the creeping thoughts, I turned my attention to my holster belt. I fastened it around my waist, securing the extra ammo clips in place. Eight in total. Enough to last in a fight if things got messy. Two empty holsters rested against my thighs. I retrieved my pistols, double-checking that both were empty and the safeties were on before slipping them into their holders.
Fully equipped, I left my room, heading to breakfast. The mansion was vast and easy to get lost in, but I had lived here long enough to memorize the layout. My boots echoed against the marble floors as I navigated the hallways, passing towering pillars and intricately carved doorways. The air smelled faintly of incense—Lady Iron’s doing, no doubt. She had a fondness for tradition.
After fifteen minutes, I reached the dining room.
Red Son and Princess Iron Fan were already seated, waiting for me.
The moment I stepped inside, Red Son’s glare locked onto me like a heat-seeking missile.
“You’re late, peasant,” he growled, his hands clenching into fists. I swore I could almost see steam rising from him.
I hadn’t even sat down yet, and I’d already pissed him off. Great.
Rolling my eyes, I put one of my hands on my hip. “Well, Red, how about you take the room that’s a twenty-minute walk from the dining hall and see if you can show up on time?”
I smirked, fully aware that his precious lab was a thirty-minute walk from here. That’s where he spent most of his time, buried in his experiments.
His hair flared up, flickering like an open flame. Hands slammed against the table as he shot up, ready to unleash one of his infamous temper tantrums—only to be cut off by his mother.
“Why must you two pick a fight so early in the morning?” Princess Iron Fan sighed, rubbing her temples. She gestured toward one of the seats across from her. “Sit down. Both of you.”
I shrugged and, just to spite him, took the seat beside him. He grumbled under his breath, glaring at his bowl of food like it had personally wronged him. A bull bot placed a plate in front of me, moving with mechanical precision.
The robots were surprisingly efficient. I’d give Red credit for that—not that I’d ever say it out loud. His ego was inflated enough as it was.
Red continued muttering to himself, probably complaining about my lack of punctuality or proper etiquette. I didn’t care enough to listen.
Princess Iron Fan’s voice pulled me back to reality.
“Today is an important day for our family. We will finally free my husband and reclaim our rightful place in this world.” Her sharp gaze swept over both of us. “You will behave and impress him when he returns, won’t you?”
Her words were mostly directed at Red, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think they didn’t apply to me.
If Demon Bull King disliked me, even with our contract, I’d be out of a job.
Not that it worried me. I knew my skills. I was the best shot in this world—undeniable, unbeatable. But that didn’t mean I was comfortable with today’s events. The idea of performing, of proving myself to someone who already assumed I was weak, left a bad taste in my mouth.
Guns weren’t toys. I hated using them unless absolutely necessary, unless I was in a petty mood that is. They were efficient, yes, but deadly. Even though I never missed, even though I knew I’d never hit anything I didn’t intend to, it didn’t mean I liked it…sometimes.
Of course, I had my own weaknesses—stamina, hand-to-hand combat, and my hearing—but I had learned to work around them. Even when they held me back, I relied on wit and sheer stubbornness to compensate.
That’s why Red and I made a good team. He handled close-range combat, while I covered medium to long-range. But that didn’t mean I indulged his childish behavior. If he messed up, I let him deal with the consequences.
“Shiro! You’re spacing out again!”
Red’s voice snapped me back to reality as he shouted directly into my ear.
I reeled back, nearly tipping over my chair. “OW! What the hell was that for!?” I shot him a glare. “And for the last time, stop calling me that stupid nickname.”
He smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Well, when you start calling me Red Son, then I’ll start using your proper name. But that’s beside the point—did you even hear what Mother was saying?”
I sighed, rubbing my temple. “Something about heading out around lunchtime to retrieve the staff? Making sure we’re prepared?”
I stabbed a piece of food with my fork, feigning confidence. Truthfully, I hadn’t been paying attention. My mind had been too wrapped up in that damn dream and having to impress the Demon Bull King.
Princess Iron Fan gave me a knowing look before rising from her seat with effortless grace. “Good enough. Just be focused when my husband returns, kitten.”
I stiffened at that name, clenching my jaw as she left the room.
I hated that nickname.
I pushed away my plate, my appetite gone. Without another word, I stood and left Red at the table.
I glanced at the clock.
Only a few hours left.
I needed to clear my head.
I couldn’t afford distractions when facing the Demon Bull King.
The wind howled across the construction site, carrying dust and loose debris as we stood before the ancient weapon buried deep in the earth. Even at a glance, the power it radiated was undeniable—raw, overwhelming, and untamed.
The Ruyi Jingu Bang.
A relic that had long since become the key to the Demon Bull King’s imprisonment.
I stood a few paces back, arms crossed, watching as Red Son and Princess Iron Fan took their places before it. The weight of what we were about to do hung thick in the air, tension coiling around us like an invisible force.
Behind us, the Bull Clones stood at the ready, shifting uneasily. One of them was still cradling the stumps where its arms had been—an unfortunate reminder of what happened when someone underestimated the power sealing the staff. The poor fool had tried to pull it free on its own, only to lose both limbs in the process.
Honestly? That had been the funniest thing I’d seen all week.
“Alright, peasant,” Red Son muttered, cracking his knuckles as he strode forward. “Try not to be too awestruck by the greatness you are about to witness.”
I scoffed, barely suppressing an eye roll. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t blow yourself up, genius.”
Red Son shot me a glare, flames flickering at his fingertips in irritation. “I would never—”
“Enough.”
Princess Iron Fan’s sharp tone cut through our usual bickering like a blade, demanding immediate silence. She stepped forward, her regal presence commanding attention. Even Red Son straightened under her gaze, his earlier cockiness momentarily subdued.
“We have prepared for this moment,” she continued, voice smooth but firm. “The time has come to break the seal and return my husband to his rightful place.”
Red Son turned to her, a grin spreading across his face. “With pleasure!”
In the blink of an eye, fire engulfed his right arm. When the flames receded, his limb had been replaced by a massive, metallic gauntlet—easily twice his size. The sheer weight of it should have made it impossible for him to lift, yet he moved as if it were weightless.
I didn’t know whether to be impressed or concerned.
I watched as he approached the staff, wrapping the oversized gauntlet around it. The moment he did, the ground trembled, and a sudden gust of wind surged through the cavern, whipping my coat around me. The very air seemed to resist our actions, as if the earth itself was trying to push us away.
Red Son braced himself, digging his heels into the ground as he began to pull. His flames burned brighter, coiling around his body in defiance of the forces trying to repel him. His entire form trembled with effort, gritted teeth bared in determination.
And then—
The staff wrenched free.
For a brief moment, victory flashed in his eyes.
Then, with an earth-shaking boom, a powerful force sent him flying backward.
He tumbled down the rocky slope, flipping head over heels before crashing in a heap at my feet.
I looked down at him, unimpressed. “That looked painful.”
Red groaned before springing up, brushing himself off with what little dignity he had left. His head snapped toward the now-empty seal, excitement in his eyes. Any second now, his father would awaken.
Except…
Nothing happened.
Red frowned, eyes flicking back and forth in confusion. “Nothing’s happening. Um, Mother… are you sure this is the right mountain?”
Princess Iron Fan let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing her temple. “Oh no, my mistake. It must be the other mountain with the other magical staff sealing away my husband.” She shot her son a glare sharp enough to cut steel.
I raised my hands in a placating gesture, wisely deciding to stay out of this one.
Then, suddenly—
A brilliant green light erupted from the ground where the staff had been.
The entire cavern trembled, a deep rumbling echoing through the walls like a monster waking from its slumber. Cracks splintered through the rocky terrain, and with an earth-shattering explosion, a colossal figure emerged from the depths below.
The Demon Bull King.
His sheer size dwarfed everyone around him, a monstrous force of power barely contained within his own form. His emerald eyes burned like twin fires as he took his first breath of freedom in what must have felt like an eternity.
I took a step back, allowing the family their reunion, though I only half-paid attention.
Red had been on edge all week over this, obsessing over making the perfect first impression. I had spent hours in his lab listening to him rehearse speeches, cycle through introductions, and debate what his father might approve of. And, of course, I had to provide feedback on all of it—despite knowing nothing about Demon Bull King beyond the stories I’d been told.
But I had listened anyway. Because despite how much I teased him, I knew Red was nervous.
Now, watching Demon Bull King’s towering form as he regarded his son, I studied his expression carefully. The way he looked at Lady Iron. The way he loomed over Red.
Something about the way he assessed his son made my tail flick in irritation.
And then, right as Red Son opened his mouth to speak—
Something—or rather, someone—crashed right on top of him.
A boy with messy brown hair, wearing a stained opened white button-up, tumbled onto the ground. The back of his shirt had a logo—Pigsy’s Noodles.
Red Son exploded—both figuratively and literally.
“YOU RUINED MY MOMENT! HOW DARE YOU, YOU PEASANT?!”
The boy winced, sitting up and holding up a plastic bag sheepishly. “Uh… did anyone order noodles?”
There was silence.
Then, Demon Bull King’s deep voice rumbled, “It seems we have an eavesdropper among us.” His massive hand clenched into a fist. “I was not expecting my first act as the new ruler of this world to be squashing something so insignificant—but it cannot be helped.”
I stiffened as the Demon Bull King raised his foot, preparing to crush the boy.
But Red Son stepped in front of him. “Father, allow me!” he declared quickly. “It would be beneath you to deal with this vermin. Let me handle him.”
Demon Bull King studied his son for a moment before nodding. “Very well. Do not fail me.”
Red Son’s face barely twitched, but I saw it.
I clenched my fists. First time seeing your son in years, and that’s how you treat him?
But I stayed silent.
Then, everything happened fast.
The boy scrambled backward, his hand landing on something in the dirt. He looked down.
Then his eyes widened.
The staff.
Before anyone could react—
He picked it up.
A pulse of golden light erupted from the weapon. My breath caught as the cavern was bathed in its glow.
That noodle delivery boy… had lifted Monkey King’s staff.
As if it weighed nothing.
His face was frozen in pure shock. “Oh. Oh no. OH NONONONONO—”
The staff—seemingly acting on its own—glowed brighter. Then, with a blast of golden energy—
The boy was launched out of the cavern.
Red Son screamed in frustration. “I’LL GET HIM!” He bolted for one of his custom vehicles and sped off.
“Do not fail me again.” The Demon Bull King called after his son.
The words made my blood boil.
The cavern fell into silence after Red Son sped off in pursuit of the noodle delivery boy and the staff. The hum of his engine echoed through the tunnels before fading into the distance, leaving only the crackling of embers from Demon Bull King’s emergence.
I remained still, hands resting at my sides, as the massive demon turned his full attention to me. His glowing green eyes bore down on me with an intensity that would have made most people—or demons, for that matter—tremble.
But I wasn’t most people.
“And who is this?” Demon Bull King rumbled, his voice carrying the weight of a war drum.
Princess Iron Fan answered smoothly, stepping forward with her usual grace. “She is our son’s personal bodyguard.”
His gaze flicked to her briefly before returning to me, expression unreadable. “A bodyguard?” He scoffed, crossing his massive arms. “For him?”
I bit the inside of my cheek, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.
“Yes,” Lady Iron continued, unbothered by her husband’s skepticism. “She ensures Red Son stays out of trouble and disposes of unwanted pests before they become a nuisance.” She shrugged.
Demon Bull King chuckled darkly, his massive horns tilting slightly as he studied me again. “And what makes you worthy of such a position?”
I let the silence stretch for a moment before I answered, keeping my voice even. “I’m skilled in information brokering, assassination, and long-range artillery.” I reached for my hip, pulling one of my custom pistols free. With a single smooth motion, I loaded a magazine, pulled back the slide, and took aim.
Demon Bull King barely had time to blink before I fired.
The shot rang out through the cavern.
The bullet sliced through the air, grazing his cheek so close that he could feel the heat of it but not enough to draw blood. The smell of scorched stone filled the space where the bullet embedded itself into the cavern wall behind him.
I held my ground, lowering the smoking gun back into my holster as I met his gaze without flinching.
“I made sure not to wound you,” I said, voice calm but firm. “Not because I couldn’t, but because I doubt you’d take kindly to it.”
Silence.
Then—
A low rumble of laughter.
Demon Bull King touched the faint scorch mark on his cheek, a grin spreading across his face. “Hah. You’ve got nerve.” His sharp teeth glinted as his smirk widened. “Not afraid to challenge your employer to prove your worth. I like that.”
He took a step closer, looming over me. “You might just be what my useless son needs to put him in his place.”
I clenched my fists. Useless son? Really?
Princess Iron Fan finally spoke. “Go after my son. Make sure he doesn’t get himself killed retrieving the staff.”
I bowed. “As you wish.”
Then I hopped onto my motorcycle and sped off.
As I rode through the streets, I was searching for one thing—the place with the most commotion and screaming. Surprisingly, Red had a very loud scream. I know—shocking.
My search led me to the bottom of a road still under construction. Above me, I watched as Red and the noodle boy were launched off the unfinished road into the air. Before I could react, a green blur shot past me, grabbing the noodle boy and pulling him back to safety.
I sighed, already knowing what I had to do. Before Red’s car could crash into a building, I accelerated, launching my bike over it. In one swift motion, I grabbed him by the back of his collar, yanking him onto my bike.
Almost as soon as the tires of my bike hit the pavement and as thanks for saving his life, he promptly exploded into flames, screaming, “WHEN I CATCH YOU, NOODLE BOY, I’LL BLOW YOU TO SMITHEREENS!”
I slammed on the brakes, sending the flaming ball of rage flying into a nearby wall.
For a moment, the only sound was the faint crackling of dying embers.
Then—
“What the hell was that for, Shiro?!” Red shouted, staggering to his feet. He clutched his head, shaking off the impact like an annoyed dog.
I sighed, dusting off my jacket and swatting at the smoldering edges of my sleeves. “Oh, I don’t know,” I said flatly. “Maybe for trying to turn me into barbecue?” I signed, reaching up and taking off my helmet to see him fully.
He had the nerve to look sheepish. His gaze flickered away, jaw tightening. A mumbled “sorry” slipped out, so quiet I almost missed it. Not that he meant it. But whatever.
“You done throwing your temper tantrum yet?” I asked, arching a brow.
Another burst of fire flared up around him, bright and angry. “I AM NOT THROWING A TEMPER TANTRUM, SHIRO!”
I didn’t react. Just watched as he forced himself to take slow, measured breaths. The flames flickered again, then faded.
“I’m just… strategizing my next move,” he muttered. “I need to get the staff back from that vermin.”
I studied him carefully. His voice was steady, but I could see it—the way his fingers twitched, the way his shoulders tensed. Beneath all that anger, he was panicking. He had messed up. Again. And he knew it.
He let the noodle boy escape with the staff.
There was nothing I could say to change that fact, and he knew it, too. So he did what he always did. He turned his panic into fury, directing it at me because it was easier than admitting he was spiraling.
I knew him too well for that to work on me.
“You fucked up, Red.” His head snapped up, eyes wide. Shocked. Good. At least he wasn’t yelling anymore.
I continued, my tone even. “Being pissed off doesn’t give you the right to take it out on me. I may be contracted to your mother, but I’m not your personal punching bag. I know you want to impress Lord Ox. You’ll have other chances. So don’t get your damn panties in a twist.”
I didn’t wait for his response. I pulled my helmet back on and shifted the bike into position, ready to move again.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him staring at the ground. His fingers clenched into fists, then relaxed.
“…Do you really think I’ll have other opportunities to impress Father?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
I exhaled sharply through my nose. Reaching behind me, I grabbed the spare helmet and tossed it at him.
“Until they try to kill you or kick you out, you’ve still got a chance,” I said.
He caught the helmet with ease. For a second, he just held it, turning it over in his hands. Then, slowly, he slipped it on and walked over.
He swung onto the bike behind me.
“Let’s head back to the Flaming Foundry,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “I need to make Father his armor.”
I said nothing. Just revved the engine and took off down the streets.
I drove into the cave I knew like the back of my hand. Red had a garage in the back of his lab, packed with all sorts of cars and other junk he tinkered with whenever he got bored of whatever experiment he was working on at the time.
I pulled the bike into a parking spot and killed the engine. Red hopped off the second we stopped, yanking off his helmet and tossing it to the floor without a second thought. He didn’t even check if it was in anyone’s way—though I figured he wasn’t worried. A bull clone would pick it up sooner or later.
I watched his retreating figure as he muttered to himself, already lost in whatever plan he was forming in that overactive brain of his. As he passed a bull clone near the entrance to his lab, he ordered it to go inform his parents that he didn’t have the staff. The clone gave a sharp salute before taking off, disappearing down the hall.
Inside the lab, more bull clones stood at attention, their arms already filling up with various tools and materials as Red rummaged through his supplies. I had no clue what he was grabbing, and frankly, I didn’t care. He was the magical engineering genius here. Whatever he was taking, it was probably important.
I leaned against a nearby worktable, watching as he continued loading up the clones with parts. That’s when it hit me—this was going to take forever.
Welding the armor onto DBK wasn’t a quick job. It would take hours. Which meant I’d have to sit there and listen to their bickering for hours, too. Or worse—sit in complete, awkward silence. That thought alone made me want to rip my hair out.
Red Son finally turned to me, his expression alight with determination. “Shiro, this could be my moment! I can make up for losing the staff and prove to Father how much I’ve grown. Mother must have already told him about the armor, and if he agreed to it, that means he sees potential in me! But when he sees it in action—” His grin widened. “I know he’ll be proud of me.”
I met his enthusiasm with a small, forced smile and gave him a thumbs-up.
I did feel bad for Red. He worked so hard for his parents’ approval, constantly proving himself over and over again. But at the same time… I wasn’t exactly in a position to give him advice. I didn’t even remember my own parents all that well. And even now, I had no real desire to find them, to reconcile, or to try earning their love.
Red and I came from completely different worlds. His parents did love him, in their own messed-up, borderline-abusive way. But they weren’t human, so maybe that was normal for demons or celestial’s. I’d have to look into that sometime. I was only half-demon, after all.
He didn’t seem to notice anything off about me, too caught up in his excitement as he turned back to his papers. “Don’t worry, Shiro,” he added casually. “I’m sure Father will approve of you as well. Actually…” He glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “I bet he already did before you even came to get me. With your quick and impossibly accurate shots, Father had to have been impressed.”
I raised an eyebrow before striding over to his desk. Dropping into a rolling chair, I leaned back dramatically, running a hand through my hair.
“Oh, you’re absolutely right, Red,” I said dryly. “I won his approval by shooting at him and grazing his cheek.”
I watched the way his shoulders tensed at my words. It took a moment, but he eventually relaxed, his mind working through the implications. If DBK hadn’t approved, I’d be dead. Simple as that.
Sure, I was strong, but the Demon Bull King was a beast in hand-to-hand combat. And me? Well… I sucked at that. I had lost my element of surprise after the first shot. If we had fought then and there, I might’ve landed another hit or two, but I wouldn’t have survived long enough to make it count.
Red turned to face me fully, a rolled-up blueprint in his hands. His expression was deadpan. “Are you stupid? How could you shoot at my FATHER!? That could’ve ended so badly for you!”
His hair sparked slightly, the edges flaring up in irritation.
Huh. He was actually upset at the idea of his father killing me.
I sighed, leaning back into the chair. “I figured Lord Ox was the kind of demon who preferred actions over words. If I had tried to explain what I could do, my nasty personality probably would’ve slipped through, and then he definitely would have killed me.”
Red didn’t look convinced. He just sighed heavily and shook his head.
“You are somehow one of the smartest and dumbest demons I’ve ever met.”
Shaking his head once more, he ran a hand through his fiery hair before turning toward the exit. He didn’t have time to argue. We had places to be.
I pushed myself out of the chair and followed as he led the way toward the Foundry, where his parents were waiting. At least we wouldn’t have to explain why we didn’t have the staff. That meant we could avoid Lord Ox’s rage and Lady Iron’s disappointment—two things I had no interest in dealing with.
As we stepped into the heart of the Foundry, the heat from the molten metal washed over us. The place was alive with the sounds of clanking metal and hissing steam, the bull clones working tirelessly on new armor and weapons.
And there, sitting on his massive throne, was the Demon Bull King himself.
He towered over everything, his sheer presence making the enormous room feel small. The molten metal’s glow cast shifting shadows across his form, accentuating the ridges of muscle and the sharpness of his claws.
He didn’t need to move. Didn’t need to speak.
Just by sitting there, he made it clear—he could kill any one of us if he wanted to.
Lady Iron, to my surprise, wasn’t here with him. I couldn’t think of a single reason she wouldn’t be.
Remembering my place, I bowed to Lord Ox. He spared me a glance before focusing back on Red.
“You failed, my son.” His voice was harsh and cold. Red’s shoulders stiffened, his gaze dropping to the ground.
“Yes, Father. I’m sorry,” he said, his voice subdued. Then, as if trying to shake off the weight of his failure, he straightened. “But I can make up for it right now!” His fire rekindled as he spoke. “This armor I invented will convert any and all materials put into it into raw power for you to use! And don’t worry about moving—I’ll put it on you right here.”
Red was already in motion before DBK could respond. Not that his father stopped him.
I watched as Lord Ox observed his son’s work, his expression unreadable. I couldn’t tell if he was impressed or just indifferent, but at the very least, he wasn’t stopping Red, which was a good sign.
Four hours later…
And we were still sitting in utter silence.
It. Was. So. Awkward.
The only sounds came from the forge—metal clanking, fire roaring, the hum of welding as Red continued assembling the armor piece by piece.
I had no idea what to do with myself. I wanted to pull out my phone—do something, anything—but technically, I was on the clock. My job was to make sure Red didn’t end up dead. Princess Iron Fan had never been above testing my skills by sending bull clones to attack her own son before, and I doubted she’d changed her ways.
At least Red seemed to be nearly finished.
Good. Because if I had to endure this silence any longer, I was going to lose my mind.
The heat wasn’t helping either. I had learned to tolerate it long ago, but that didn’t mean I liked it any more than I did at the start.
Finally, Red straightened up, jumping down from his father’s chest with an effortless motion. “That should do it!” He clapped his hands together, then pulled off his welder’s hood, flashing his father a sharp-toothed grin.
Demon Bull King stood, rolling his shoulders as if testing the armor’s weight. He frowned slightly.
“It’s… heavy.”
Red visibly tensed, panic creeping into his expression. He quickly started rambling. “That’s because it isn’t powered up yet! The suit absorbs energy to create energy. And what better source than the magic staff that kept you underground?”
DBK’s gaze darkened, his deep voice rumbling with irritation. “You mean the staff that you lost?”
A low blow? Yes. Did it hit its mark? Absolutely.
Before Red could stammer out a response, Lady Iron drifted gracefully into the room from wherever she had been.
“Oh, don’t toy with him, my love,” she said, her tone smooth as silk. “We will get it back. I have bull clones scouring the city. It’s only a matter of time.” She idly brushed a few strands of jet-black hair—styled into bull horns—away from her face.
Red, regaining his confidence, grinned. “And while we wait, the furnace can convert other things into energy.”
To prove his point, he threw his face shield into the armor’s furnace. The metal erupted into flames, causing the Demon Bull King to let out a deep, rumbling roar.
Red’s grin widened. “The rarer the item, the more powerful Father will become. And once we have that staff, he will be unstoppable!”
Once DBK’s chest had stopped burning, he sat back down. Then, without a word, multiple holographic screens appeared before him. He began browsing through shops.
I blinked. Had Lady Iron seriously taught him how to online shop while Red and I were gone? Weird. Not my place to judge. Even though I was judging. Just silently, this time.
Lord Ox let out a deep chuckle. “Now to find something rare and expensive… something to give me the power I deserve.”
I remained where I was, watching from the sidelines. That was all I could do—watch.
Even as they planned to destroy the city, I couldn’t bring myself to care more than a little.
Eventually, DBK settled on whatever absurdly expensive artifact he wanted. He stood from his throne, striding toward the exit, Red right on his heels. “I’ll take you to the store myself, Father!” Red declared eagerly.
I glanced at Lady Iron, silently asking if she wanted me to join them.
She shook her head.
Finally, a break.
Not a real one, though. I could already tell by the way she was eyeing me that she expected a full report on what had happened while she was gone.
I sighed.
Honestly, this might be worse than going with them.
We sat in silence for a while.
Maybe she was making sure the boys were far enough away that they wouldn’t overhear this conversation. That was the most logical reason—at least, it was the one that made the most sense.
Demons and celestials have far better hearing than humans, along with a host of other advantages: an enhanced sense of smell, magic, greater stamina, superior strength—and that’s just off the top of my head. Those abilities are what most demons hold over humans, though some are even more powerful.
The quiet stretched between us, not uncomfortable, but thick with unspoken thoughts.
Princess Iron Fan finally broke the silence with a single word.
“Report.”
She shifted her weight slightly, placing a hand on her hip, then turned to face me fully. Every movement was effortless, graceful—like she had all the time in the world.
I didn’t bother to stand or bow. If the Demon Bull King had still been here, I might have. But that kind of deference wasn’t necessary between us anymore. Not after everything.
Besides, she’d told me before—when it was just the two of us, there was no need for formalities. Even though I still used them from time to time, much to her annoyance.
I exhaled through my nose, stretching out my legs a little before I spoke. “To be honest, nothing much happened that you don’t already know.” My tone was light, casual. “Red Son failed to get the staff back from the delivery boy, nearly crashed into a wall, and put the magic armor on Demon Bull King.”
As I spoke, I casually brushed my hair over my shoulder as if I were bored, but in reality, I was carefully watching her body language. Her shoulders were still tense. That meant we still had no idea where the boy had run off to.
She studied me right back, her gaze sharp and calculating.
“That delivery boy… what was your read on him?” she asked.
She knew I had never met him before, but my eyes saw things that others didn’t. That was one of the main reasons she took me in off the streets back when I decided to take a “break” from the guild. Half-starved, dirty, and homeless, I had little choice but to accept the magical contract she offered me. She had a feeling I could be useful, and I needed food and shelter. I wasn’t above being used to get it.
I tilted my head, thinking back to what I’d observed about the boy.
He gave me the impression of someone kind—caring, maybe even a bit of a people-pleaser. He seemed easily overwhelmed. But it was his kindness that truly stood out to me.
She was asking for my read because they didn’t know where he was or where he might go. Maybe my insight would point her in the right direction.
“I picked up a few things about him,” I started, “but the most important one right now is that he’s a nice boy.”
She gave me a deadpan look. Without saying a word, she was asking what the hell I was getting at.
I clarified.
“He’s the kind of guy who’d help an old lady cross the street. If he found a wallet, he’d return it without a second thought.”
She kept giving me that same unimpressed stare, so I rephrased it again.
“He’s so nice that if he found something lost… he’d return it to its original owner. And he just happened to find the so-called lost staff of the Monkey King.”
I fell silent, letting her process what I was implying.
She brought a hand to her chin and murmured, “I see. So the boy would want to return the staff to that old fool.”
I simply nodded.
“That’s just my opinion, though,” I added with a shrug. “I only saw him for a couple of minutes. I could be wrong.”
She shot me a dry look. “You are hardly ever wrong, Kitten.”
I nodded again. She wasn’t wrong.
Princess Iron Fan turned to leave. “Take an hour to rest, then join my husband and son in town. Make sure Red Son doesn’t get himself into something he can’t handle.”
“Yes, my lady.”
She shot me a sharp look the moment the words left my mouth.
“I told you not to use such formal language with me when it’s just us.”
Her glare could melt metal, but I did my best to act like it had no effect on me.
“Sorry,” I said, glancing away. “I didn’t think you wanted me to be as informal as I usually am now that Bull King is back.”
She sighed and turned toward the door, with me staring after her as she left.
“You are more family than employee,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll let my husband know about our arrangement. He’ll agree with me. You’re allowed to treat us like family, not just as your employers.”
She didn’t even bother looking back as she disappeared down the hall, leaving me with that thought.
I exhaled slowly.
I’d probably still be formal with them—out of habit, if nothing else. But Red Son? No chance. He was too much fun to mess with.
I stood, stretching my arms above my head before stepping out of the Foundry. The cooler air in the hallway helped clear my thoughts, but not entirely. My mind kept circling back to what she’d said.
You are more family than employee.
I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
I had never really thought about what I was to them. A tool? A convenient asset? That was easier to believe. But family? That was something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something that could be taken away.
I walked the halls at a slow, steady pace, passing the flickering lanterns lining the walls. The Foundry always had a strange hum to it, as if the metal and magic woven into its bones were alive, constantly shifting, waiting.
I was walking to my room, too lazy to actually hunt down Red Son and Bull King. Red had given me a small mirror-like tool that tracked him no matter where he went.
By the time I reached my room, I realized my hands had clenched into fists.
I forced them to relax as I stepped inside. The space was simple, functional. I had never asked for much. A bed, a locked chest for my guns and ammo, a small desk, a dresser. No decorations. Nothing unnecessary.
I found the tracker Red had given me and picked it up, running my fingers over the smooth surface. A precaution, he had called it. I had teased him at the time, asking if he was scared I’d lose him. He had scoffed, arms crossed, trying to look unimpressed.
I smiled faintly at the memory.
Then, my gaze flickered toward the window. The town lay beyond. Somewhere out there, the delivery boy was running, unknowingly dragging himself deeper into this mess.
I sighed and clipped the tracker to my belt.
One hour. That’s what she had given me.
I wasn’t sure if that was enough time to shake the strange feeling lingering in my chest, but it would have to do.
For now, I had a job to do, make sure Red didn’t get himself killed.
Following the tracker to the site of destruction was easy.
Downtown was a graveyard.
Smoke strangled the streets, thick as tar, burning my throat with every breath. The air reeked—charred flesh, scorched plastic, and something else, something worse. The sickly-sweet stench of cooked blood clung to everything like rot in a corpse’s mouth. Fires burned unchecked, scattered across the city like festering sores, casting flickering, hellish light over the ruins.
And the bodies.
They littered the streets like broken toys. Some were intact, almost peaceful in death—others, barely recognizable. Crushed beneath tons of rubble, their limbs jutted out at impossible angles, skin split open to reveal shattered bones and shredded muscle. Entire torsos had been flattened into meat paste. Burned-out husks sat slumped in cars or sprawled on sidewalks, their mouths frozen in silent screams, teeth melted to slag inside their blackened skulls.
But the worst were the torn ones.
People ripped open—gutted like livestock. Entrails coiled across the asphalt in glistening loops, steaming in the cold air. Ribcages split wide like cracked eggshells, lungs sagging out, still twitching. Faces peeled off in long, curling strips, eyes bulging from sockets scorched clean. Children were among them—small bodies impaled on rebar, limbs gnawed away, as if something had fed on them in a frenzy.
Screams clawed at the air. Raw. Endless. Some begged for mercy, others howled in wordless agony, pinned beneath debris with spines snapped and organs leaking. A woman rocked a headless infant in her arms, her voice gone hoarse from sobbing, whispering lullabies to blood-soaked fabric. Nearby, a man tore at a mountain of rubble with his bare hands—skin flayed down to tendon, nails gone—screaming for a wife who would never answer.
I stepped over a body split clean down the middle, spine cracked open like a wishbone. The scent of feces, bile, and burst intestines hit me like a punch. Flies were already gathering.
I didn’t flinch.
I’d seen worse.
In the distance, the Demon Bull King loomed—monstrous and godlike—wreathed in fire, his silhouette blotting out what was left of the sky. With every thunderous step, the earth fractured beneath him, sending tremors through the wreckage. He didn’t care. Not about the corpses in his wake, not about the screams, not about the lives reduced to ash. The innocent were just collateral—nameless, faceless casualties in his path of destruction.
I knew he had anger to burn through. Centuries of pain, pride, and betrayal packed into one brutal outburst. But what was the point of all this? What would be left when the fire died down and the dust settled?
When this was over, someone would have to pick up the pieces.
We would.
We’d have to rebuild what he tore apart. House the people he displaced. Feed them. Calm their fear. Try to convince them that the Bull Family wasn’t the monster burning their homes to the ground. But the truth hung heavy in the smoke: our name was being dragged through the dirt with every passing second.
After today, we’d be more hated than ever. Feared. Reviled.
Maybe rightfully so.
But that didn’t matter—not now.
What mattered was that the Demon Bull King wanted to wreck the city.
So that’s what we were doing.
It took me over an hour to finally reach the building Red was on. I sighed, tilting my head back to stare up at it. Counting how tall it was.
Ninety-five stories.
My eyebrow twitched.
Why the fuck did he pick a building this tall? And why the hell did he have an anti-magic barrier around it?
I pulled out my phone and called him.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Six times.
Nothing.
This bastard was really going to make me climb all those stairs? He was going to pay for this.
Shoulders slumping, I let out a long, slow breath.
I already knew I’d be half-dead by the time I got up there.
By the time I finally reached the ninety-fifth floor, I was a sweaty, panting mess. My legs felt like lead, my arms hung uselessly at my sides, and my lungs burned with every breath I took.
I pushed open the rooftop door and collapsed onto the ground. I barely had the energy to glare, but I still forced myself to look up—because this was his fault.
Red Son stood near the edge, the city’s destruction reflected in his narrowed eyes. He turned at the sound of the door opening, his head whipping around to face me.
I struggled to even form words, sucking in uneven breaths between each one. “Why… the… fuck… do… you… have… an… anti-magic… barrier… up?”
He didn’t respond right away, just watched as I tried to catch my breath. At least he had the patience to wait.
Finally, he glanced down at his wrist, pressing a button on his watch. He frowned, raising an eyebrow. “Huh… I do have that up, don’t I?”
If I wasn’t currently dying, I would have shot him on the spot.
He turned back to me, still looking unimpressed. “Why didn’t you just call me and tell me to take it down?”
I clenched my jaw. He had to be joking.
I forced out the words. “Look… at… that… stupid… watch… again.”
He did. His fingers clicked through a few settings, and then—finally—his expression shifted. His eyes widened slightly. At least he had the decency to look guilty.
“…Sorry, Shiro. I didn’t realize you had called me.”
“SIX TIMES.”
He actually flinched a little. Good. He should feel bad.
Red sighed and walked toward me, crouching down before offering his hand. I begrudgingly let him help me sit up, my back pressing against the rooftop ledge.
“Here.” He handed me a bottle of water, seemingly out of nowhere.
I didn’t question it. I just took it and drank.
Red didn’t move away. Instead, he stayed crouched in front of me, watching. I knew that look. He was analyzing me—taking in the way I was still breathing too heavily, the way sweat dripped from my brow, the way my fingers trembled just slightly around the bottle.
“You shouldn’t have climbed up here, Shiro.” His voice was quiet. “We both know you don’t have the strength for this.”
I scoffed, though it came out weaker than I intended. “I didn’t have a choice since I couldn’t teleport, bastard.”
Red gave me a deadpan look. “You could’ve stayed on the ground. I would have noticed you eventually.”
Did he really not think?
Of course I had to be up here. How the fuck was I supposed to protect him if I wasn’t by his side? Unless Lady Iron gave me direct orders otherwise, my place was with him. Or when I was feeling petty and wanted him to learn from his mistakes. But that wasn’t the case right now either.
I didn’t bother to dignify him with a response to his stupid statement.
I glanced at the water bottle.
There was something in it.
Something to help me recover. It would take a few minutes to kick in, so I focused on my breathing. In through my nose. Fill my lungs. Out through my mouth. Repeat.
Red said nothing.
But he was watching me.
He felt bad.
He’d never say it, but I could tell. He knew my weaknesses better than anyone. We had worked together for years—long enough for him to learn exactly what I couldn’t do. What my limits were. And how we could compensate for each other’s flaws.
I wasn’t built for endurance. He knew that better than anyone. I wasn’t like him—born into fire, built for battle. My strengths lay elsewhere. My stamina had become… limited. And he had forced me—whether intentionally or not—to climb a ninety-five-story building with no breaks, no magic, no help.
He didn’t speak, but I saw it. The guilt festered in the tense line of his shoulders, in the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to do something, fix something, but didn’t know how.
So, we waited.
Waited for my body to catch up.
Waited for Lady Iron to return.
The sun sank lower in the sky, painting the world in shades of blood-red and burnt orange.
I finished the water.
Red glanced at me, mouth parting slightly like he was about to say something. I just nodded. I was good. I pushed myself up, feeling my legs stabilize beneath me.
Red pressed a button on his wrist, activating his jetpack, and took off into the air. He weaved through the debris before landing beside his father.
I walked to the edge of the rooftop, looking down just in time to see Princess Iron Fan approach the Bull King.
In her gauntlet the one Red Son had made, she held Monkey King’s staff. It seemed to almost sing with energy.
She took a knee before the Demon Bull King, holding the staff out in both hands. The staff lifted from her grasp, floating toward the hollow space in his armor.
The moment it embedded itself inside, flames erupted from his chest.The Bull King let out a ferocious yell, power pouring from him like an unstoppable force.
“Finally!” Red Son shouted over the roar of energy. “Father has the power he truly deserves!”
Red Son had stayed on the ground with his father.
From high above, I watched them for a moment, before I felt the subtle shift in the air. Lady Iron had spotted me. I didn’t need to look to know it was her.
She rose through the air with her usual poise, wind swirling gently around her, not a single hair out of place. Her landing on the rooftop was so graceful it was nearly silent—like a dancer landing on soft earth.
She turned to me with a knowing smile that was just shy of a smirk.
“As always, Kitten, your sight led us true.”
I didn’t reply right away, just turned my head slightly to glance at her. She didn’t need to say anything more—I already knew what she meant. She was acknowledging our earlier talk. That my instincts about the Delivery Boy had been right. He was trying to return the staff to the Monkey King.
I looked back out at the carnage Lord Ox was causing.
Buildings falling. Fires rising. Cracks splitting the roads like veins.
A fleeting thought drifted through my mind—I wish I had been wrong.
But I let it go just as quickly as it came.
It wasn’t my fault what people chose to do with what I told them. That wasn’t on me. I just saw what others didn’t. Spoke the truth, even when it was uncomfortable.
I gave Lady Iron a small nod, not taking my eyes off the chaos below.
“He is aware,” I asked slowly, “that if he keeps killing and destroying the city, Heaven is going to get involved, right?”
Right on cue, Lord Ox fired another blast of that sickly purple-green energy from his chest. The beam tore through half a district, reducing entire blocks to rubble in a blinding flash.
Buildings crumbled like dried leaves.
Lady Iron let out a small laugh—amused, maybe even delighted—and walked over to me. Her heels made the faintest click on the rooftop as she crossed the distance between us.
Then, her hand was on my face, perfectly manicured fingers tilting my head until I was looking directly at her.
There was a sharpness in her smile, like a blade hidden beneath silk.
She patted my cheek gently. “That’s why you’re here, Kitten. To keep watch on the Heavens. And if any of those pompous bastards come down—shoot them.”
She dropped her hand after delivering the command like it was a compliment and moved to sit on the ledge, the picture of elegance, her gaze returning to the battlefield.
I stood there for a second longer, her words settling in my chest. Then, with a quiet sigh, I reached up and unclipped the small coffin from the silver chain around my neck. The weight of it felt heavier than usual today.
I wrapped my fingers around the strap and forced my magic into it.
A soft grey light pulsed from within the metal.
Slowly, it began to grow—expanding, reshaping itself in my hands until it was nearly as tall as I was. The size made it difficult to carry, too heavy for comfort, but I could still manage.
Just barely.
I knelt and set it down carefully on the rooftop, then undid the latches with practiced fingers.
The lid opened with a low creak, revealing the neatly organized interior.
Shelves. Compartments. Every piece of every weapon I could ever need.
Today, I needed precision.
I began assembling my sniper rifle. My hands moved with practiced efficiency—grabbing parts, fitting them together, reinforcing them with my magic as needed. I made sure to choose components that could handle the energy I fed into them—ones that wouldn’t combust after a single shot.
The weapon came together in less than three minutes.
Once it was complete, I rested it against the ledge next to Lady Iron and adjusted the scope, my gaze drifting across the horizon.
Scanning.
Waiting.
She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and spoke softly, “I always forget how fast you can put those things together.”
I gave her a half-smirk. “It’s one of the reasons you keep me around?”
Her eyes met mine. Amusement danced in her expression.
“Among other things,” she said with a smug smile.
We sat together in silence after that, watching from our perch as the city was torn apart piece by piece. The sun dipped lower, and the sky took on the deep golden, pink, and purplish hues of dusk. Fires still burned. The streets were littered with debris.
We must have been watching for over an hour. Maybe longer.
I kept expecting Bull King to run out of energy. Or at the very least… get bored.
But no.
He kept going.
Building after building.
Like it brought him peace.
Then something caught my eye—something fast.
A jet.
It tore through the sky, heading straight for us at a high speed.
I shifted slightly and took aim through the scope, finger hovering just over the trigger.
“I can take it down now—” I started.
But Lady Iron calmly extended her hand and placed it directly in front of the scope.
“Let’s see how the boys handle these nuisances,” she said.
I gave her a skeptical look. I didn’t necessarily disagree, but… wouldn’t it be easier to take them out before they became a real problem?
Maybe she wanted to give them a little playtime.
Let Red Son and Bull King entertain themselves.
So I slowly pulled back from the scope, finger drifting away from the trigger.
I watched instead.
Watched as the jet closed in.
Watched as it crashed into Red Son.
Watched as the Delivery Boy climbed out of the wreckage, somehow still standing.
I couldn’t hear the exchange between them, but I wasn’t really listening either. My eyes darted between Red Son, trapped beneath the jet, and Lady Iron.
Waiting for any sign that she wanted me to act.
But she stayed silent. Still. Watching with that same calculating expression.
I turned back to Red. From here, it looked like he was just passed out. Nothing life-threatening, as far as I could tell.
The noodle boy—somehow—got his hands on a motorcycle.
He started weaving through the warzone, heading directly for Bull King.
Dodging flames. Rubble. Collapsed roads.
The hell was he doing?
I shifted my gaze back to the sky. Still no sign of Heaven. Still no movement from above.
They had to know.
They had to.
Unless they’d finally given up on us.
I wouldn’t blame them, but it still pissed me off.
When I glanced back down, I nearly missed it—just in time to see the noodle boy launch himself headfirst into the glowing furnace in Bull King’s chest.
I blinked.
Well.
That was short-lived.
He just… dove in.
What the hell did he think was going to happen?
From where I stood, it looked like he’d just committed suicide.
I couldn’t hear anything happening on the ground, but Lady Iron’s mouth had tightened into a firm line.
Something wasn’t right.
I looked back toward Bull King.
He was hunched over now. His entire body pulsing with energy, his breath ragged.
Something dropped from his chest—a stone-like object. It rolled a few feet before coming to a stop.
He fell to one knee, staring at it.
There was something in his eyes I hadn’t expected—anger, yes… but also awe.
The stone began to glow.
It twisted. Shifted. Changed shape before our eyes.
It was morphing.
Transforming.
Until it became…
A boy.
Floating midair, surrounded by radiant golden magic.
The boy laughed—a wild, joyous kind of laughter—and pulled the staff from behind his ear.
Then, with sudden force, he rushed forward and punched Bull King in the face, sending him flying.
Bull King didn’t hesitate. He responded with a flurry of energy blasts, purple-green lasers shooting from his chest in rapid succession.
The boy dodged every single one.
Flawlessly.
Like it was easy.
Like he’d done this a hundred times before. How the fuck…? How did this kid learn to fight like that?
It took me years—years of bleeding and training and pain—to learn how to control my magic. To fight while channeling it. To survive.
And he’d had his for what? A day? A few hours? Goddamn prodigies. They pissed me off more than anything.
But I needed to focus.
The boy was now literally throwing buildings at Bull King. Actual buildings. How strong was he? What even was he? He could lift the Monkey King’s staff. That alone said a lot.
I turned back to the sky, scanning for any celestial movement. And that’s when I saw it.
A bird.
It looked almost normal—brownish-ginger feathers, splashes of red and blue. Colorful, sure. Strange, but not unheard of.
Then I saw its tail.
Tails.
One was a regular tail, the kind birds usually had.
The other… a fluffy, animal-like tail.
Like mine, in a way but maybe fluffier? It was hard to tell with the wings getting in the way. But definitely some kind of mammal that had a tail.
What the hell kind of bird has two tails?
Before I could process that, a sharp burst of wind and energy hit us, scattering dust across the rooftop.
When it cleared, I looked down and saw Bull King in the center of a crater.
And standing over him?
A giant mech. A Monkey Mech—the kind from that one video game. “Damn,” I muttered. “I was looking at the bird too long.”
Lady Iron stood beside me, letting out a quiet sigh. “I’m going to get them,” she said simply. “Meet us back at the mansion.”
I looked down at the group gathering below, Red Son rolling into the crater beside his father.
“Do you want me to… finish them?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“No. We will not use such low tactics to finish them off. Not yet at least.”
And with that, she vanished in a whirlwind, reappearing in front of the group. She said something—then disappeared the same way.
I watched them a while longer as the echoes of celebration drifted upward, their voices rising and falling in uneven bursts of laughter. It was the sound of relief more than victory—tired and unsteady but real. The kid stood in the center, eyes wide and body bruised, half held up by his friends as they gathered close around him. They’d survived something bigger than they understood. Maybe they thought it was over. Maybe they believed they’d actually won. That was the funny thing about battles like this—the fight never really ends when the last blow is thrown.
My attention had already started to drift, my focus sliding back toward that strange bird again. It had landed on the mech’s shoulder and was sitting on it like it belonged there, its feathers catching the last of the sun’s light. Deep reds and sharp blues shimmered with each breath it took, as though the creature itself was carved from dusk. Its mammal tail flicked once, slow and deliberate, before going still again. I didn’t trust it. Something about it had rubbed at me the whole time, like a splinter just beneath the skin—unseen but always felt.
Then, with no sound and no warning, the bird shifted cast in a golden light.
It didn’t explode with power. It didn’t twist the air or pull energy from the world around it. It simply changed. Wings folded into sleeves. Feathers gave way to fabric. And in its place stood a figure I recognized instantly.
Sun Wukong.
No illusion. No trick of the light.
The Monkey King stood on the shoulder of the mech like he had always been there. His weight rested easily on one leg, his robes teasing at the edges of the breeze. He didn’t move to speak, didn’t announce himself, and didn’t seem interested in being noticed. He just stood there, watching the boy and his team below with a gaze that was almost—distant. Proud, maybe. Or satisfied in the quiet way that only someone who had seen a plan come together could be.
I adjusted my grip on the rifle, my hand brushing the trigger guard more out of habit than intent. My breath was calm, but my chest was tighter now. The realization that he’d been here the whole time shifted the whole narrative.
Demon Bull King had never had a real chance. Wukong had been watching, waiting, ready to act if anything went off-script. The fact that the boy had been the one to face him… maybe that was intentional. Or maybe it was mercy. Making Bull King face the boy instead of having to seal him away again himself. It was probably one of the only reasons that Lady Iron was able to take the boys away.
Wukong moved slightly, the turn of a shoulder, a shift of weight.
Then he froze.
His head turned slowly, methodically, like someone becoming aware of an itch they hadn’t realized was there.
And then his eyes locked with mine.
His gaze hit me like a blade drawn in silence. No energy behind it. No power flared. Just sharp, focused awareness. There was surprise in his expression—brief but unmistakable. He hadn’t seen me. Not until now. Not until my focus settled on him fully, like a hand pressed to the side of his neck. His posture didn’t shift much, but I saw it in the subtle realignments. The calculations beginning.
We watched each other across the destroyed city. The world seemed to narrow in around us, everything else fading into the slow tension of that held gaze. He was reading me now, trying to understand how long I’d been here. Whether I was dangerous.
I didn’t move. But I let him see that I wasn’t hiding, wasn’t going to shrink away from him.
I did do my best to hide my irritation at the situation in front of me though.
The whole fight had rubbed me the wrong way. Demon Bull King should’ve crushed that kid—he had the strength, the experience, the sheer presence plus on top of that the new fancy armor Red had made him. And yet, somehow, the noodle boy pulled through. Not because he outmatched him. Not really. It felt more like luck than anything else—timing, chance, or maybe just Wukong pulling strings from a distance like some smug puppeteer.
Watching them celebrate like they’d truly earned it, like it hadn’t almost gone completely sideways, only made it worse. And Wukong standing there above it all, proud and quiet like this had been part of the plan from the beginning, made my jaw clench. The last thing I wanted was to head back to the Bull Family and sit through another round of whispered vengeance and half-baked schemes against the Monkey King or taking over the world.
The thought of it soured my mood completely. I needed to let off steam. And I knew better than to actually shoot him. But I could still poke the beast. I was told not to kill them, not that I couldn’t have a little fun.
I raised my rifle—not at him, but just to the side. Right where the mech’s shoulder curved into smooth plating. My finger settled on the trigger.
Six shots. Under six seconds. Fast and deliberate.
When the echo of the last shot faded, six clean bullet holes formed a jagged little smiley face just inches from where Wukong’s head had been.
I lowered the rifle slowly, letting my eyes stay on him.
He blinked once, then turned to look at the mark.
For a second, he looked confused. Like he wasn’t sure what had just happened. Then the realization hit, and I saw his face tighten—not with rage, but something quieter and colder. He turned back to me with a furrowed brow, and that was when I saw it.
He got it.
He realized I hadn’t just taken six random shots.
I could’ve taken them all out, if I’d really wanted to. Wukong wouldn’t have stayed down—he’s immortal, after all—but I could’ve put him on the ground long enough to matter. One solid hit, center mass, spine, head—doesn’t take much to stall even a legend. The other five? They wouldn’t have been so lucky. Six shots, six bodies. Clean. Precise. He saw that. He recognized the spacing, the control, the rhythm. That wasn’t a warning shot—it was a choice. I could’ve ended the whole game right there.
But I didn’t.
I just wanted to mess with him.
His stance shifted, barely perceptible—but enough to signal that he was considering whether to close the distance. I saw the tension build in his shoulders, the faint glint of something sharper behind his eyes. A slow, deliberate readjustment. Not a threat. Not yet. But a decision was starting to form.
I stayed locked in his gaze, even as I knelt and began to stow the rifle. I didn’t hurry, but I didn’t drag my feet either. I could feel the shift in the air. He wasn’t just irritated anymore—he was thinking about what it would mean to walk across the rooftop and come find me. I didn’t know if he’d do it, but I knew enough not to hang around and find out.
Still, I wouldn’t look away.
Not first.
He hadn’t moved yet. But he was close. I could feel the pressure of it, like gravity tilting toward a fall.
I snapped the coffin case shut and let my fingers curl around the spell humming just beneath my skin. One last look. One last breath. He was still watching.
And so was I.
The moment broke only when the petals flared around me, soft and spinning in the wind, carrying me out in a flash of color.
I didn’t even shrink the case.
Our eyes met one last time through the swirl of pink.
His expression didn’t shift.
But it didn’t have to.
He was definitely coming my way.
And he did not like my joke.
My vision was filled with the pink flower petals as I teleported back to the Bull Family’s mansion.
I landed outside in the courtyard, boots crunching softly against the stone path. The air here was still, calm—completely disconnected from the battlefield I had just left behind.
I stood there for a few moments, letting the weight of everything sink in. The magic still buzzed under my skin, faint and restless. My muscles ached. My arms were sore from holding the rifle for hours. I could still feel the phantom recoil in my shoulder. My head was starting to pound, too—probably the aftermath of adrenaline and overextending myself again.
But at least I wasn’t dead.
Yet.
I knew better than to teleport directly into the mansion. The last time I did that, the petals made it all the way into Lady Iron’s private meditation room. I got yelled at by three different people and had to sweep the place for six hours with one of the clones side-eyeing me the whole time.
Not worth it.
I moved the coffin in front of me, still pulsing faintly with residual energy. My hand slid over its smooth, enchanted surface as I pushed my magic into it again. The glow returned—soft, grey, familiar—and slowly, it began to shrink back down to its original size. Once it was small enough, I clipped it back onto the chain around my neck. It was warm against my chest.
It always was.
With a tired sigh, I adjusted my coat and started the walk inside.
The mansion was its usual organized chaos. Bull clones scrambled through the halls, arms full of supplies and paperwork, calling out orders to each other as they rushed by. Some of them paused to glance at me, then looked away quickly. Smart.
I walked slowly, dragging my feet a little more than usual, heading toward the infirmary.
I was about seventy-five percent sure the boys had ended up there.
Thankfully, I was right.
The door was slightly ajar, warm light spilling through the crack. Inside, the room buzzed with quiet conversation and the soft beeping of monitors. A few clones moved around, tending to injuries, setting up IV drips, adjusting machines.
Red was already talking. Loudly. Energetically. Like he hadn’t just had a jet crash into him a few hours ago.
He was mid-rant, animated hands flying through the air as he launched into his next big idea for world domination—something about installing solar-powered flamethrowers on the moon or building a floating volcano fortress over the ocean. He was probably high off the pain meds right now.
I sighed quietly and rubbed my temples. My hands were already full with him.
Now they were going to overflow.
Bull King was sitting upright, surprisingly. Quiet. Calm. He was watching Red with a neutral expression, his large form half-shadowed by the soft lighting of the room. His eyes were hooded but not unfocused. He was listening.
And maybe—just maybe—he was a little proud.
Or maybe I was reading into things. It was hard to tell with Lord Ox.
He blinked slowly and leaned his head back against the wall, finally letting his eyes slide closed. Exhaustion, thick and heavy, weighed down his body. Rampaging through a city for hours tends to do that.
Across from him, Princess Iron Fan sat on the edge of the bed, holding his hand in both of hers. Her thumb brushed softly over his knuckles. Her gaze was gentle. Concerned.
There was love in that look.
No matter how destructive they could be… at least they were cute.
I stepped farther into the room and walked up to Red. He didn’t seem to notice me at first—still rambling, still talking a mile a minute about some orbital laser cannon idea he’d probably sketch out in crayon later.
So I raised my hand and smacked it right over his mouth.
He stopped mid-sentence, eyes going wide.
Then narrowed into a glare.
His hair flared upward in a burst of flame, licking dangerously close to my face.
I gave him a flat look, unimpressed. “How about you save your energy and rest, dude?”
The flames sputtered down at my words, shrinking into little flickers as he rolled his eyes.
But then—without warning—my palm was suddenly wet.
I froze.
“Ew!” I yanked my hand back like it had been dipped in acid. “Did you lick my hand like a dog?!”
Red grinned at me, completely unrepentant. “Don’t cover my mouth, peasant!”
And then—he passed out.
Just like that.
Eyes closed. Head lolled back. Gone.
I stared at him, completely deadpan, holding my hand away from my body like it was contaminated.
I glanced around the room. One of the clones gave me a sympathetic shrug. I looked back at Red’s peacefully unconscious face, still grinning in his sleep like he was the smartest idiot in the world.
I sighed again, louder this time.
“Great. Now I have to wash my hand.”
I turned on my heel and walked out of the room, muttering curses under my breath and already planning my route to the nearest sink.
Summary: Campbell calls Y/N drunk so she can pick him up from his station’s night out at the bar.
Warnings: Drunk Campbell; Drunk Campbell is clingy, Reader is mentioned to be much shorter than Campbell who is roughly six feet tall (I am personally five foot two); Reader is implied to not be Scottish but it can be interpreted by being from a different part of Scotland (I am personally American)
Note: I'm not crazy about the Beyonce song, it doesn't really fit, but if you had any other suggestions of songs about intoxication and love...
(Post-Asylum; May be connected to “Sweet Jane” or read alone)
"They were utterly intoxicated by each other."
"Even drunk, I am caught off guard by the way I remain intoxicated by you."
"Be drunk with love, for love is all that exists."
1994 *Six months after the events of “Takin’ Over the Asylum”
It was two in the morning when the phone rang about six months after Campbell got the Scotland Radio job.
“Ahhhg.” She groaned, blindly and lazily feeling around for her phone, knocking some things over, and answered her phone, “Hello.”
“Heeeeeey! Baby!” Came Campbell’s voice, clearly drunk. “Oh, I love you so much. Also, I’m super drunk with Eddie and them from work. Did I tell you I helped Eddie get a job at the station!?”
“Yes, Cam. I did. I was there when you did it." Y/n said.
“Twice a week.” He laughed, “But I’m just so sloshed! I can’t drive and neither can Eddie. Francine’s picking him up. Can you pick me up!? Pleeeeeeeeaaaaaase…” He kept that high pitched tone up until she said yes which she was going to anyways.
“Okay, yes. I will, just stop whining in that tone.” She said, “Let me get ready to leave first.”
“Love you!” Campbell sang and then he started singing Goin’ Out of My Head before Y/N hung up.
She groaned and rolled out of the bed.
--
When she arrived at the station, everyone else was gone except Campbell who was singing, drunkenly, I Want Your Cray-Cray at a high-pitched singing voice dressed in one of his hoodies just as his girlfriend was.
“I want your cray-cray!”
"Hey, radio star." Y/N said, walking up to her intoxicated boyfriend.
"Baby! My love! My world! My universe!" He laughed, getting up and throwing his arms around her neck, with him being so much taller than her, he nearly knocked her over but she managed to get a firm footing before that happened.
"Why are you sitting out here? It's way too cold."
"It's too hot in there." He said and tried to take another swig of alcohol.
"No. No, Campbell." She said, wrestling the bottle from his boyfriend who was whining now like a baby. "Come on, let's get you home."
"You first. I'm loving the view." He flirted, looking her up and down shamelessly, as he brought his hands to her waist, running his fingertips gently on her skin, below the hoodie. "You know how much I love seeing you in my clothes, especially my hoodies."
"Campbell, you're drunk." She sighed.
"And I did exactly what you told me to. I called you."
"Yes, I did. And you did so well." She cooed, her hand cupping his cheek and he nuzzled into it, proud of himself. "now come on. Let's go home."
She pulled him towards her car and helped him into the passenger's seat before moving to the driver's seat.
Campbell dozed off on Y/N's shoulder during the ride before she woke him up.
"No..." He whined so she turned the car inside light on and he groaned, "Ahhhhhg."
"Come on, party animal. Let's get you ready for bed." She said.
Campbell tried to be on his best behavior while drunk but he felt anyone else would've just dropped him on the couch... but not Y/N, not his Y/N.
She sat him on the edge of the tub in the bathroom.
"How many drinks did you have?" She asked
"I don't know." He mumbled without opening his mouth.
She brought a breathalyzer to him and held the nozzle to his mouth, "Open." He opened his mouth. "Breathe." He breathed. The breathalyzer beeped and read... ".16... so you had like seven drinks?"
"Sounds 'bout right." He slurred, nodding.
"Campbell, that's too high." She scolded and he pouted like a little puppy. She placed her hand on his forehead, he leaned his head back, looking at her with an alcohol-glazed lovey look, and then she felt his cheek and once again he nuzzled into her hand. "You don't seem cold or clammy, your skin doesn't seem to be any paler than usual. You're breathing is quick. So, you don't have alcohol poisoning..." She took him by the hands and pulled him to his feet, "let's brush your teeth, your breath stinks."
"I think a kiss from you is enough. Because you're so sweet." He flirted, leaning in for a kiss.
She leaned away from the kiss, making him pout and give her his puppy-dog eyes. "And you're so cheesy." She brushed his teeth for him and then told him to stay still in the middle of the bathroom while she got him some pajamas, slightly worried he might topple over and hit his head on the sink or bathtub. She got him a Radio Scotland t-shirt as he usually slept in a tee and his boxers. She brought the t-shirt as he started to shed his hoodie and unbuckle his belt.
She blushed, "Uh, Camps, here." She muttered, handing him the t-shirt, avoiding looking at him but he didn't take it and she looked at him as he had planned and he pulled his shirt over his head and smirked, raising his eyebrows in a teasing manner.
"Campbell!" She said, sternly.
"Alright. I was just jokin'. I'll be out in a minute." He said with a drunken giggle in his Scottish accent and she left.
A minute later, he called, "Help."
She opened the bathroom door to find him just barely keeping himself from tripping due to his jeans at the floor now, pooled at his feet and him still being very drunk, and trying to put his head through a sleeve. "I'm stuck." She could hear the pout in his voice.
Y/N smiled, gently and she walked over to him, "stay still." She advised him.
"Never." He mumbled with a hint of a childish whine.
She eased him to stillness before fixing the t-shirt so his head went through the head hole and helped him navigate his arms through the sleeves.
"Aye, my hero." He smirked and she leaned up, gently kissing him and he never refused a kiss from her.
She was a goddess from Scottish or Celtic mythology in his eyes. She was the Baobhan Sith, the female vampire who seduced men with her beauty and he would gladly give her his blood if she asked. She was Mórrigan, the Irish-Celtic warrior-queen goddess. She was Cliodna, the Scottish-Celtic goddess of beauty, love, and passion. He worshipped her with his every being.
"Okay, superstar, time for bed." She giggled.
"Will you stay?" He asked, forgetting whose house this was.
"Well, this is my house. So..."
"I like to wake up, looking at you." He mused before flopping face-first on the bed.
Y/n rolled her eyes and pushed him on his side of the bed.
Y/N turned off the lights and climbed into bed. A few minutes went by before Campbell said, loudly, right in her ear, "WAIT!?" He startled her with the volume of his voice, making her jump and pull away from him, and he lowered it, "Sorry." She reached next to her and turned on the sidetable lamp. "What were you doing when I called you?"
"Sleeping..." She said, hesitantly.
His eyes turned back into puppy-dog eyes of sadness.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, love." He apologized, he cupped the back of Y/N's head. "I must've been pretty annoying all night."
"No, you weren't." She reassured him, puncturing each sentence with a kiss. A sure-fire way to keep his drunk self entertained--also a sure-fire way to keep his sober self enterained. "I'd get up in the middle of the night to come and get you as much as you need. I love you."
He smiled and kissed her before bringing her in so she could rest her head on his arm and he stretched the turn off the light and the two fell asleep to a morning of him whining about his hangover.
Sunnydrop x reader | where the reader has issues with physical affection due to trauma and sunny does everything they can to make them feel more comfortable without touching them < 3
This was super cute! Thank you for the request!
The one place I'd never go to was to a mall. And my parents just had to bring me to one, all because of my younger brother. It wasn't just any normal mall, either. It was the Pizzaplex.
Freddy Fazbear's Pizzaria has been a restaurant for many, many years. Changing very few years to something better. And they really outdid themselves with this one. A giant mall just for the four main animatronics.
At least, that's what my parents told me.
From a past incident, I've had trauma. And because of that incident, I have troubles with physical touch. Not even my family touches me because of it.
And for some reason, they had me go with them to the Pizzaplex.
"Take him down to the Daycare center, won't you? Watch him for a bit." My parents ask me. I look down at my younger brother as he jumps around, pleading me to take him.
I reluctantly agree. Maybe there would be a room I could sit in, or a table to sit at. Sadly, there were none of those options when we got there. I give the staff the Daycare pass, and they point to a small opening.
"There's no way I'm going in that." I say immediately.
Allowing my younger brother to hold my hand so he wouldn't get lost, he yanks my arm. "Please? Please come!"
With those eyes, I really couldn't say no. He goes first down the slide into the pit, and I follow close behind.
We fall into a ball pit with kids all over the place. I was cautious, hoping that no kids would come jumping on me as I walked through the ball pit to get out. Once I did escape the ball pit, I notice a secluded area by the wall. So, I curl myself behind a cushion wall so no kids could find me.
But the sudden pop up from an animatronic didn't help my calm mind. I yelped when a yellow clown-like animatronic jumps out in front of me.
"Hi there!" He says excitedly. "Why so sad?! Come play!" He grabs my arm and I practically scream at the contact. The robot let's go just as fast, taking a step back. I take a deep breath, looking around to make sure no one called 911 or something by the scream. But it looked like no one noticed from all of the kids screaming.
"I-I'm sorry... I just... don't like people touching me." I tell him.
He stopped jumping around, taking one step forward. "I had no ill intention towards you, I promise!" He says, crossing his heart in a goofy way.
A small giggle escapes me, and he seemed to be overjoyed to my reaction. "What's your name?" He asks excitedly.
"(Y/N)..." I tell him. "Um... I'm sorry, but what's yours?"
He pretended to be hurt by my comment. "Why, I'm Sunnydrop! Call me Sunny!"
"Hi." I say awkwardly.
"Come! I'll show you something you'll love!" He goes to grab me but stops himself. "May I touch you?" Surprisingly, his voice wasn't so loud, like usual. I hesitate, but nod. He gently grabs my hands, pulling me to a spot in the room. There was a curtain covering part of the wall, and he pulls it back. A beautiful painting of him and another character, which looked to be of the moon.
Summary: Bitch I’m not fucking okay and I need Bucky cuddles. Also, fuck you Bucky will be saying babydoll as many times as I can put in this, it’s not offensive if Buck says it (I don’t know if he’s ever actually said it but it just...shut up). This is an aggressive summary but it's just a sweet fic about you and Bucky taking care of each other.
You walk through the door of your apartment and slam the door. Bucky peers his head over the kitchen counter with his wide, concerned eyes. You fall face-first on the couch and scream into the cushion.
“FUUUUCK EVEEERRRYTHING!!!!!” You scream as politely as you can into the couch.
“Babydoll?” He walks over and puts his hand on your back. “Bad day?”
“I want death, Buck.” You turn your head to look at him. His steel-blue eyes and comfortable voice, instantly make you feel at home.
“Well, we can’t be having that!” He says in that excited semi high pitched voice. “What can I do to make you feel better?” his voice dropped to his regular register. You rolled over onto your back.
“I love you.” You sigh cupping his face in one of your hands. “I missed you.”
“You’ve been gone for like an hour? What happened?” He says wrapping his arm around your now exposed stomach.
“Flashback.” You say grabbing a throw pillow and covering your face.
“Oh, my baby.” He climbs on top of you, putting his full weight on you. Throwing the pillow across the room. He knows that pressure helps calm you. “Is it the same one from a few days ago?” He says into the crook of your neck. You sigh and rub your face against his head and hair.
“Yeah.” You say quietly and wrap your arms around his back. He hums and kisses your neck.
“Babydoll, I’ve got you right now. When is your next therapy appointment?” He asks.
“Tuesday.” You whisper.
“Good, good. For today, I’m right here and we are going to have a chill day.” He lifts his head and looks you in the eye. You lift your head and kiss him quickly. He does that side smile, you love so much, and leans down to kiss you properly. “I love you so much my babydoll.” You feel safe, protected, and loved. His full weight just resetting your brain.
“I love you more Bucky.” You say sweetly and kiss his forehead. He reacts quickly and puts his hands at either side of your head and does a plank above you, making your eyes go wide at the sudden movement.
“Well, that’s just not fucking true!” He makes a serious face and breaks when you start laughing. He collapses on you again crushing the air out of you, making him laugh harder. You just sit here for a moment and laugh and breathe together. “Alright, let’s go! I’m making dinner for us.” He bends back on his knees, straddling you, and grabs your hand. “Up doll!” You groan and push yourself further into the couch. He smiles then raises an eyebrow, feigning anger. He stands up and grabs your forearm and pulls you off the couch with one pull. You go boneless leaning on him and he wraps his arms around you. “I know you want cuddles, but I also know you haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“How could you possibly know that?” You stand fully and pull him further into a hug. He pulls you away, grabbing your shoulders, and just stares at you. You stare back trying to match his intensity but failing. You break and laugh “Alright, fuck you then.” He smiles and gently kisses you again. When you separate you ask. “What’s for dinner, my love?”
“I was thinking something simple, grilled chicken breast and some grilled vegetables. How does that sound?” He says into your hair and kisses the top of your head.
“Yes please!” You rub your hand up and down his back, you don’t want to move from this spot. You both sit and breathe again just enjoying being wrapped up in each other.
“You know I can’t cook dinner, just standing here.” He says again into your hair.
“But why?” You whine and hug him tighter. He laughs and pushes you towards you the kitchen. When you don't move, he sighs and bends to put his hand under your thighs, picking you up as you wrap your legs around his waist. You bury your face in his neck, the scent of him bringing your heart rate down to a calm pace. He carries you to the kitchen and places you gently on the counter top.
“Do you want a drink, before I start dinner?” Bucky asks kissing your forehead.
“Oh yes please!” You say excited and fully let go of him. He goes over to the small bar you have in the kitchen and mixes your favorite drink. He also pours himself his favorite drink. You drink and watch him while he preps the vegetables and seasons the chicken. He looks calm and in his element. You love watching him cook, you love watching him do anything really.
You’re so glad you found each other, you understand and help each other with your traumas and mental health. You build each other up in your careers and support each other through everything, good days and bad days you stand by each other always. When you finish your drink, you get off the counter and set the table. Bucky comes up behind you and puts dinner down in the center of the table. “It looks and smells amazing darling.” You say and turn around to kiss him, he puts his hand on your jaw and rubs your cheek.
“Thank you, I love you.” He kisses you again then breaks away quickly. “Alright, time for food.” He pulls out your chair and says. “M’lady.”
“You’re such a dork. I love you too.” You say as you sit down and he kisses the top of your head. You eat dinner and talk about how your days went. When you had finished eating, you both cleaned up dinner together.
“Cuddles and a movie?” He says excitedly with wide eyes. You nod and run over to the couch. He follows and lays on his stomach on top of you. He puts his head on your chest just below your chin and you run your fingers through his hair. You had done this so many times you knew what he liked and he knew what you liked. So you both just laid there cuddled up together and watched his favorite movie.
“I know I say it a lot but I love you so much, I’m so glad you’re here.” You whisper, scratching his scalp.
“Babydoll,” he says looking up at you. “I couldn’t imagine what I would do without you. I love you too and don’t worry I love hearing it. I, am always here!” He says. You wrap your arms around him tighter and he just hums while you both watch the movie. You cuddle all night and he falls asleep. You run your fingers through his hair and try to match his breathing. You kiss his head, the feeling of him on top of you is so calming.
“I love you my Bucky.” You whisper and try to fall asleep.
Project Hail Mary x Iron Lung x reader (platonic!)
Reader is twenty, Simon is late thirties, Grace is early forties, Rocky is an old ass rock!
MDNI
Masterlist Here!
TW: panic attacks, angst, light violence, brief mentions of past abuse, broken bones.
Please keep in mind that I am not a mental health professional and all representations of mental health issues described in this fic should not be taken as fact. Do not take anything I write as medically accurate and please always seek help from professionals. Thank you, have a nice day.
—
"I don't care! Leave me alone!!" You snarled through your teeth, hands clenched in your shirt as you struggled to breathe through your rage. It was like a buzzing behind your eyes that thrummed against your skull. You couldn't even look at Grace or Simon, a lurching feeling of anger running through you like the blood rushing in your ears.
Grace's brow was furrowed in worry, keeping his distance as you started to shake, angry tears welling up in your eyes, "We aren't going to hurt you-“
"I know that!! I know that because I won't let you!!" This was entirely out of the blue, a random defense mechanism for a memory you couldn't even remember now. Simon and Rocky stood off to the side, watching without knowing what to do.
You were obviously out of it, Grace was always the best option to calm you down, but it wasn't working this time. The buzzing under your skin started to itch, making you claw your nails into the sensitive flesh of your arms. Grace's eyes anxiously followed the motion, wanting nothing more than to reach out and hold you, "You need to breathe. Focus on me. Focus on where you are." His voice grew more determined, taking a small step forward, then another when you didn't flinch away, "you aren't on Asora or your old ship. You're with Simon, Rocky, and I on the Hail Mary. No one is going to hurt you or keep things from-" The man flinched when you suddenly doubled over, crouching down before collapsing to the floor in a heap. You curled up in a ball, the overwhelming feeling of dread and pain sending your mind and body into overdrive.
You saw hands and felt yourself being maneuvered onto your back, but you couldn't see who it was. Your vision was blurring around the edges and darkness was creeping in. Were you screeching and thrashing? Cursing and threatening? You felt your nails digging into someone's arm, foot colliding with a stomach, fist hitting a solid object where an audible snap! Rang out.
Adrenaline only kept you going for so long, slowly losing steam until you went limp, staring up at the Hail Mary's ceiling. Drool and tears ran down your face, panting greedily for air, "dad.." you mumbled, but you weren't talking about Grace or Simon, "dad- dad where are you?..." voice only a whispered mumble, your head tilted to the side, eyes squeezing shut, "please don't let them..please don't let them take me away." you sniffled, starting to truly fall unconscious.
"Dad.."
—
Grace watched Simon place you under Armando, observing your barely conscious form as the man gently laid you down and ran his hand over your face. He was careful to swipe away drool and tears, staying close by as Armando started patching you up. You'd been so scared, so untrusting, angry and panicked.
Grace winced a little, rubbing where you'd scratched him, angry red lines forming on his forearm. Simon had been kicked, which was objectively worse, but the man was a wall of muscle who seemed un-phased.
"What wrong with Name? Question." Rocky stood beside Grace in his ball, the two listening to Simon whisper sweet things to you to try and calm your quiet whines of fear and pain, "Probably a panic response. There doesn't always have to be a reason, they can just..happen." Rocky tapped the ground, "yes yes yes, like human nightmares."
"It's kind of similar. Your brain is bringing stuff up you'd rather not think about, it can convince you that you're still in that situation."
"Why [Name] talk about Grace and Simon?" Grace blinked, confusion evident on his face,
"what?"
"Said things about dad letting bad humans take [Name] away." Oh. Oh! Grace shook his head, waving his hands a little, "they weren't talking about us. We're not their biological dads, they had one on Asora before Simon and I."
"Don't like [Name] biological dad. Bad bad bad." Rocky trilled angrily and Grace put a comforting hand against the top of his xenonite ball, "I don't either Rock."
Simon shushed you, running his hand over your hair, "almost done. You'll be good as new, I promise." He pressed a firm kiss to your forehead, relieved when the tension left your brow, "I know it's scary, but we're right here. We won't let anything hurt you."
"Simon? Are you alright?"
"Hm?" The man turned to look at his boyfriend, all blonde hair and nervous eyes, "I'm alright, they didn't kick me too hard. How's your arm?"
"They didn't break skin, it's just irritated." Simon huffed through his noise, "I don't know how..how to help them. What if next time we aren't there? What if they hurt themselves worse than we can fix? What're we supposed to do?" Grace's chest tightened, coming up behind Simon to wrap his arms around his waist, "we do what we can. Our best is all we can give them."
"What if our best isn't enough?"
"It will be. We can make sure it is." The two perked up when you groaned, opening your eyes little by little, "Sapling; there you are." Simon ran his hand back over your face, cupping it and angling it to look up at him, "how're you feeling?"
"Terrible." you took a deep breath, too heavy for your lungs, "I'm- god- are you two okay??" Grace let go of Simon to be in your view, holding your unbroken hand, "we're just fine, more worried about you." He slowly sat down at the foot of the bed, helping you sit up when you tried and realized one of your hands was out of commission, set in a sturdy cast, “Your hand is broken, but Armando patched you up." You stared at it for a moment before blinking, the memory coming back to you,
"I hit Rocky's ball like I was tryna kill him. I'm sorry Rock." The alien made a soft sound, one that soothed your frayed nerves, "Rocky forgive. Rocky know [Name] did not mean to. Statement."
"Thanks Rock, love you." Rocky made a high-pitched noise, happy and excited, "Rocky love love love [Name] too! Statement!”
"We love you also." Grace gave your knee a reassuring pat, "we probably need to get you on a schedule and monitor your mental health, just to be safe."
"Yeah. I don't want that happening again." You felt shame creep up your spine, but Simon's hand on your back stopped it from climbing, "You're alright. It's okay to need some extra help, hell knows we all do." He kissed your head one more time, "I'll go grab us some lunch. You three stay out of trouble." Grace laughed,
All relationships regarding reader are platonic! Reader is 20, Grace is early forties, Simon is late thirties, Rocky is an old ass rock.
TW: mentions of abuse, the trauma that comes along with that abuse, PTSD, night terrors, mentions of blood, vague mentions regarding suicide.
Spoilers for Project Hail Mary and Iron Lung so proceed with caution!
MDNI
Edit: Masterlist here!
—
Ryland Grace was a lot of things, maybe not anything that mattered much in the vastness of space, but he held those titles close.
He was a middle school teacher, a scientist, an astronaut (unwilling, but still), Earth’s savior, Erid’s savior, Rocky’s best friend, Simon’s boyfriend.
He never thought in his wildest dreams that he’d be a father.
He never really liked anyone back on earth, didn’t crave romantic connections, avoided them like the plague more often than not. He preferred friendship, a closeness built on trust and respect over the course of a multitude of years. He built those relationships with his coworkers, the children he taught, the grocery clerk at his local supermarket, the driver on the 285 bus, people he was forced to leave behind.
Now, suddenly, without warning, there was you.
He found you floating through space, not unlike Rocky or Simon. Your ship’s radio was difficult to understand, but it didn’t stop his stomach from sinking when your young voice crackled through the wavering link.
He was heartbroken the moment he laid eyes on you, your tin bucket of a ship, your tired and borderline wilting stance. You collapsed into his arms when he got close enough despite Simon and Rocky’s protests to be careful. You were in the medbay for two months, in and out of consciousness as Armando kept you stable.
Simon and Rocky were appalled as they explored your ship, built from cheap materials that were breaking apart at the seams. You’d obviously tried your best to keep the ship from falling apart, but systems had been failing for months, tape had only gotten you so far, and half of your tools weren’t useful enough to fix much of anything. There were fist-shaped dents in some of the walls that were too big to be your’s, blood crusted into the controls, four beds but only one person on board.
Ryland kept watch over you, spending his time researching you and writing notes on your condition. You seemed as human as he was, not any large differences he could see, like Simon. (If the man hadn’t been mutated)
You woke up slowly, blinking at Ryland as he greeted you softly. He kept his voice low and hands to himself as you registered what was happening, watching realization settle into your expression.
From that point forward, he knew you held a special place in his heart.
You recovered fine, brought all your resources onto the ship, let Rocky and Simon send that hunk of junk unworthy of being called a ship out into the unknown. He immediately offered his clothes when your terrible fabrics made him shudder uncomfortably, made sure you ate, slept, even gave you some busy work to keep your mind sharp.
He loved when you smiled, got excited about your passions, rambled, silently stare as a movie played in the “don’t go crazy” room.
What he wasn’t prepared for, but should have known would happen, was the night terrors. He and Simon were routinely woken up by your screaming, thrashing, begging. The two men would coax you from the monsters that plagued your mind, hold you tightly and let you sob into their shirts.
He got worried one morning when you disappeared, nowhere to be found. An intrusive thought told him you tossed yourself out the airlock, but Rocky found you curled up in the closet storage. Simon tried to coax you out initially, then Rocky, but you didn’t budge until Grace sunk to his knees in the closet, watching as you curled up behind his sweaters and cardigans. He talked softly and sweetly, assuring you that no one was angry with you and you were safe. It ended with you tucked snugly in his arms, wrapped up and cozy, your panicked tremors ebbing as Grace pet your head and mumbled reassurances you desperately needed.
You reminded him of himself when he first woke up on the Hail Mary, scared and confused, always on the verge of fight or flight like an animal made into prey. He didn’t have anyone when he woke up, searching for memories, desperate for answers.
He’d be everything you’d need him to be and more.
“Hey dad?” He blinked, looking over from his desk as you peeked in from the doorway. The cabin on Erid was beautiful, built strong and to last, light from the windows highlighting the healthiness of your skin and the shine in your eyes. The stones and gems on your Eridian jewelry glittered, a necklace that claimed Adrian and Rocky as your parents and one bracelet on each wrist that represented Simon and Grace the same way, “What’s up chickpea?”
“Papa’s asking if you want to go on a walk with us.” Grace smiled, slowly standing, ignoring the stiffness in his bones from the awkward position he’d been in for the past two hours, “that’d be nice. Is Rocky going to visit today?”
“Papa said Rocky sent a message earlier, he and Adrian are gonna stop by after dinner.” Grace followed you to the door, slipping his shoes on and joining you and Simon outside, “sounds like a plan. Have everything?” You nodded and Grace held your hand, walking with you and Simon down to the beach below.
Ryland Grace was a lot of things: a middle school teacher, a teacher on Erid, a scientist, an astronaut, one of the first humans on Erid, Earth’s savior, Erid’s savior, Rocky’s best friend, Simon’s husband.
Additionally, after almost fifty years, he was a father.
Your father.
—
That’s all for now! Hope you enjoyed!
Have a nice day and stay safe!
- Moss Man (but with a million pride flags sticking out of the moss)
