#Ninth Air Force

[carbone14]

Bombardier moyen Martin B-26B Marauder “Shootin’ In” du 556th Bomb Squadron du 387th Air Expeditionary Group de la Ninth Air Force – 1944-1945

©National Archives and Records Administration

[rmsqueenmaryonthisday]

A Roaring Arrival

From the article “14,690 RETURN ON QUEEN MARY” in the The Spokesman-Review on August 3, 1945: Huge Transport Leads Flotilla Into N. Y. Harbor. Up before the bugler, 14,698 soldiers returning from Europe on the one-time luxury liner Queen Mary roared a pre-dawn greeting to their native land…New York harbor responded with a cry of “Welcome home!” Her gray sides blending with the harbor mist,…

[ravcnism]

STRIKEOUT. ( PART 2 ) — KEN SATO x Male!Athlete READER

Summary: An after-party. A conversation-turned-confrontation. Kenji finally meets the esteemed Toyo Bullet and struggles to define the difference between anger, terror, and infatuation.

# # TAGS: Even More Tension, Kenji Has a Good Relationship with His Team, Intense First Encounter, Domestic Sato Family Shenanigans

# # WARNINGS: Mature Language, Alcohol Consumption, Nothing Too Crazy, No Beta Again We Die Like Onda

Note: Okay, here we go: the actual second part. Again, I am so sorry for accidentally publishing my draft earlier — I am ill with embarrassment. But I’m very happy to know that people look forward to it! If you read the false-post, then you’ve only read half of the chapter. This one has over 3000 words more! Enjoy.

“It was a nail-biter of a game here at the New Tokyo stadium tonight, folks. Right off the bat, both teams were going neck and neck, toe-to-toe. And it seemed like neither one was willing to give an inch! Our home team managed to pull off a narrow victory in the end, and by narrow, I mean narrow, Kiba.”

“That is absolutely right, Sasaki. I truly have never seen anything like it in my entire career. And you know- you know I know a lot of baseball. You know I’ve been doing this for many years, but wow! Just- insane.”

“Truly a close call. Eight additional innings? To break the tie? I cannot believe it. Let me tell you, neither the Hiroshima Toyo Carp nor the Yomiuri Giants wanted to lose today.”

“If you look at the crowd, It looks like everyone’s been wanting to go home.”

Exhausted was an understatement. Kenji hadn’t felt this drained after a game since, well, only months ago: when he was still juggling the responsibilities of raising a baby Kaiju, carrying the weight of being Ultraman, and maintaining his reputation as a well-known baseball player. All of these, on top of the sleepless nights, no longer hindered him from his work. He usually left the stadium feeling brand new every single time — regardless of whether they won or lost. He had grown and learned to lean on people, to ask for help, accept defeat. Which was good and all that, but the point was: he was exhausted from this game. You had him panting for air like an overworked dog.

Shimura had Kenji on the field for longer than he should have been. While his younger, more egotistical self might have loved his moment in the spotlight, running base to base for six innings in a row was unsurprisingly really tiring. The teams had hit a clean tie by the ninth inning, and the tie-breaker lasted for eight more. You were eating their rookies alive and having their journeymen for dessert. When Shimura realized that Sato was the only one batting your pitches, he had him play for every round after the tie. The only times Kenji wasn’t on the field was when you weren’t either. Which wasn’t a lot. It scared him how you looked like you could throw that ball for days.

“Hiroshima’s L/n is just- an absolute unit, isn’t he?”

“He certainly is, Kiba. He certainly is. I mean his performance was near inhuman tonight. Each pitch was a gem and we- he really wanted us to know that he’s here, he’s ready, and he’s willing to change Japanese baseball. He was a major force out there on the field.”

“I cannot agree with you more. But credit where credit is due, we all know that the only reason the Giants are coming home with tonight’s win is because of none other than Ken Sato himself.”

“That’s right, Sato really put up a fight. L/n was throwing him off balance every time, but he always found his footing. I think tonight might have been the hardest I’ve seen him work. You know he- he usually makes his plays look effortless — disregarding last season’s slump.”

“I say he held his own very, very impressively. The team was right to rely on him. I know we’ve spoken a lot about their tension, but I’d say it’s their dynamic that really drove the point home. They were like- mirrors of each other out there. When you put two equal forces together, they deflect. You know what I’m saying?”

Kenji’s hand shook with a weakness he wasn’t familiar with. He stared at his calloused palm and noticed his fingers twitching. Shit. It really was some game. He might have been hitting the ball, but he was barely getting it through the field. Not only were your pitches fast, but there was weight to them, too. He was witnessing the caliber of your capabilities; understanding why you were the talk of every city.

The rest of the Giants came walking into the locker room, jeering and laughing amongst themselves. “That L/n is a real piece of work, ain't he?” Shirakumo, number 24, sat himself next to Kenji, unlacing his shoe. “Never seen anything like it.”

“Did you see the look on Tateoka’s face?” Yuki laughed, smacking his thigh. “Dude was scared shitless!”

“Hey!” Tateoka frowned in reply, tugging his jersey off his arms. “You try standing in front of that guy and telling me you don't feel a little threatened.” He shuddered, remembering the look in your eyes. Dark and pointed and menacing. “He was staring me down like he was gonna—”

“Eat you alive?” Kenji scoffed.

The team went silent, then erupted into a cluster of teasing ‘oooh’s. God. It reminded him of highschool.

“Oohh, yeah.” Yamada, number 21, slid over to him with a teasing tone. He wrapped an arm around Kenji’s shoulder and squeezed him closer. “I don't think I've ever seen Sato so shaken!”

He laughed, playfully pushing him away. He was also actually really sore on that shoulder. Hell, he could already feel the pain he’d need to go through just to get up tomorrow. He was going to need another ice bath. The rest of the boys jumped in on the jokes.

“Did you see the way he was looking at you Ken?” Tokuda opened his locker, grabbing a shirt from the top shelf. He whistled. “Like he wanted your head on a plate.”

Tanaka chuckled. “He wanted you dead, man!”

Kenji rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. Let's not get carried away. I never said I was shaken.”

“But that last bat was sweet as hell.” Yuki nodded. “I doubt any of us would've gotten through the guy if it weren't for Sato.”

“Well, duh.” Shirakumo shrugged. None of the Giants denied it. Ken was their star player. And tonight proved it more than ever. “We owe you for drinks, bud. Give us a date and we'll treat ya’ to someplace you like.” He slapped Ken’s back affectionately, which elicited a pained groan. “Shit, sorry.”

Kenji’s watch started beeping. He flinched at the sound, eyes widening slightly. “Uh, see you in a sec, guys. I gotta take this.”

He was there a moment, then gone the next. Kenji rushed himself out the hallways and into an empty locker room to answer Mina’s call. “Hey!” he greeted, anxiously. A screen projected itself from his watch and lit up his face. “Hey. Hi. What's wrong? Everyone alright? I know I said I'd be home soon, but the game took way longer than–”

He was interrupted by cheering. His father clapped and whooped with excitement as Emi occupied the background, screeching with glee. Kenji could see the ground shaking as she was jumping around and doing her special dance. One of Mina’s arms was protruding from the wall and waving celebratory flags. It immediately put a smile on his face, easing the tension from his shoulders. He was always happy to see everyone alright, and even happier to see them as their silly selves.

“Kenji!” cheered Hayao. “That was an incredible game! You were unstoppable!” The professor chuckled. Emi picked him up into a hug, slightly toppling the camera over. His legs swung like a ragdoll’s. “Okay, okay girl-”

Ken laughed, slightly shaking his head. “Easy, Emi. Put Grandpa down.”

“It was a very impressive game, Ken. Perhaps one of your bests.” Mina’s calculative yet affectionate voice echoed from his watch.

Hayao fell to the floor with an ‘oof’. “You didn't tell me you were playing against THEE Mets’ Bullet!” He scrambled to stand up, barely leaning on his cane. “I wasn’t even aware that he was signed into the Carp!”

Kenji’s smile immediately faded. “Okay.” He rolled his eyes. “He was alright, I guess. And we don’t actually know if he signed into it or if he was traded. We barely heard anything about him from the press.”

“Alright?” Professor Sato gasped, appalled. “Kenji, he was spectacular! He’s a lot like you, you know. I’ve always suspected that the both of you equalled in skill, but to see it in action? Phew.” He wiped some pretend sweat off of his forehead. “What a show! Eight extra innings to break a tie? Unbelievable! I highly doubt that he was traded. Who in their right mind would purposely lose a player like that?”

Kenji scoffed. “He wasn’t that good.” His sore limbs would like to say otherwise.

“He had you chasing after his pitches like a dog!”

“I don’t like that analogy.”

“I ought’ to rewatch that documentary they made about him. You know they’ve done studies on the physics of his throws.”

“Dad.”

“And how fortunate for Hiroshima to have gotten him out of all teams! I can tell that this season is going to turn around really fast. Just today he’s already scored-”

“Dad!”

“Oh. Sorry.” Hayao chuckled. “I’m just very excited to see the both of you on the same field.” Kenji sighed, nodding his head. “Anyway, congratulations on the win, my boy. I’m so proud of you. I always am. Get home safe. It may be late, but we still have a lot of leftovers from dinner!” Emi made a noise that let him know she was waiting, too.

Going home sounded like heaven. Ken wanted nothing more but to rest. Maybe kick back and have a chocolate shake while he and his family watched cartoons to fall asleep. It was the perfect way to end his night. It had been an unexpectedly long day and he looked forward to tomorrow’s well-earned break. Eight extra innings might even win him a second day of rest. Or a third, if Shimura agreed not to schedule him for the next game. Which, he doubted, if it meant you’d be playing.

“I’m on my way.” He ended the call, and opted to take the fastest way out, desperate to avoid the press.

Ken collapsed onto the floor, snuggling into Emi’s arm. Having washed up and eaten his dinner, he felt the last remains of his adrenaline-fueled strength die out like a dwindling flame. He felt as if his limbs were about to fall off. “Ugh,” he groaned. “I’m going to be so sore tomorrow.” Emi didn’t much care. She seemed to be preoccupied by the new ( gigantic ) stacking blocks that Mina made for her. Ken sighed, sinking deeper into her arm. “She always smells so good after her baths.” The baby Kaiju’s warm and heavy grasp felt like a weighted blanket. It was a comfort that Ken would find nowhere else.

Professor Sato walked past them, chuckling into his coffee mug. “That, she does. You should have seen her earlier, you know. I’ve never seen her so invested in a game.”

Kenji hummed. “Is that right?” He rolled onto his stomach, facing Emi. “Hey. Baby.” He poked her cheek. “Is that true? Did you cheer for Daddy? I bet you did.” Giving into his cuteness aggression he rubbed at her cheeks. Emi expressed her annoyance through a small squeak. “God, that mean old Bullet had Daddy running laps, didn’t he? We hate him, don’t we?” Kenji pushed her cheeks up and down, leading her into a nod. “Yes we dooo.”

Professor Sato laughed. “Whatever happened to sportsmanship?”

“Whatever happened to loyalty?” He pouted. “My own father, rooting against me. I would never root against you, Emi.” Wanting to return to her blocks, Emi lifted Kenji up by his torso and placed him on her head. The batter laughed, laying on her with no protest.

“What!” The professor exclaimed. “I never said I was rooting against you. I was just— feeling enthusiastic, that’s all. For both teams.”

Mina entered the room, her mechanisms humming faintly. “Good evening, everyone.” The Sato’s greeted her accordingly. “I have a message for Ken.”

The mentioned Ken slumped into his daughter, rolling his eyes. “Here we go. I bet it’s the press.” He scoffed. “Let me guess, at least 30 emails asking for my statement. Or, better yet, it’s Shimura warning me not to miss the next game.” He raised his fist, mocking a reporter’s tone: “We’ve witnessed baseball history tonight, folks! Blah, blah, blah.”

“Actually, it’s an invitation for something else.” Mina hovered closer. “An event.”

This caught his attention. Kenji tilted his head. “For what?”

“A party, hosted by various sponsors.”

“Bit too early for an afterparty, don’t you think?” Ken sighed, resting his head on folded arms. “We’ve only won one game.”

“I suppose it’s to celebrate Mr. L/n as well.” Mina would shrug if she had the shoulders to do so. “His coming to Japan is quite a big deal.”

“Great.” Kenji was half-asleep by then, eyes already closed. “All the more reason for me not to go.” The professor had settled himself onto one of the desks, getting into some light reading. Emi had grown tired herself, and decided that she was not interested in the blocks anymore. Waddling to her spot, (with Kenji still on her head), she yawned, and opted for some much-needed sleep.

Mina’s light blinked. “I think you should go, Ken.”

The rightfielder cracked one eye open. “And why would I do that?”

“I think it would benefit you to interact with Mr. L/n more.”

“Mina, that’s literally the last thing I want.”

“Is it?”

Ken frowned. “What do you mean, ‘is it’? Of course it is.”

“Your vitals seemed to say otherwise earlier.”

Kenji scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I was keeping careful watch of your vitals, as I always do. I have your daily status tracked and recorded.”

Kenji couldn't get rid of Mina’s voice in his head. Even amidst the warm crowd, with chatter swaying smoothly atop of light r&b music, he felt as if he could still hear her words ringing in the back of his mind. It remained vivid, though she had told it to him days ago. It was as clear as day. Like a broken record.

“Believe it or not, the heart beats differently for every emotion. There is a difference between fear, anxiety, excitement, and—”

Kenji stared at you from across the room, watching as you conversed with your team, nursing a glass of cold, hard whiskey. He watched as you bowed your head and smiled, listening for the faint, muffled sound of your laughter. He wondered what you were talking about; what joke might have made you grin that hard. He wondered why you seemed to illuminate a room, and why everyone seemed so drawn. His eyes were caught in the way the colorful lights sank into your hair.

“—Infatuation.”

You looked up, and your eyes met his. Kenji flinched. He felt his heart skip a beat. Shit, he thought. Mina was definitely going to catch that. She had probably already marked it down to tease him for it later. You held his gaze for longer than he could have standed and greeted him with that same annoying wink. The same one you gave him on the field. Confident, snarky, playful. You lifted your glass and took a sip, eyes still trained on his.

“What you may perceive as frustration for him might just be the opposite.”

Kenji's jaw clenched. Mina had no idea what she was talking about.

And he would prove her wrong tonight.

Like a soldier marching into battle, he waded through the party to make his way towards you. Was he intimidated? Yes. Unfortunately, he was. But he knew his way around a crowd, and his weapon-of-a-tongue knew all the right talk to make a conversation work. He was sociable like that. He was a poet, a wordsmith. If you weren't careful, one little exchange could have you wrapped around his finger. Some people called it his charisma, some blamed it on his irresistible good looks. Either way, Ken took it. He wasn't going to deny the fact that people loved talking to him — though he, admittedly, didn't really like talking to them in return. But he could do it. He could make it work.

Besides, how bad could you be?

With a newfound confidence, Ken dared to get closer. The distance between you and him lessened, and– oh, fuck, was that your cologne? He blinked. You smelled so good. Why did you smell so good? “Hey. Hi.” Shit. Abort mission. No, it's too late. Too awkward to back out. You were already looking at him. “L/n, yeah?” He spoke your name like he only just remembered you upon seeing you. When in truth, he hadn't stopped thinking about you since that damn first pitch. “Some game, huh?” Ken held his hand out for you to shake. ‘Fuck, I hope he doesn't notice how clammy it is.’

“Ken Sato.” It was the first time he heard your voice, as well as the first time he heard you say his name. He didn't like how his body reacted. There was a small shiver down his spine, a tingling flutter in his chest. You took his hand. Yours was cold. So cold. Kenji concluded that the icy glass of whiskey you had placed on the counter was to blame. He could feel your callouses against his. Your hands mirrored one another, marked with the battlescars of your sport. He was oddly sensitive to every detail. Touching you was.. a sensation.

You gave him a firm shake before promptly letting go.

“That's me,” he said, miraculously. Ken was oscillating between panic and confidence at a speed that likely wasn't normal. He was holding his own, though. Like the real champ he was. It was surreal to be standing in front of you without a ball to keep you apart. No bat, no competition. Just you, and a few shots of alcohol. “You adjusting into Japan alright?”

“As well as I can.” You shrugged. You had a tone to you; an elegant air of grace and self-assurance. You had no need to raise your voice because you knew he'd do his best to listen. It was pissing him off. “It's definitely different from the States.”

“I gotta say, I'm pretty surprised to see you here.” Ken usually knew what to say when it came to conversations. He never blanked out at interviews, nor left dead air hanging at conferences. But speaking with you made him feel like his vocabulary was on a limit. “After a game like that?” He whistled. “A lesser man would've taken a week off.”

“But we're not lesser men, are we, Ken?” A waitress passed by. Without the need to look, you had grabbed two shots of vodka from her tray. You handed the other one to him. “That's why you're here, too.”

He stared at you, brows furrowed slightly. “Exactly.” He took the shot from your hand and bumped the rim against yours. “Cheers.”

You grinned. “Cheers.”

Kenji tilted his head back, downing his drink, tasting the fire run down his throat. His face screwed up a little, but not enough for you to notice. You did the same, sighing the heat out of your nose. You allowed a small laugh to slip past your lips. “Japan’s liquor is surprisingly stronger.”

Kenji chuckled. “Yeah. If you know where to look.” The music felt like it was growing louder. He leaned in to speak to you better. “You know, I can't believe this is the first time we're meeting.”

You nodded. “Neither can I.”

“The Mets and Dodgers have always been at each other's throats, and yet—”

“Our schedules just never lined up.” You scoffed. “What are the odds of that, huh?”

It really was such a coincidence. If Ken had known that your interactions would've fired the press up as much as it did now, he would've fought to face you sooner. “When was it?” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember. “Playoffs. 2019, I think. The Mets were set to face the Dodgers.”

“2019,” you repeated, brows raised. “I was there.” Kenji took notice of the way your head slightly shifted to the side. Like you were trying to get a better look at him. He swallowed thickly. “I was there.” You shrugged. “You weren't.”

“I was overseas.” He was wanting another drink. But, speaking to you was surprisingly not horrible. “Didn't get back until 3 months in. And when I did—”

“I wasn't there,” you chuckled. “Alright. I remember. 2019, I was gone for half the season. Injury.”

“The world was in shambles.” Ken grinned at you. A second waiter passed by. He grabbed you another glass of whiskey. He took scotch for himself. “See what I mean? It's like– divine intervention.”

“Big word.” To say that fate had a hand to play in yours and his meeting was beyond your beliefs. You didn't place your trust in things like that. But to know that he had thought about it was charming.

“Hey.” Ken shrugged. “Ya’ never know.”

The music shifted, and so did the lights. There was a moment of quiet between the both of you, and in that time, you found a common interest in people-watching. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, nor the absence of something to talk about. The two of you merely agreed upon the minutes it took to watch the party unfold. A good number of the guests were already drunk. The dance floor was alight and occupied mostly by women. Ken rested his weight on one foot, sighing at his still-aching muscles. He wondered if you were any sore too.

“They love it, don't they?” You leaned your back against the counter, arms crossed over your chest. Ken took quick notice of the necklace worn loosely around your neck. A silver dogtag, similar to his. “The drama. The intensity. Even the things that go on beyond the field.”

Ken shrugged. “It's baseball. Who doesn't?”

“Exactly.” You smiled. “Which is why it's important to always let the home team win the first game.”

It took a moment for Kenji to process what you said. He was distracted by the colorful lights, his favorite song coming on, and a tray full of hors d'oeuvres. “Mhm.” He reached over to take one, before— “Wait.” His brows knitted together. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Hm?” You had your lips pressed together into a thin line. Your expression feigned innocence, a stark contrast to your bold statement. “I said it's important to let the home team win the first game.”

Kenji made a sound between a scoff and a laugh. He couldn't believe his ears. Had he been standing by the speakers for too long? “No, I heard what you said. What I'm asking is what you're saying.” It was a dare of a reply, with a tone that commanded: go on. Clarify.

Your smile refused to leave your face. Nearing the batter, ever so carefully, you whispered:

“I'm saying you won because I let you.”

Kenji blinked.

And there it was. He knew you were too good to be true. Goddammit, he knew it! Beneath your seemingly-perfect self was something cold and rotten and he called it. He fucking called it. How thrilled he was to be correct, and oh, how utterly terrified.

But this was good. This was absolutely good. He needed something to hold onto, something to keep himself afloat. The next time he found himself drowning in your eyes again, he'd only need to remember that you were a grade A asshole. That you had the audacity to claim that you were in full control of the game. Surely it would solve all his problems.

Kenji broke out into a laugh. It started out as a small cluster of sarcastic chuckles, but erupted into actual laughter. You were funny. So, so funny. Unbeknownst him, you were watching with amusement. “Because you let me!” Kenji repeated, smiling, but, exasperated. Two can play at that game. “Right. Of course. Totally not because you're an average pitcher and I can bat anything you throw.”

“If that helps you sleep at night.” You shrugged. Your attention wasn't on him anymore. You were watching the crowd, disinterested.

Kenji felt his eye twitch. “That's big talk coming from someone who got struck out by a rookie.” He was referring to the eighth inning, when Tateoka managed to bat your pitch into a homerun.

“That's right, Sato.” You laughed, low and sultry. “Batted by a rookie. How could I have struck you out at the last inning but be batted by a rookie?” You tilted your head at him, brows knitted together. You spoke in a sickeningly soft tone. Like you were helping a toddler understand something simple. “Doesn't seem to make a lot of sense, does it?”

Kenji was growing flustered. His face was warm and his fist was itching to meet your cheek. Nobody spoke to him this way. Sure guys had been mean to him before, but it was mostly because they were threatened by him. They'd tried to put him down and pick apart his flaws, but what you were doing was something different. You weren't claiming that he was weak, you were claiming that you were stronger. You didn't deny the amount of talent that Ken had in his body, but you were fully convinced that you had more. You were bigger, smarter, and better. And you had him under your control.

“Oh, c’mon. Seriously?” God, your voice. It infuriated him. It drove him insane. You leaned in, closer, whispering your words, as if hearing you through the party wasn't hard enough. He could smell the whiskey on your breath. It mingled with your cologne. It was intoxicating. “Are you blushing?”

He scoffed in disbelief. “No.” Except he totally was. He could feel the heat radiating off of his face. His breathing had gone shallow, his heartbeat rapid. “Why would I– Tch. You— You don't know what you're talking about.” Holy shit. He was a mess.

He wanted so desperately to blame it on the alcohol, but he knew damn well he wasn't drunk enough to be acting the way he was. He was stumbling over his words stone-cold sober.

You were smiling. He was dying, and you were smiling. “You amuse me, Sato.”

Ken took a cautious step back, knowing that being that close to you for too long was only going to make him worse. “Who the hell do you think you are, huh?” He had to retaliate somehow. Like a soldier fumbling for his sword, he had to get up and do something. “You don't think I don't know what this is? Where you're heading?”

You tilted your head. “Do enlighten me.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Sure. Celebrity-Athlete from America waltzes into Japan thinking he's the shit— that he can rule the world. He's a shiny new toy and everyone's just dying to catch a look. Nevermind that his old team traded him off, nevermind that he goes home to an empty penthouse. He's got the stats to prove his skills and he thinks he doesn't need anything else.” Ken dared to retake a step forward. He sort of regretted it when you didn't take a step back. “Well, guess what,” he continued. “I've been where you are. I know how you feel, what you're thinking.

Everything you're trying to be is a shadow of what I already was.”

There was a beat of silence. You weren't smiling anymore. You were staring at him, stone-faced, seemingly indifferent.

Kenji narrowed his eyes. “So don't go talking to me like you're any better.”

He didn't know what to expect. You were quiet for such a long time that he thought you were going to snap. He partially expected a punch to the chin. But you were calm. There wasn't a trace of irritation on your face. Instead, you set your glass of whiskey — now empty — on the counter behind you. With a sigh, you shoved a hand in your pocket. “Are you done?”

Kenji blinked.

“Let me tell you something, Sato.” You raised a brow at him. Ken felt his heartbeat pick up again. Your once-approachable gaze shifted into something cold and commanding. He swallowed thickly. “There is a difference between you and me. And that difference is the fact that I don't settle.”

Kenji was glaring at you, brows fixed together.

A teammate called you from the other side of the room. You nodded at him, once, then returned your focus to the Yomiuri Prince. You placed a hand on his shoulder, tauntingly, smiling at him as if you'd known him your whole life. “I hope last season’s slump accustomed you to the feeling of losing those points.”

Kenji wanted to say something, but his lips refused to move. Somehow, the blaring music in the background had faded into a muffled blur. All he could hear was your voice. Like a moth to a flame.

You winked at him. Again. And like before, his body reacted in ways he didn't like. You squeezed his shoulder once, before leaving to go to your friend. With your back turned against him, Kenji released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He clutched his chest, watching wide-eyed as you moved through the crowd. He could still smell your cologne. The last thing he heard from you was,

“I'll see you on the field.”

taglist: @fairy-lenaa @moonjellyfishie @witchygod — Thank you for your patience!

[emphistic]

Écoute Chérie

A/N: grr

<- Series m.list

When a certain someone — specifically a blond male, showed up to Sukuna’s door that next morning holding a wad of cash in his hand, Sukuna wanted nothing more than to sock him in the jaw. But he contained himself, saying, “Keep that shit for yourself. I don’t want it.”

“Oh? You backing out now, Captain?”

“. . .You’re one sick fuck, Zen’in.” He snatched the money out of the younger’s hands, before slamming his door shut.

Pride is a terrible, terrible thing, and Ryomen Sukuna was full of it.

“Oh, my God, girl! I feel like we moved on a little too quickly. Pause: He—you—you guys KISSED? Stop, don’t—don’t play with me right now. I can’t even get a guy to let me cheat off of him on a final, but you kissed someone on the FIRST date. Let me say that again, FIRST date?! As in the first EVER date you two have been on together.”

If you were counting — which you weren’t, this would have been the seventy-ninth time you giggled out loud this evening. You and Nobara were sitting — no, standing, actually, with you leaning forward with your elbows on the counter, and the brunette doing likewise. You decided — well, you were forced — to fill her in on all that happened the day before. You had just gotten off of your shift, and, obviously, were still in your uniform, but Nobara insisted you tell her anyway. She wouldn’t and “couldn’t” wait until you got back to your apartment.

“Yes, Nobs, for the hundredth time. We kissed and even added a little bit of tongue and then he walked me back to my apartment and we fucked all night.”

The look on her face was absolutely priceless, her jaw dropped to the floor and even broke through the tiles and went further beneath the surface. Just kidding; because that’s not possible, but her expression was even more funny after you said, “I’m just messing with you, girl. I have some self-worth left, believe it or not, and I wouldn’t sleep with someone after the first date.”

“Funny how you decided to deny only that part.”

“. . .”

“Don’t—don’t tell me the rest was true. Oh, my God! STOP! I was only kidding; but you—you actually added tongue? What the fuck? And, you just decided to not call me right after? Wow.” Nobara crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air for only a few seconds before she went back to gripping your shoulders and shaking your body. “You are such a freak, my God.”

“He also walked me to my door, y’know. No need to focus on only those parts.” You tried to bring her focus onto that, because you found that part the most adorable.

Truth was, the only reason you didn’t immediately call Nobara that night was because you spent the last few hours of that night screaming into your pillow like a schoolgirl and reminiscing on all that happened.

“You know,” you started, turning to face the man behind you, “you didn’t have to walk me all the way to my door, right? I could’ve just gone by myself.” 

You had insisted and insisted to Sukuna that you would be fine, and that the other residents of the building were friendly and cordial, but Sukuna ignored every one of your pleas and walked right next to you anyway. From the parking lot, to the elevators, and down the hallway, Sukuna never left your side, and actually, was surprisingly nice company. You two talked on the way about how good or bad the food at the game was, how hot and humid it was, how annoying the older gentleman beside your seats was, you two talked plenty enough.

“I know. I wanted to.” Sukuna stopped to lean against the wall beside your apartment, crossing his arms as you pulled out your keys.

“Hey, so, I had a lot of fun today. I guess baseball isn’t as boring as I thought it was,” you laughed, scratching the back of your neck. “Thanks for inviting me.” You had tried to tell him on the car ride to your place, but you chickened out.

Sukuna snorted, “No problem; my pleasure, actually. And, I had a lot of fun, too. I think I enjoyed today more than I would if Yuuji was there instead of you. So thank you for coming.”

“Oh, please. Don’t lie; he’s literally your brother. Besides, Yuuji’s not even here to defend himself. Kinda rude, if I say so myself.”

“I’m not lying, though, really. I enjoyed today. I can’t even remember the last time I was able to leave the house for anything fun and actually, sincerely, enjoy it.” Sukuna moved his head as he spoke, as if in a way to accentuate his point. You found that completely and utterly adorable. Just the thought of you being part of making his day alone made you blush, and you looked away sheepishly.

“I’m glad you had a nice time, Sukuna. And thank you, again, for today.” You caught Sukuna by surprise — beyond surprise, actually — when you cupped his face in your hands and brought your lips to his cheek for a chaste kiss. Mwah! The sound was audible through the night. And it was the sound which replayed over and over in Sukuna’s mind as he lay completely awake for hours past midnight in bed. The only thing he dreamt of — when he eventually fell asleep, that is — was you. You.

Now that he thought of it, there were no words to describe you. No words to describe your beauty, though, ethereal did come close. No words to describe the smile which you gave him when you two passed each other on campus. No words to describe how friendly and comforting the melody of your voice sounded to him; if you were a siren, and he, a pirate, Sukuna would dive headfirst into the water. No words to describe how drunk, how dizzy, how pathetic you made Sukuna, even with mere eye contact. But, there was a word to describe Sukuna.

It’s quite simple, actually.

Sukuna was whipped. Absolutely enamored of you. But. . . Very unfortunate he only noticed now. And, it was such, such a shame that he was also full of pride.

“Okay, that’s so romantic, though! I can’t believe it. My friend is gonna get with the love of her life, and I don’t even know how to turn the stove on. Oh, my God. My friend’s getting with the love of her life. OH, MY GOD!” That was not even close to the last time you would hear Nobara say “Oh, my God” that night.

-

“You wouldn’t happen to . . . y’know . . . have plans . . . this weekend?”

You didn’t know why Sukuna kept on pausing, but you knew it was oddly suspicious.

“And if I did?”

“Then, I wouldn’t ask you to . . . help me . . . with some . . . math.”

“Sukuna, are you okay? You sound like you’re being held at gunpoint.” You crossed your arms, failing to stifle a giggle. You really couldn’t fathom why he was acting so strange. Sukuna couldn’t, either. 

Ever since the day you both went to that baseball game together, Sukuna’s been different, to say the least. And yeah, maybe after kissing someone for the first time changes your behavior towards them, but still, it was strange. 

He wasn’t as cocky when going over his daily feats at basketball practice; he wasn’t as blunt and insulting to freshmans whom you two came across while on campus; he wasn’t as teasing or sharp with his remarks as he usually was; he wasn’t as assertive and casual whilst slinging an arm ‘round your shoulder. He wasn’t him. Then again, Sukuna also didn’t know why he was acting this way.

“I’m . . . fine. I’m fine.”

“Okay. . . Anyways, I am free. So yeah, I can. My place or yours?”

“Ah, you don’t have a lot of good alcohol,” Sukuna tapped his index finger repeatedly on his chin, as if contemplating which location to use was very difficult for someone like him. “I get bored with just water. So, it’ll have to be mine. ‘Sides, I don’t think Gigi likes me that much anyway.”

You laughed. Sukuna wasn’t very keen on having you tutor him while your apparently “murderous” cat was present. Giselle, also known by her nickname ‘Gigi’, was a black-furred breed, with very sharp, untrimmed nails, which proved useful whenever Sukuna came over to hang out with you or do some other shit. Maybe it was because of how provocative Sukuna and his usual cold demeanor were. Maybe it was because of how close Sukuna got to Gigi’s owner whenever you sat down on the couch together. Maybe it was because of the fact Sukuna took your attention off of your so precious cat whenever he stepped foot into the apartment. Maybe it was because Sukuna was just Sukuna. And Gigi didn’t like that one bit.

“Alright, since you’re afraid of a mere feline, which — mind you, is less than a quarter of both your height and size.”

“Well, that feline comes from the depths of Hell. So yeah, excuse me if I prefer to stay sixty miles away from it.”

“Gigi comes from Hell, now? Pfft—she’s probably just excited to see her previous neighbor, then,” you snorted.

Sukuna gave you a side glance, hiding his growing grin. He was not about to openly admit you were even slightly funny. No, he would never give you that kind of satisfaction.

“Okay, so can you tell me what the variable ‘d’ is?” You had explained the formulas as best as you could, even taking it a step further and dumbing it down immensely. Then you left the living room to put away the dishes, leaving the pink-haired male to attempt his assignment on his own. — With some guidance here and there.

Sukuna and you had ordered Chinese, deciding to study while eating. And while your plan for energizing proved to be frustrating at first — since a certain someone didn’t know how to eat with his mouth closed, you had become used to it by the end. Your tactic? Drowning out the audible chewing noises. Eugh.

“Why don’t you come over here, and I’ll show you.” Sukuna leaned his head on the cushions, wrapping an arm around the back of the sofa.

You scrunched up your face in reply, pausing in the middle of scrubbing food and gunk and whatever off of the porcelain plates. “Pass.

“I told you already, Sukuna. The exponential functions are the ones that slowly curve up; think of it as this: good things happen to a bad thing. Get it? Like, their lives are getting better. And, since I know you’ve already forgotten, a ‘y’ value can have as many ‘x’ values, but the ‘x’ value is . . . unambiguous, so it only has one ‘y’ value. Now, does that help?” 

“Ugh, this is such a bore. How can anyone pay attention to these types of things long enough in class to be good at it? Fuck.”

You took his consequent silence as him giving up on life and continuing to work on solving the problem in his evident misery, but oh, how wrong you were.

“S’kuna, what are you doing?” you sucked in a breath. He was so close. So close, to you. You thought it had only been two seconds, but in those two seconds, it only took Ryomen Sukuna four easy strides to end up here. — With his chest pressed almost right up against your back. Key word: almost. Yes, Ryomen Sukuna was so close, but still, so far.

“Helping you.” God, did he have to be that ambiguous all the time? He was like a walking enigma, a puzzle, a riddle, for you to solve. A mystery for which you would soon lose sleep over.

Sukuna easily grabbed several dried plates, removing them from the rack, and storing them in the cabinet above your head. His hand left lingering touches on your arm as they passed by each other. You slowly, gradually, accumulated a mountain of goosebumps.

It was infuriating.

He was so close, but not close enough.

Every time he moved to grab another plate, he would rest his hand upon your hip or on the curve of your waist. Sometimes he ran his large-scaled hands up your middle; sometimes he moved them lower, and lower. Was he trying to give you heart palpitations?

“Y’know,” he started, his voice dripping with honey, “you can keep breathing, right? What, do I smell that bad?” he snickered.

“I—what—why—what the hell are you doing?” You wanted to argue that he had no sense of personal space, which, yes, was true, but you feared he would stop whatever he was doing at the moment. And, you didn’t want that.

“I’m . . . helping . . . you.” He bent down to your level, lips brushing your ear as he spoke, and his hot breath fanning your ear. 

There it was again. That ‘pausing thing’ of his. But, this time, it was different. Earlier he was pausing as if he was unsure, but now, he was pausing just to create suspense and further rile you up. He clearly knew what he was doing; he knew what he was doing to you. Poor ol’ you, who just innocently wanted to wash some dishes.

You had previously wanted to turn around and properly face him in order to confront him better, but now, you didn’t dare meet his eyes. Not like you could, anyway, you were stuck between the counter and him. Your eyelashes fluttered, as your eyes darted here and there. And your palms began to sweat, you quickly wiped them on the material of your sweater, but your continued attempts were futile.

“No—no, you’re not.” You struggled to stifle your heavy breathing, and it took you quite a time to form a sentence without giving away the tight feeling in your chest.

“Yeah? Then, how could I help you, hm? Tell me,” he spoke your name firmly, like he was anticipating your breaking, and egging you on nevertheless. Then again, how could he not be? It had been days, days, since you two went to that game. Days since he felt like he was in heaven and talking to an angel. Days since he felt your lips on his. Days since he felt well. Days. And for days, he’s been restless, hungry, thirsty, empty. Hell, forget about your predicament, he was the one close to breaking.

“Tell me,” he said your name, again. “Tell me, pretty girl. Tell me.”

“. . .You can help by telling me what the fuck we’re doing right now.”

“Don’t you already know? And here, I thought it was obvious.” Sukuna bit his lip, but that didn’t help any bit in suppressing his laugh.

“What . . . are we . . . doing?” You repeated.

Sukuna was silent, for a moment, “You’re tutoring me, on math.”

“I already know that, dumbass. I mean, what are we doing?”

“You’re gonna need to be a little more specific than that.”

“Oh, my God—what are we doing? What are we? For fuck’s sake. How thick is your skull really, damn.” You finally mustered the courage to twist your body around, and though you were only met with his chest, you sighed and looked upward to meet his face.

“That’s a little harsh.”

You glowered at Sukuna.

“Okay, okay. I’ll talk,” he cleared his throat. “We’re . . . just us. I don’t know what to tell you. Sukuna and you. You and Sukuna. That’s all there is to it, right?”

For a second, you thought he was referencing what you had previously said to Nobara, but then the rational side of your brain kicked in and said, “No, there’s no way he could’ve overhead that,” and so, the surprised expression disappeared from your face as you looked down at the floor of the kitchen.

“We’re friends, yeah, that’s all there is to it. . . But friends don’t do . . . this. So we clearly, definitely, shouldn’t be doing this.”

“So, we can pretend we’re not doing this, right? There, fixed the problem.”

“And if I don’t want to pretend we’re not doing this?”

“Then don’t; we don’t have to pretend.”

“But—”

“Please,” he looked at you with such an earnest expression on his features, “don’t say that word. Not again. You’ve no idea, no idea, how much it drives me crazy when you say that word. Mad, insane, deranged. Anything but that, please, anything. We’re clearly not friends. We’re clearly not just friends. So please, don’t call whatever we have as that. I’m sick of it.”

“If we’re not friends, then, what are we?” Your voice was just above a whisper, and you couldn’t even recall when it turned out that way. 

“. . .We’re whatever you want us to be. . . What do you want us to be?”

“No, you decide, Sukuna. What do you want us to be?” You gingerly laid a palm on top of his chest.

“I decide?”

You nodded, “Whatever you want to be . . . will be.”

“I want us to be . . . us. Together. Just us. No one else; just you and me.”

“Okay. I’d like that.”

He took your hand from his chest and held it in his, as if in a way to seal his promise. “I’m glad.”

Having had a couple beers — in favor of Sukuna giving up on attempting any more math, you were a little drunk. Just a little. 

“You have a stupid, stupid face, but it’s still my favorite. It’s my favorite to stare out. It’s my favorite to kiss. It’s my favorite to rub — your skin is so soft. It’s my favorite. My favorite.” 

He let you pepper as many pecks as you wanted onto his cheek, but when you tried to give Sukuna a proper kiss on the lips, he quickly moved his face to the side so you unintentionally planted your lips on his cheek instead. 

For, he didn’t want you to freak out in the morning and think he was the type of guy to take advantage of someone while they were even a little bit tipsy.

Besides, he had just gotten you. He couldn’t lose you now, could he.

A/N: i love portraying raw emotion

[baby-tini]

Im desperate for mikey toman smut🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 please any. Literally any.

Toman!Mikey isn't home a lot, and you always miss him so much when he isn't, but you know it's because he has too leave.. his job is so high-matinence and you get that, you do, but it doesn't make it any less heart-breaking for you. Especially when you wake up early just too kiss him goodbye and he's already left for work. He always makes it up to you when he gets home though, so you're not too peeved with him and the whole situation, because he always makes it up to you at the end of the day, like he's doing now. Having you laid out under him, his pretty blonde locks framing his face as those dark eyes stare you down from above. He always looks so pretty to you, always will, as his head is thrown back as his chest heaves, as he continuously attempts too swallow in the fresh air while his hips move against yours. His soft hands bruising your hips as he leaves pretty bruises from the imprints of his nails. While the thrusts are un-coordinated and hurried, they still feel good enough too have tears pouring down your cheeks as you push at his chest, your eyes squeezing shut as you squirm under him. He's unfocused as he swats your hands away from his chest, his panting becoming harsher as his hips move faster, he's close, you know that. Especially when his previous swatting turns into him grabbing and reaching for your hand, content in just holding one of them as his other hand is forced too hold up his weight. He's rough as he squeezes one of your hands in his own, pressing kisses against the soft skin of your hand as he lets out something akin to a whine. You can feel his abs flexing against your stomach, his neck bending down as his face drops into your neck, his hips stuttering against your own, as he pulls yet another orgasm from you, the eighth or ninth, you're not completely sure, but everything is so close and overwhelming as you cum, causing the already drenched sheets too continuously soak through with your slick. He's so close as he pants in your ear, his breath tickling your neck as sweat drips down his own, you hope he's done now, you pray that he is, your body literally becoming limp from exhaustion... but you know he's not, not when he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek and his hips start moving again, one of your hands still grasped tightly in his own as he nuzzles into your neck.

"Not yet baby... 'm not done with you yet.. just a bit longer for me, can you do that?"

[yuesya]

Kamado Tanjiro gasps, barely able to stop himself from pitching forward and toppling face-first into the cold, hard ground.

“Stand down. This is an order!”

Those had been the words that Rengoku-san had spoken to them. To Tanjiro in particular, due to the heavy injuries that he’d suffered while fighting the demon who’d fused himself with the train just earlier.

Lower Moon One. A powerful demon, as one of the Demon Lord’s named Moons–

“If you reopen your injuries again, then it will be fatal! Do not move, Kamado Tanjiro!”

… But now, Rengoku-san was fighting Upper Moon Three, all on his own. An Upper Moon, the third-ranked strongest out of all the demons that Kibutsuji Muzan had created with his own blood. And Rengoku-san was fighting it with all his strength.

…

The demon had appeared out of nowhere. Had nearly killed Tanjiro in the blink of an eye –but Rengoku-san had intervened, and saved his life. He’d ordered Tanjiro and Inosuke to stand down and stay out of the fight.

Even without life-threatening injuries… just watching the battle, Tanjiro knows that neither one of them would’ve been able to help Rengoku-san.

Rengoku-san was fighting the Upper Moon on his own.

Harsh clanging rings out through the clearing; the demon meets each swing of Rengoku-san’s sword with his own fists. Joyous laughter echoes and resounds in the air –Won’t you become a demon and immortalize such transcendent martial prowess for all eternity, Kyojuro?– as the demon unflinchingly presses forward with his vicious onslaught.

But whereas the demon’s regenerative abilities ensure that any injuries inflicted upon him are healed within the blink of an eye, humans possess no such regenerative capabilities.

And even though Rengoku-san is the Flame Pillar, is leagues and bounds more powerful than any rank and file swordsman of the Demon Slayer Corps… he is human.

And humans are fragile. When they are injured, they do not regenerate as demons do.

Rengoku-san is strong, is meeting Upper Moon Three blow for blow, but–

Every injury that is incurred takes a toll from him. Every cut, every graze; every laceration, every–

There is a sickening crunch when one of Upper Moon Three’s punches catches Rengoku-san in the side, and Tanjiro can’t help the involuntary cry that falls from his throat when the Flame Pillar spits out a mouthful of blood onto the demon’s face.

But even so, Rengoku-san does not waver.

Does not falter, and simply tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword as he lets out a fierce roar and goes in for another blow.

Please, Rengoku-san–!

Blood drips onto the ground, blooming into a dark puddle beneath his feet, but Rengoku-san remains undaunted. Readies his blade, and strikes–

“Ninth Form: Rengoku!”

Dust fills the air, cast up by the sheer force of the attack as demon slayer and demon clash together once more. Tanjiro blinks rapidly as he peers through the fog, desperately hoping that Rengoku-san will–

…?

… What?

Tanjiro blinks, disconcerted by the sight that slowly swims into view through the slowly-clearing dust in the air.

There is a girl, there.

Except Tanjiro swears that there hadn’t been anyone else around in the nearby vicinity at all –aside from the train passengers, all of whom were well away from the site of battle– and yet, it’s undeniable that there’s a girl standing here! Long white hair, pale skin, and dressed in a dark kimono that doesn’t look anything like a Demon Slayer Corps uniform.

And yet, she’s standing between Rengoku-san and Upper Moon Three, evidently unbothered and completely at ease. The demon has even retreated a slight distance away from Rengoku-san, who’s currently collapsed on the ground, coughing blood.

Relief wars with confusion in Tanjiro’s mind. What was going on–?

“Move aside,” the demon finally says, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t kill women.”

The girl nods easily, “Then die.”

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 19

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n isn't life a mess right now? absolute chaos out there, i swear to god. stay safe everyone.

previous | masterlist | next

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You're choosing to ignore the noise that you know clouds the air online as you file into the underside of the stage on the tail of the boys, early enough in the morning that they are still yawning and blinking bleary eyes open, coffee clutched in their hands.

Stay offline, they'll all tell you, and make sure you sleep too, but you're no good at either; sleep is hard to find in the face of what hovers over you in three days time, and it's almost worse to not know what's going on where you can't see it than to keep a finger pressed very casually to the pulse. Just to know what they think. Just to know what to expect when you inevitably come face-to-face with them.

Not that you'll see them too closely. Four songs on one day, that's all you were here for. No fan meetings, no signings. Not that you had a problem with that, when those four songs alone came with a mountain of nerves to climb and conquer and sure, you'd been taught how to feign confidence until your voice didn't waver and your feet kept dancing, but that stage...

You come out onto it from underneath, following eight sets of feet up a narrow set of hidden stairs, and stare upwards at the seats that line the hall. It's lucky you're at the end of the line, your feet rooted to the ground on the final step by the sudden, unnerving terror of being faced with that ring of empty space; the stage that stretches out before you seems so small compared to the towering walls of the hall, so far into the ground when you look up at the final row of seats and see them hovering far above you as if to look down from the heavens.

Chan glances back from the middle of the pack as they spread out across the stage, checking that everyone is present, and beckons for you to join them, the smile on his face a message you can't decipher. Maybe he takes pleasure in seeing you speechless, or maybe he's just excited to share this with you - or relieved that you finally made it here after he staked everything on believing it would happen. Even with his invitation, you still can't find it in yourself to move though; not until a manager's gentle hand pushes you up that final step and onto the stage, the surface thumping quietly under the fall of your feet.

There are so many things you don't know, wandering across those boards while the others spread from corner to corner, jumping around or stretching or arranging bottles of water at its edge. They look so comfortable here, following a routine their bodies intrinsically understand, while you are...lost, your hands wringing nervously as you gravitate towards Chan in the centre of the stage.

He's still smiling though, his hand reaching out to stop yours from pulling themselves apart. "Still okay?" he asks, repeating the first question he'd put to you upon seeing the looming height of the convention centre this morning. 

"Mmm," you reply with a mouth that has forgotten how to shape words. "Not really."

"Do you want to go back downstairs for a moment?"

You focus on him instead of the seats for a moment, the warm feeling of his hand where it brushes your arm, the slow fade of his smile into something more focused on the problem, and how he can fix it. "No," you say, before he can get any further ahead of himself than he already has, and force a breath down into your lungs. "I'll get used to it. I just need something to do."

"We'll warm up in a minute," he assures you, and twists to look at the four boys that are gathering on the edge of the stage behind him, squawking at something they've seen down below. "Unless Han falls off the stage. Then I might just give up and go home."

Your eyes stray over his shoulder to the boys teetering on the edge of the platform, the toes of their shoes hanging over a fall that is far from fatal but still not ideal. As if he'd heard your conversation, Han crouches in the centre of them all, wobbling back and forth - it's the hand that Changbin wraps around his arm at the last minute that saves him, tugging him back on his heels just before he can tip too far forward to save himself. 

"Are you going to stop them?" you ask Chan, and very deliberately put your hands in the pocket of your hoodie as if you are completely relaxed, willing him not to turn around. 

"I'm trying really hard not to look, actually," he answers, and then he turns thoughtful. "Maybe I should make it your job to try and stop them, if you need something to do."

"I don't think I have that kind of authority here," you say, huffing a laugh. "You've killed any respect they had for their elders."

"I know. Lee Know is working on it," Chan sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"He has no respect either."

Chan's eyes flick to you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth; and he doesn't count the joke out loud, but you know that in his head he is adding it to his tally. You're not sure how he remembers what number he is up to, or why he even bothers when you throw them out so sporadically, numerous one day when you're feeling bold and then nothing on other days when the urge to cower at the sight of the group chat or all of them loudly laughing together is too strong. And recently you've started to throw them out in person too, rather than just in the safety of your messages with him. 

Maybe he just makes the numbers up as he goes along. You haven't been keeping track of the total he says each time any more than you suspect he counts the jokes. 

"I'm glad this is an English concert, actually," he says suddenly, snapping your attention back to the present moment.

You frown in confusion. "What?" you ask, wondering if you'd spaced out for a moment and missed something he'd said.

"I was just thinking," he answers. "I'm glad we'll be speaking English this week."

You still don't follow. "Why?"

"Because if we're speaking English, you'll talk to me like this on stage."

You can only stare at him for a moment. Processing what he'd said, and the way he'd said it; genuine, with that smile still hiding in the corner of his mouth. "I don't know if I'll be able to say anything on stage," you say when the words have sunk in, scrambling for a response. "I'm going to be busy trying not to mess it up."

"Oh, come on," he scoffs. "You don't need to do that. Nothing is going to go wrong."

Somehow, his brazen confidence eases some of the tension in your chest. Maybe because he plays at being so entirely convinced that it's kind of funny; maybe because he'd already thrown you off beat a moment before and you're still reeling. "You cannot tell me that you believe that," you say; a joke, but a weak one, testing the waters rather than diving right in with any of the other responses that spring to mind.

"I am a hundred percent sure everything will go perfectly," he throws back without hesitation.

"Are you?" you tease, egged on by the grin that bites at his face. "I feel like you've basically cursed us now that you've said that."

His smile very deliberately falters, his mouth flattening into a put-upon line. "Go and warm up," he sighs dramatically, waving a hand. "No more talking about curses. Go on."

Your own smile doesn't budge as you turn away, sticking to your face until you gather with the others in the centre of the stage, stretching and loosening stiff and cold muscles, a warning to your body that it is nearly time to dance. It goes by in a flash with the distraction of Changbin's loud voice in the background and the complaints of the younger boys around him every time he yells, the laughter that the group shares. Chan was right, too; the distraction is just what you need, the laughter easing the anxiety that squeezes at your chest so that by the time you sort yourselves into the opening formation of God's Menu, you can almost imagine that it's just another day in the practice rooms at home.

"Ready?" Changbin asks as he rounds out the back of the formation, a hand held out flat between you.

You slap it with your own, loud enough that the sound echoes across the stage and he rescinds, shaking his palm out like it stings. "Ready," you confirm, adding strength to your voice so that he will believe you, and then you turn you backs on each other, crouching down back-to-back.

You spare Hyunjin a small smile, now in front of you where he crouches as well, and then drop your head as the music starts, counting the beats to the moment where you will jump to your feet.

It comes quick, barely four bars past the moment that that loud, discordant beat kicks in; quick enough that every time, it feels like it takes your breath away as Hyunjin turns to the side and you rise to your feet, only a moment before Felix and I.N shift outward too and reveal you to the empty crowd. It occurs to you again, in the fleeting of moments that passes between beats, just how terrifying that could be on the day that it matters - how it could be so easy to freeze in the spotlight and forget what you're supposed to do and where to go after-

"Ne sonnim!" you shout to an invisible audience, your throat remembering by itself the power that Changbin has beaten into you in the days since you'd taken the part and your hand rising into the air. Someone whoops into the microphone as you take your swift step to the left, out of Changbin's way - you almost laugh, but your concentration turns too quickly to the choreography and your place in the crowd, careful to stay out of Chan's way as he moves forward and you move back.

It gets easier from there, until the second verse comes around - hide at the back and keep up with the rest, part of a unit rather than leading the way into the light. Your parts follow on naturally, short and sharp movements paired with similar vocals in the verse, and then the relatively easy task of standing still and filling your chest with your voice while they continue the dance around you in the pre-chorus. 

And then, the bow at the end, the struggle not to stop and gasp for a breath of air in the five seconds of silence that follow.

Hyunjin is the first to fall on the third runthrough, sitting with a dramatic flourish and signalling the start of a break for everyone. Minho rolls a bottle of water across the stage to him, and then holds one out to you - you take it gratefully, your throat already dry just after one song. Nerves, you think as you sate your thirst and then pass the bottle off to I.N. 

"Happy?" you ask Hyunjin, still on the floor close enough to your feet that you're mindful of not stepping on him as you shuffle around, keeping your feet moving. 

He groans, his head rolling backwards to look at the ceiling. "We still have to run through Hellevator," he says, which is not an answer to the question, but not a complaint either. No news is good news, you assume, and nudge his bottle back towards him again as it wanders away down an imagined slant in the stage surface. 

"You have a whole day off tomorrow," I.N points out.

"No I don't," Hyunjin replies, unscrewing the cap of his water bottle. "I have schedules to go to."

"So do I," Seungmin puts in from behind you, a shadow at your back as he circles around to join the group.

"No, you don't," I.N says, his eyes tracking him as he walks. "The only thing we're doing is going out for lunch."

He flips the empty bottle in his hand up and down idly between two fingers as he speaks, his attention elsewhere. You can see the glint of playfulness in Seungmin's eyes as they mull over what he's said, and then look down, tracking the movement of the bottle - you don't see his hand before he whacks it out of I.N's hand and watches it bounce away down the stage, laughing at the look of disgust on the younger boy's face.

"Do you want to come out for lunch tomorrow, noona?" Seungmin asks while I.N is distracted by the bottle.

"I want to come out for lunch," Hyunjin says from the floor, carefully placing his own water out of Seungmin's reach.

"You're not invited," Seungmin throws back before he can be convinced. "Unless you're paying."

Hyunjin screws up his nose and turns away, climbing to his feet instead of answering. Minho calls your names from the other side of the stage only a moment later, the backing track of the new song they'd added just for you queuing and then stuttering to a stop over the sound system. "I'll come out for lunch," you answer Seungmin as you walk, I.N falling into your shadows. You specifically don't say anything about paying.

"Good," Seungmin says, "because we're making a vocalracha vlog."

If he notices the way your stomach drops at the mention of the vlog, he doesn't say anything, and you don't either - stupid, really, to feel nervous about the prospect of a camera pointed at you when you've spent all these years chasing that exact dream. Not to mention the amount of cameras that have caught you in their vision in the past - from instructors, and evaluations, and TV networks, and online content.

But to do it with them, for their fans who, so far as you've read, don't seem very interested in seeing you with them...the thought kind of turns your stomach upside down. Makes the sweat running down the back of your neck turn ice cold all of a sudden, your skin shivering at its sudden touch. 

"What are you worrying about?" I.N asks you suddenly, appearing at your shoulder.

"What?" Seungmin says on your other side.

Before you can answer, I.N cranes his neck to see the other boy and says, "She's worrying about something again. Look at her face."

"What?" you echo, and if your face wasn't screwed up in consternation before, it is now. "My face isn't doing anything. How would you know? You were behind me the whole time."

"You can pull expressions with the back of your head?" Seungmin asks. "That's weird. You're weird."

You arrive in the circle of the rest of the group like that, I.N looking at Seungmin like he has something equally witty that he wants to say. Chan leans behind Seungmin with a funny twist to his mouth that says from one look, he knows exactly what you're going through, and wordlessly offers you a microphone. You pull down your headset as you take it and tune out whatever Seungmin says next, calling up the lyrics to the next song as the music starts. 

You note, as you sing the first line, that the tension in your chest has eased away as quickly as it had tightened. You have a feeling that was I.N's perogative the entire time. Either way, you're grateful. 

—

"Annyeong," Seungmin says to the camera that sits heavy in his hand, hoisted up to keep its lense from catching the sun as you walk down the street. "This is our vocalracha exclusive outing. No one else is allowed."

"Stay is allowed," I.N says beside him, poking his head into frame just to give Seungmin a look that the camera will catch, and they start off on an argument that plays out so naturally you can almost forget that the camera is there at all.

Except that you can't, because every time you stare into the face of it from where you're hiding on one side, your stomach drops and your limbs stiffen like they don't know what to do with themselves, anticipating the moment that it turns onto you.

Not that you haven't seen a camera before, or even had to produce this kind of content. The survival show you'd once done had loved this type of content just as much as any other, and there was always someone recording something in practice rooms, whether it ended up online or not...but this felt different somehow. More revealing, or more public, maybe, because of the audience that would surely be waiting to watch it. Because of the way that audience felt about you, lain out so clearly in a hundred comment sections online for you to see.

"You know who is invited," Seungmin says, cutting over whatever I.N has just told him with little regard for the other boy's opinions. "Our noona is here to buy us lunch."

You blink, and the eye of that camera turns to look at you in the moment that you aren't paying attention, cornering you within its gaze. Ignore it, you tell yourself firmly around the lump that begins to form in your throat, and turn your head to look at Seungmin instead, trying to remind yourself of the conversation topic. "Is that the only reason you invited me?" you ask, and resist the urge to wince when it comes out flatter rather than playful, the joke choking on itself before it can even reach your tongue.

Seungmin doesn't miss a beat, his lips pursed like he's thinking about it. "Youngest always pays," he says. 

Behind him, you can see I.N's gaze turn sharp, already preparing to be the next one under fire. "I'm older than you," you point out mildly, not wanting to swing the conversation one particular direction or another.

"Grandma always pays," he fires back.

"You can't just change the rules to whatever you like," I.N says.

"Says who?"

"Everyone," you tell him.

"Do you even know where you're going?" I.N asks.

Seungmin scoffs. "No. That wasn't my job."

"Why are you leading then?"

"I'm following Stay." 

Their attention snaps so naturally back to the camera that it feels like whiplash, like you're lagging one step behind and you can't quite catch up. You tail off again as Seungmin starts explaining your day and what you're doing after this to an invisible audience, sliding back out of view and into your comfort zone to the side of the camera, forcing a breath right down into the bottom of your lungs. 

You're going to have to get used to this, and the idea that everyone is going to see everything you do. It's silly to try to dance around it when there is no way out, but still, you let yourself slip away when you can no longer muster the strength to hold yourself within view of that camera, promising that another day you will try harder. Another day, it will come easier, and you will stand there and chatter on to that lense without thinking twice, just like the boys do.

Today isn't that day though. Neither will tomorrow be, and the day after-

The day after, you are on stage, for all the world to scrutinise in full view rather than in a box on a computer screen.

---

"You can go out when you're ready," the stylist tells you with a final adjustment of the hem of your shirt, gently tugging the creases into just the right position. "Have a good dress rehearsal. Let me know if there's anything we can fix."

She moves out of the way of the mirror so that you can see the entire piece. It's a simple concept, really, dark and grungy to fit the group's ongoing concept and yet pulled off in pieces of soft cotton and the glimmering gold of the plain rings on your fingers. You could almost imagine yourself sitting at home doing nothing, except for the makeup that sharpens the lines of your face and deepens its shadows, the embellishments that dangle from the loose cargo pants that cover your legs and the way that the hoodie's sleeves billow artfully at your sides. A safe outfit for a first performance, except for the strip of skin that shows at your midriff whenever you move, the shirt's hem cut at just the right length to expose it.

There'd been a lot of back-and-forth over outfits in the past few weeks. You'd only been privy to the part of it where they'd asked how much are you comfortable with and you'd answered I don't mind what I wear, and then the fittings afterwards in which there was a new outfit every time, but you knew there'd been...discussions. Arguments. Mistakes, nearly, and since then it seemed like the entire group's styling had been toned down to accomodate the lack of agreement over yours, which was-

Music starts playing upstairs somewhere, blaring from the speakers and then cutting off again. "Thankyou," you say to the stylist, who is already busy with something else, and cut across the room to where the boys are gathering around a manager who is handing out equipment. 

"Ah, noona!" Changbin says as you approach, his voice deliberately pushed high and light to match the broad smile that crosses his face. "I haven't introduced our noona yet!" A camera follows him, latching onto you before you have time to duck away - you swallow the nerves that suddenly pile onto your chest and focus on the smile you're giving Changbin in greeting and the table behind him that you're trying to reach. 

"Hello Stay," you say to no one, waving at the camera for the two seconds you're comfortable enough to look at it. You busy yourself with the search for your equipment on the table as an excuse to turn away and collect yourself, preparing for the onslaught of questions that you know Changbin has been told to ask.

"That's right, Stay," he says to the camera in your peripheral vision, filling the empty space that would otherwise be left. "Just for you, we brought our new member to LA to show you just how cool she is. Right, Y/N?"

There, over in the corner. "Yes," you say over your shoulder and then grab the bundle of cords and monitors, careful not to tangle anything. "I've come after a long time to join everyone here."

"You hear that, Stay? We trained her for a long time just for you."

The way that Changbin fills the air all on his own is like a weight lifted off your chest, giving you a chance to breathe while he natters on about the schedule and how he expects the performance to go and whatever else happens to come to his mind. Hyunjin's arrival provides further relief; you busy yourself with the equipment in your hands while you hang in the background of their show, appropriately on camera and yet out of the way of the spotlight while you pretend to be too busy to talk.

The in-ears pack unravels itself in your hands, a long string of cord and a monitor that nearly slips from your hand as you separate it, conveniently providing a real distraction rather than the one you were pretending to focus on. You clip it at your hip before it can hit the floor, your other hand reaching up to feed the cord down your back.

"Ah, wait, wait, wait," a voice says behind you as you try to tug the cord down through your shirt, and then warm fingers brush the back of your neck, brushing your hair away from a knot you hadn't realised had formed at your collar. Your head turns so that you can see Chan out of the corner of your eye, picking at the cord until it falls freely down your spine. You catch the other end of it with your hand, turning to face him as you plug it into the monitor.

"I don't know how I did that," you admit with half a smile, quiet enough that the camera behind you won't pick it up. 

"Five minutes in and you're breaking things already," he returns, his fingers gently shifting a lock of hair out of the way of the cord. It slips from his fingers as you turn to face him, adjusting the way that the earpieces fall over your shoulders and dangle around your neck.

"I like the outfit they gave you," he says as you take in what they've dressed him in - artfully designed cargo pants, just like yours, and a sleeveless shirt that's half-tucked at the waist, detailed in silver. "The SKZ style suits you."

"You think so?" you ask, looking down at yourself again. Too self conscious, you know, but you're mindful of what it might look like from the outside, what the fans might think of you when the boys move aside and they see you for the first time on that stage- "It's not too..."

"No, it's perfect," Chan insists. "You look good."

You struggle to keep your face from turning red as you say, "Thanks." By the way his lips pinch together, trying to swallow a smile, you're pretty sure you fail.

"Are you going up now?" he asks, a hand pointing to the stairs that lead to the stage.

"In a minute," you answer. "I just need-" You spy the object you're looking for as you speak; your headset, neatly wrapped on the other side of the table. It only takes a moment to unwind, looping it over your head and reaching back to feed the cord through again.

"Have you tried using a microphone?" Chan asks, circling around you again to free the cord from your collar before you can displace everything. 

"I thought it would be better if my hands were free," you answer. "Maybe next time I will."

"Use whatever you want," he says, watching as you hook up the headset and shuffle its components into a space where they are comfortable. 

When you're done, he offers you a hand, his body twisted towards the stairs. "Ready?" he asks.

You glance behind you before you take the hand that's offered, looking for Changbin's camera. You find it in the corner of your eye, pointed safely at Felix as he endeavours to take uninterrupted selfies up against the back wall. When you turn back, Chan is still waiting, his hand steady and his patience unending, as if he'd stand there an eon if it meant you would walk up those stairs with him.

"Ready," you say, the word dragging all your breath out with it, and you take his hand, the warmth of his palm sinking into your cold fingers and the strength of his grip dragging you up into the world above.

---

A squeal of delight that echoes in the large, empty space is all the warning you get before a body barrels into you, uncaring of the phone held in your hands or even if you're looking up when she meets you.

Minseo, her hands cold and her body familiar as she hugs you tight enough to squeeze all the breath out of your lungs and then pulls away to look at your face with a smile that you feel like you haven't seen in decades. Her cheeks are pink from the cold air outside, her gaze alight as a giggle rises to the surface of her breath at the luck or the absurdity of you meeting in this place, at this time, after so long apart. 

"I can't believe you're here," she says, as if you haven't known for weeks that you would be in the same hotel at the same time, scheduled to perform the same day. "I can't believe I'm here. God, we have so much to catch up on."

"I can't believe I'm here either," you answer. "After everything that's happened this year-"

"Don't you dare tell me you might not have been here," Minseo threatens, one finger prodding at the air between you. 

"Maybe I was going to say we might not have been here," you lie.

She sees through you immediately, arms crossing over her chest. "No, you weren't."

No, I wasn't. "Are we hanging out in your room or mine?" you ask instead to distract her.

Her eyes stray to the desk behind her, where her managers and the rest of her group wait patiently. "Well I don't even have my room yet, so..." her voice trails off suggestively, her back turning on her team with the conviction that tells you she would abandon them here without a second thought if you let her.

"Get your key first," you say, reaching out and pushing her back towards the desk. "I'll come up with you."

"But I can't wait that long to hear what you've been doing here for three days," she whines.

"Nothing special," you insist.

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night

@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk

@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification

@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002

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@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

@keepswingin

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: A New World {5}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Pressure seems to be coming from all directions and it's only a matter of time before you explode. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, mention of drugs, angst WC: 2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six

Silverstone Grand Prix Lando hadn’t stopped moving all night. If he wasn’t dancing, he was circling the club and talking to everyone that had come out to celebrate his second place finish at his home race, or DJing. His excitement had been infectious enough to replace the disappointment from the seventh place finish for you and the ninth place for Charles. 

“Mamour, dance with me,” Charles begged as he appeared behind you, a drink in one hand and the other on the small of your back. His palm rubbed soothing circles and you leant back into the touch with a groan. “Does your back still hurt?”

The porpoising of the car had been horrific and even Kristian’s hands hadn’t been able to ease the ache after the race, but you didn’t want Charles to worry as you turned to face him. “Yeah, it’s sore from carrying my team.”

His laugh warmed your ear before his cold lips kissed the space beneath. “That’s my girl.”

“Yes I am, now where is our boy?” You scanned the crowd looking for Lando but instead found his parents dancing together and sharing whispers. “I was always jealous of you guys.”

“For what?”

“That. Having parents that loved each other. I thought I was missing out on something,” you said with a nod to Adam and Cisca before clearing your throat at the unexpected wistfulness that arose. “I’m just going to get some fresh air. Why don’t you find Lando and I’ll meet you there?”

You didn’t wait for an answer as you escaped the busy room to the balcony on the upper level. Clouds of flavoured smoke greeted you from the people who had gone to vape where they were allowed and you squeezed through until you found a small pocket of space in the back corner. 

“You look like you could use this more than me.”

You looked at the joint the stranger offered, more than likely some friend of a friend of Lando’s, and you raised your hand to wave away the smoke that drifted your way. “No, thank you.”

“Go on, it’ll help you relax.”

“I don’t need to relax, alright, so just fuck off would you?”

“Woah, lovie, calm down,” he laughed before taking a long drag and blowing the bitter sweet smoke in your face.

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” you bit out, barely feeling the burn of the spliff in your palm as you snatched it from him. “And I’m not your fucking ‘lovie’-”

“Baby. Babe! What’s going on?” Lando slid between you, forcing the stranger back as he took your hand and swore. “What the hell did you do, Jakob?”

“Nothing, bro, you’re girl looked like she was stressing,” Jakob said with an innocent shrug. “I was just trying to help.”

“H-help?!” you stammered as your hands turned to fists with the growing anger burning hotter than your hand. “I would lose my seat you fucking imbecile. Your idiot friend was trying to get me to smoke weed.”

“Why are you getting angry at me?” Lando asked as he stepped back. “I was coming to see if you were alright. Just calm down for a second, love.”

You had seen Romain Grosjean’s car explode when he crashed in Bahrain, heard the audible pop that rippled through the air before the wall of flames erupted. You imagined that something similar was happening inside you. “Don’t tell me to calm down,” you hissed quietly as you felt the stares of everyone on the balcony. “This is fucking calm.”

Lando’s eyes were wide as he reeled back, his jaw dropping at the tone you took. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I guess I am my father’s daughter.” You felt your lips tugging though there was nothing to smile about and it was as if you were a passenger in your own body. You couldn’t control the words as they tumbled out of your mouth with a harsh laugh. 

You looked at the joint in your hand, an angry blister appearing where it had burnt you, and saw the tip was still aglow. Rolling it in your fingers you started to lift it to your lips as you wondered what it would taste like, if it would relax your racing mind and tired body. 

“We’re leaving,” Lando growled as he grabbed your wrist and started to drag you back inside, the joint falling to the floor.

“What happened?” Charles asked the moment he saw the hard look on Lando’s face and tight grip on your limp arm. 

“I don’t know, ask Spitfire. Miss Verstappen here is starting fights and taking drugs now apparently.”

“Don’t call her that.”

“Maybe Daddy Dearest and I can share a cell one day, work on that father/daughter bond we never had,” you laughed darkly. “Oh wait, no we can’t because he only got home detention and gets to spend all day with Kelly and Blue playing happy families.”

“Non, non, your lawyer said Jos would get three years minimum,” Charles said as he looked between you and Lando with disbelief. “His stunt could have killed you.”

“I know. I was there, funnily enough.” You shifted on your feet wishing you hadn’t worn heels and you debated kicking them off. “At least Blue doesn’t have to grow up without a dad - at least she will think he gives a shit about her.”

Lando’s fingers eased their grip from your wrist and slipped down to hold your hand. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because it doesn’t matter. It would only upset you and it doesn’t bother me - I have a restraining order against him.”

“But it is obviously bothering you, baby,” he said as he shared a look with Charles. “We’ve both noticed you’ve been acting a little crazy for a while.”

“Well I only found out after we got here so thanks for that. Look, I’m just going to head back to the hotel and find mum.” You pulled away from them as the laser lights caught the shimmer of tears running down your cheeks. “I don’t want to ruin your night any more than I already have.”

“Wait, no,” Lando argued as he took a step after you, tripping over the heels you had slipped off before disappearing into the crowd and missing his quiet words, “you haven’t ruined anything.”

Your feet ached from the run to the hotel and your boobs weren’t feeling much better. The clubbing dress wasn’t exactly one that a supportive bra could fit under so you felt each slap of your feet on the pavement reverberate up your body and bounce them uncomfortably. A few people stared as you rushed by but most people out at the late hour had their own problems to deal with rather than worrying about the person running like a madwoman down the street. 

“Am I crazy?”

Your mother looked a little perplexed as she opened the door to her suite wider to let you in, her eyes narrowing at your bare feet as you walked past panting. “Is this a serious question or rhetorical?”

“I’m being serious, mum.”

“Well,” she said as she pointed to the couch and turned off the TV that was playing the evening news, “I think you are safe if you’re asking that. Most crazy people wouldn’t ask if they are crazy.”

You fell into the couch heavily and rubbed your temples furiously. “There’s something wrong with me though.”

You felt the seat beside you sink in as she sat down before she pulled your hands away. “Why do you say that, honey?”

“I don’t know, I just feel off. Unbalanced. I keep fucking things up with Lando and Charles and I know one day they will get sick of it and leave me. And I wouldn’t blame them.”

“Those boys love you, and what you three have is special but relationships are hard, sweetheart. They take time and energy to maintain. You have to work to keep them going strong, work on both the relationship and yourself.” She paused as she looked at your hands in hers, your nails almost non-existent from the biting habit that had resurfaced in recent months. “What's really on your mind? I haven’t seen you this stressed since your first karting race.”

“Fuck,” you swore under your breath as you pulled your knees up to your chest and wiped your eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing, mum. Last year I had Max on my team and I knew he had my back, now I feel like I have a target on mine.”

“I thought Lawernce was pleased with your work.”

“Points equal money so Lawrence is happy, but Lance is struggling more than me at getting them lately. The upgrades just aren’t doing enough and the further I get ahead in the standings the tenser things are with him, but I need to push harder. I have no hope of beating Max or Checo without the RB19, so, so, so maybe I’m just not that good a driver like everyone said.”

“Oh, honey,” she cooed softly as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders and tucked you into her side. “You are a great driver, no matter the car.”

“I want to believe that but I’m second guessing myself over every decision I’ve made and it makes me so angry that I’m snapping at everyone around me, especially Charles and Lando. I know I’m the problem, mum, I just don’t know how to fix me, or if I even can be…What if there’s just too much Verstappen in here?” Your fist slammed against your chest and as if to prove your point the sound was as hollow as you felt.

Sitting up straight, your mother gave you the look that made you shift uncomfortably before her lips parted. “You listen to me, and you listen well: you are not broken, and there is nothing to ‘fix’. Max, Victoria and Blue all share the same blood as you and they are not broken either. You are more than who your father is and there is nothing wrong with being a Verstappen.”

“Then why didn’t you call me that? If it’s not that bad, why isn’t it on my birth certificate?”

Your mother sighed deeply and she suddenly looked tired - as if her age was catching up with her at the late hour. “Honey, I was your age when I found out I was pregnant. I was young and heartbroken and alone.” 

You couldn’t blame her, you could hardly imagine trying to raise a kid alone, especially one that was a reminder of what was probably the worst betrayal she had faced. It had probably put her off ever wanting another relationship again. “How come you never dated anyone after Jos?”

“I dated other men, honey. I didn’t become a nun,” she teased with a nudge of her shoulder. “You just never met any of them.”

You tried not to think about the nun statement too much but you couldn’t help asking, “Why?”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Because you are the most precious gift I ever received and I wasn’t going to bring just anyone into our home. The only man I wanted to bring home was one prepared to be a father to you, we were a package deal.”

Your brows pinched together as you understood yet another sacrifice she had made for you growing up. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You’ll understand it when you’re a mother one day - when you’re older, much older, and retired from racing.” She patted your knee twice at the knock on the door and stood up to open it. “Evening gentlemen, come to collect our Champ?”

You looked to the door and found Lando leaning against the frame with your heels hanging from his fingertips. Charles stood beside him with a hand on his waist.

“Actually, we were wondering if we could have a family meeting.”

Click here for the next part.

[trensu]

Some more of stasis in darkness. you have no idea how many times i've written this scene. i discarded three or four different versions of it before i came up with this one. i feel like this version worked best for the characters. or at least i hope they feel in character.

It was the ninth night.

Steve took his usual spot before the shrine. He greeted his god as he had before but decided tonight was going to be a quiet night. He didn’t have much to say so he’d simply let his faith burn bright in his silent vigil.

Hours passed, and again the strange man didn’t show up as he had been the nights prior. This time, Steve didn’t bother putting it off. He decided to do a perimeter check. As he stood, however, a cacophony of squeaks and beating wings filled the air.

A massive colony of bats burst into the clearing. They moved shockingly fast as they neared Steve and the shrine. Steve ducked his head under his arms but let the bats come. He ignored the little Robin in his head yelling about rabies. He couldn’t risk hurting one of his god’s favored creatures. 

There were so many of them, more than Steve had ever seen in his life. They flew round and round dropping altitude until they coalesced at the foot of the shrine. The din stopped as abruptly as it had started. When Steve could no longer hear a single squeak or feel wings zipping overhead, he lowered his arms. Cautiously, he lifted his head, eyes drawn immediately to the shrine to check for any damage. 

Not a single bat remained. Instead, the strange man sat, cross legged, at the statue’s feet. He wore a dark cloak comprised of deep navies, bruising purples, and an inky black. Each color slowly, gracefully shifted and melted one into another, again and again before Steve’s eyes. Flecks of light littered it in familiar formations. The clasp that secured it around the man was a bright silvery white. It was shaped exactly the same as the waning moon above. 

“Ta-da!” the man said, fluttering his hands in a showman’s gesture.

Steve took in the man's appearance. The ratty travel clothes, the cloak of constellations and its clasp…Steve leapt back in shock. Everything suddenly clicked into place very quickly to paint a very unflattering picture of himself. He whirled around. He couldn't face the shrine. 

"Shit," Steve's voice was loud with a stunned sort of panic as he remembered the events of the past week. He paced anxiously. "Shit, shit. It was y–the whole time, you were–FUCK. How did I miss–and even if you weren't you, you were still a traveler in the night and I treated you like–I'm a fucking idiot. I'm the stupidest man alive, how–"

"Probably from getting dropped on the head so much, huh?" the man asked with that same annoyingly self-satisfied voice he'd been using every night. The annoying stranger with his annoying questions and his stupid smug tone.

Mindlessly, Steve turned on his heel to glare at the man. He jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction, frustration flaring.

"Oh, you can fuck right off, man," Steve replied reflexively. "I am having a crisis!"

A split second later, he felt his stomach drop to his feet. This wasn't just a stranger talking. He backpedaled hard.

"Oh, ohhhh no, I didn't mean that, Lord, I-I wasn't thinking."

The man exploded into raucous laughter. It shook his whole body until he doubled over from the strength of it. He continued to laugh when he toppled off the side of his perch and landed with a thunk on the ground. The man sat up, wheezing and wiping at his face, mirth clearly keeping him in a choke-hold. 

"Oh, far be it for me to interrupt your crisis," the Lord of Night forced out amidst the laughter. He flapped a hand at him. "Please, continue."

The god attempted to regain composure but all that did was turn his full bellied guffaws into snorting giggles. Steve waited, his anxiety fading in the face of the god’s genuine good humor. It took another couple of minutes before the god calmed enough to pop back to his feet and climb back onto the plinth. The man made himself comfortable at the foot of his own statue as he had before.

"So how goes the crisis?" he asked mischievously.

"On hold," Steve said evenly, fighting back the start of a smile. The man said nothing but still radiated amusement. Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you really the Lord of Night?"

"The one and only!"

“And you’ve been here the whole time?”

“Yep!”

“So why didn’t you say anything? I mean, I talked to you every night! I don’t get it.” Steve paused as a thought occurred to him. “Was this a test?”

“Uh…yes? Yes.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. The god shifted in his seated position. It reminded Steve of the time Dustin shattered a jar of his most expensive hair product and tried to hide it. Dustin had squirmed guiltily under Steve’s expectant gaze until he confessed to his dastardly crime. Apparently, the method worked on gods as well.

“Okay, it started more as an attempt to get you to leave me alone,” the Lord of Night admitted. 

“Oh.” It came out blankly, which Steve was grateful for, because he felt like he’d been kicked in the chest by a mule. “You don’t want me.”

Steve wasn't sure why he was surprised. This was a classic Steve problem. He tamped down the old familiar sting of rejection. Steve knew going in that this had been a possibility. It was a god’s right to reject an offering.

“I never wanted any holy warriors,” the Lord of Night corrected. “Hence the attempt to make you leave.” 

Steve supposed that lessened the blow a little. It was an impersonal rejection. That was better, right? 

"If you didn't want me as your holy warrior you could've just said," Steve said ruefully.

“You seemed pretty determined to come back, though.”

“Only because I thought you’d want to, like, use me for something. If you’d asked me to, I would’ve stopped bothering you. I could’ve gotten someone else who could worship you better,” Steve said, trying to keep his voice light and unaffected.

"Yeah, I really don’t think you could have,” the Lord of Night said in a strained tone. 

“No, I mean it,” Steve insisted. “I told you, Robin and Dustin wanted to come along. They would make sure you’re not alone again. You would like them. They pick up on stuff faster than me. They’d be good worshipers.”

“That’s not what I meant. Your worship was, uh, it was…no, nevermind, forget that. The thing is, the more you came back the more I…” 

The Lord of Night trailed off. He tugged his dark starry cloak around him tighter. When he spoke again, he seemed to have switched tracks entirely. 

"Look, I don't know exactly how the holy warrior thing works, but you guys do quests for your gods, right?"

"Well, yeah, that's the whole point. We're your boots on the ground. We do acts in your service to spread your faith. Like priests but less boring." 

The god snorted which made Steve grin.

"Priests are so boring," the Lord of Night agreed. 

Things went quiet again. The cloak of constellations made it hard to see his god, but Steve got the impression that the Lord of Night was fidgeting. Steve remembered the conversation from a few nights before, about nervousness and not knowing what to do. Steve fell back on his social graces, his good old Harrington charm, and carefully picked something that would encourage the god to speak.

"I can't believe I didn’t see it,” Steve said, with a self-deprecating shake of his head. “Like, I know I'm not the smartest guy around but I didn't think I was that slow."

"Don't worry about it,” the god replied instantly, breaking out of his internal reverie. “That's not on you. I didn't want you to notice, so you didn't."

"Oh."

"Yep. And, it's not like I have a face to remember, so, y'know. You're good."

"I guess that does make me feel bet–wait. What do you mean you don’t have a face?” Steve squinted at the Lord of Night.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I lost my name,” the Lord of Night said with a hint of irony. “No name, no face.”

“But I saw it,” Steve insisted.

“Did you?” the Lord of Night asked, amused. He slid off the plinth and walked up to Steve until he was only three feet away. The god lowered his hood without any flourish. “What do I look like?”

Steve squinted at him studiously. The god was pale as moonlight and had hair as dark as the night itself; as for the rest of him…it was the strangest thing. Steve knew there was a pair of eyes under a brow. There was a nose above a mouth. He knew the right features were in the right places. However, he couldn’t tell if the eyes were dark or pale. He couldn’t say whether the nose was large or small. The mouth could be thin or it could be full. 

“I don’t know,” Steve relented. The Lord of Night nodded.

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Is…is that the quest? To find your name?” Steve asked, dread pooling in his belly. That quest would involve a lot of reading and…he didn’t even know. Language things? General research, for sure. None of which Steve was particularly good at.

“That’s a bit presumptuous of you,” the Lord of Night smirked. He didn't give Steve a chance to apologize. “But yeah, there’s something important that needs to be done. I’m not strong enough to do it myself and I’m running out of time to do it.”

“I can do it,” Steve responded. “I’ll do it for you, my Lord.”

“You don’t even know what the quest is,” the god said wistfully.

“But I know you wouldn’t ask me to do anything cruel or unfair.”

“You’re unbelievable,” the Lord of Night muttered under his breath. Steve didn’t think he was supposed to hear that so he kept quiet. In a louder voice, the god resumed. “Okay, are you sure you wanna do this? Be a holy warrior? Because you could be literally anything else. You told me you liked cooking during one of your prayer sessions. You could open up a restaurant! Restaurant owners don’t usually die in the line of duty or whatever.”

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This is what Steve trained for, what he was good at, and he wanted to put those skills to use.

“You said you needed help to do something important. I want to be the one that helps you. I want to be your warrior. I can do it, I know I can. I won’t let you down.” Steve bit his lip uncertainly as a thought struck him. "If you don't think I'm worthy–"

“It’s not about worthiness!" The god cut in. "Do you know what it would mean to be my holy warrior? The weight of the night sky, with all the stars and the moon, will be on your shoulders for as long as you walk the land. I don’t know much about holy warriors but I remember this: there’s no take-backs. You can’t just quit and go off to become something else later.”

“Yes, I know. We covered this in lectures at school. It wasn’t all swordplay," Steve said impatiently. "I did think about it once I finished training and I decided if I could find a god to pledge myself to, I didn't want to be anything else. Then I found you."

“...Okay. If you're sure, then okay,” the Lord of Night said decisively. “So what do I have to do? How do I make you mine?”

“Um, I think it’s different from god to god?” Steve stuttered, heart thumping at the god’s words. “But I guess we can do our own thing? I’m pretty sure it’s the intent that matters most.”

"I can work with that." The Lord of Night gestured downward. "Kneel, kneel. I have an idea of what to say.

"Should I close my eyes or something?" Steve asked once he’d gotten to his knees.

"Nah, this is good," Lord Night said. 

The god squared his shoulders and straightened his spine. Then, something miraculous happened. The Lord of Night spoke his name aloud.

“Steve Harrington.”

It was the first time his god ever said his name; it was stunning in a way Steve couldn’t begin to comprehend. A bolt of lightning down his spine. A roaring forge in his chest. A whirlwind in his lungs. It felt like all of that simultaneously, yet nothing like that at all. How could pitiful human speech hope to encompass the intensity of a god’s undivided attention; his god’s specific acknowledgement of a primitive life such as his? 

Tears sprang unbidden in Steve’s eyes. He became aware how lowly and frail his own body was, and how utterly insignificant his existence was in the vastness of the stars in the sky. He curled forward, hiding his face and making himself as small as he could. He could not bear his god seeing his mortal failings and imperfections. It would invite an exquisite, holy agony Steve surely wouldn’t survive. 

“Oh,” the Lord of Night breathed. “I forgot how that could feel to a human. I’ll try not to do it again.”

“No,” the word tore out of Steve’s throat without any conscious thought. “No, please. Please, my Lord.”

Steve didn’t even know what he was begging for because the singular attention of a god was agony but the thought of his god leaving him filled him with terror. He shattered, left with no purchase save his god’s words. Then there were arms around him, pulling him close, and enveloping him in constellations. Steve’s vision blurred. Great, heaving sobs overcame him as though ripped from his very soul. The Lord of Night murmured comfortingly.

“Alright, there we go,” he said softly. “I’m here, Steve. I see you in the night, every night. The stars shine for you, Steve. The moon turns its face for you. I’m with you, Steve.”

The words crashed into him with the unrelenting force of ocean waves. They swept his footing from underneath him and sent him spinning endlessly, endlessly. They lifted him upwards and sent him plummeting down until he was deep below the surface where the currents finally slowed. Surrounded by eternally burning stars, he was left weightless and suspended in an unearthly calm. The words rang in his skull with the surety and strength only a celestial being could claim.

Somewhere between an eternity and no time at all, Steve came back to himself feeling overexerted, though he hadn’t moved from where he knelt. Steve’s heart and soul had been scraped out of his chest, put between a pestle and mortar before getting unceremoniously dumped back in his weak flesh, but in a weirdly good way. His sobs subsided. His breathing came in and out slowly.

Eventually the cloak of constellations released him as well. He blinked his eyes open gradually to see his god kneeling before him at arm's length, palms resting on Steve's shoulders. Steve felt a stab of shame at having brought his god down low to a mortal's level. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Steve croaked. “Do you still–? Can I still be–?”

“No, yeah,” the Lord of Night said straight away. “That was on me. Not your fault at all. I’m out of practice interacting with mortals."

The god’s words lost the gravitas from before in a way that would've been jarring if it weren't such a relief. He finally broke his hold on Steve. He got to his feet, somewhat gracelessly. 

"Let’s try that again?” the Lord of Night asked.

Steve cleared his throat. He straightened up where he knelt and kept himself still. He nodded to show he was ready.

“Steve Harrington,” the god said. This time hearing his name on his god’s lips was exhilarating but at a level a human could bear. “Do you swear to spread my values in the minds and hearts of mortals, through action and word?”

“I swear.”

“Then will you, Steve Harrington, do me the honor of being my sword and shield? Will you carry my crest through all your agonies and all your joys?”

“Yes.”

For a breathless moment, their words hung in the air, resonating through the night with finality. The Lord of Night reached out and gently traced something on Steve's forehead. Steve assumed it was his god's sigil, though neither Robin or Dustin could find any images of it so he couldn't be sure. It felt like an incomplete circle with a squiggle running through it. The god stepped back to observe him when he was done.

The stillness that followed, ironically, rattled Steve’s bones with relief and joy that it was done. His god had accepted him. Then the Lord of Night shuffled his feet in an awkward, shy manner.

“Cool,” said the Lord of Night.

The heaviness and tension brought down by the gravity of their oath ruptured with that single world, and Steve could do nothing but dissolve in helpless, giddy giggles.

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 9

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

Yeehaw by @buoyantsaturn

Or: 5 times Will had a secret power and 1 time he didn't

yall DO NOT UNDERSTAND how much i love this fucking fic. i read it one time when i was like 16, before i started bookmarking fics, and then a couple years ago i spent TWELVE GODDAMN DAYS sifting through every fic in my history to find this. i LOVE this fic. i love will having a strange scattering of powers he doesnt really advertise. its so fun and exciting. i also love 5+1 fics w my whole soul

2. give me one good honest kiss by @ethannku

One second Jason is across from him, lounging against the wall; the next, he’s leaning in, closing the distance between them. And then the warmth is back, blooming across Leo’s face, and he’s worried he’s going to start a fire. His eyes subconsciously slide shut. He registers a soft pressure on his cheek, Jason’s hand, and Leo is certain that his face must be burning. Jason sits back before he’s set aflame, though, and a smile flickers on his face. Leo’s lips tingle. Jason’s hand is still on his cheek. Without thinking, Leo darts his tongue out to lick his lips. Cherry. “Does that answer your question?” - Or; four times Jason kisses Leo, and one time Leo kisses him back

i mentioned my love for 5+1s. this one has SO MUCH. theres a sprinkling of implied autistic leo, explicit nonbinary nico, lesbian piper, some LOVELY leo & piper moments (i love them so bad), and jason just like. deciding he is going to be obvious and start dating leo. while leo is sitting there like ?????? sir????? and setting himself on fire is so so funny to me

3. over lame jokes and laundry detergent by @rosyredlipstick

met doing laundry at 2am college au - Nico likes his alone time and is more then a little pissed off when annoying med student Will Solace throws his routine off balance.

ONE OF MY TOP TEN FAVE ROSYREDLIPSTICK FICS.....LIKE I GIGGLE EVERY TIME!!! nothing is funnier to me than nico trying to be the wickedest grouch and he just. cant. because will makes him smile without meaning to. and theyre STRANGERS?? AND THIS IS STILL HAPPENING?? like i go feral every time. also the WAY nico was eyeing him...boy i get you 😭😭

4. water splashin' and sun shinin' by @rosyredlipstick

Nico is absolutely aghast with the conditions he's forced to work under. Sure, the surf shack has air conditioning and a fully stocked snack area, and the wifi isn't bad, and it doesn't hurt that's he's in the shade all day, but how in the gods names is he expected to work when lifeguard Will Solace won't put on a damn shirt?

no trope and i mean NO trope will ever be better than both will and nico being catastrophically humiliatingly ninth circle of hell chipping away to find the tenth down bad for each other. and not doing anything about it for weeks. just constant thirsting and pining it is so so SO funny to me. that is their dynamic. and a fic where will just has an excuse to never wear a shirt and nico has an excuse (no he doesn't) to stare...they are so constantly real

5. petal to the metal by @rosyredlipstick

“How do I passive aggressively say fuck you in a bouquet?”

i think i have been doing these fic rec fridays long enough to tell yall my truth: fics written in 2016 were elite. i dont know what it is about the year, but consistently, fics, especially by prolific authors, written in 2016 have something special that just make you read them eight billion times. this was one of those fics where i read it to the end, kudosed, and then scrolled right back up to the top and read again. so so so fun. rizzed up nico RIGHTS

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

[muiitoloko]

New beginning

Summary: It's a new beginning.

Pairing: Judge Turpin × Fem! Reader

Warning: Illness.

Author's Notes: Is it wrong that I'm sad this story is ending? I think I got more attached to this story than I should have. 😅

First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth Seventh, Eighth and Ninth part here.

As the days turned into months and then years, William grew up quickly, his laughter filling the halls of your grand mansion. You marveled at how time seemed to fly by, cherishing every moment spent watching your son grow and thrive.

But as William grew, so did your family. Soon, you found yourself pregnant again, the news of twins filling you with both excitement and trepidation. Turpin, though initially taken aback by the prospect of expanding your family, soon embraced the idea with his usual stoic resolve.

Months passed, and eventually, the day arrived when you welcomed your twin babies into the world. Turpin stood by your side, his expression a mixture of awe and apprehension as he witnessed the miracle of birth once again. Despite his typically stern demeanor, his heart melted at the sight of his newborn children, and he vowed to protect and cherish them with all his being.

As the years went by, Turpin's health began to decline, his once formidable strength weakened by illness. Forced to retire from his prestigious position as a judge, Turpin struggled to come to terms with his newfound vulnerability. You, ever the devoted wife, remained by his side, offering comfort and support as he navigated this challenging chapter of his life.

With Turpin's health deteriorating, you made the difficult decision to leave London behind and move to the farm you had always dreamed of. Turpin, though initially resistant to the idea, eventually acquiesced, recognizing the benefits of the fresh air and tranquility for his recovery.

The transition to farm life was not without its challenges, but together, you and Turpin faced them head-on, drawing strength from each other and the love that bound your family together. Turpin, though laid up since his illness, found solace in the simple pleasures of country living, while you reveled in the opportunity to nurture your growing family in the serene countryside.

As the years passed, the farm became a sanctuary for your family, a place where Turpin could find peace amidst the turmoil of his declining health. Surrounded by the beauty of nature and the love of his family, Turpin rediscovered a sense of purpose and contentment that he had long thought lost.

Though Turpin's illness presented its share of challenges, it also brought you closer together as a family, strengthening the bonds that held you all together. As you watched your children grow and thrive in the idyllic countryside, you couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude for the life you had built together, far away from the hustle and bustle of city life.

As the afternoon sun cast its golden rays over the sprawling fields surrounding your farm, you and Turpin sat together on a sturdy wooden chair placed in the entrance of your cozy farmhouse. The gentle breeze carried the sound of laughter and playful shouts from your children, William, Sophia, and Belladonna, who were engrossed in a game of tag in the yard.

Turpin, his once formidable frame now softened by age and illness, leaned back in his chair, a faint smile gracing his lips as he watched his children at play. His hooked nose and baritone voice still commanded authority, but there was a warmth in his gaze as he observed their antics.

His recently acquired cane rested on the arm of his chair, a symbol of his newfound reliance on assistance. Yet, despite his physical limitations, Turpin radiated a sense of contentment and pride as he basked in the joy of fatherhood.

You, seated beside him, couldn't help but smile as you watched the scene unfold before you. William, now a strapping young lad of ten, took on the role of protector, keeping a watchful eye on his younger sisters as they darted around the yard with reckless abandon.

But it was Sophia and Belladonna, aged seven, who truly stole the show. With their wild curls bouncing in the breeze and laughter bubbling from their lips, they embodied the innocence and exuberance of youth.

Suddenly, Sophia and Belladonna broke away from their game, sprinting towards you and Turpin with reckless abandon. "Father! Father!" they exclaimed in unison, their voices echoing with excitement.

You couldn't help but scold the girls gently for their lack of decorum, reminding them to behave like proper young ladies. Turpin, however, merely chuckled indulgently, his stern gaze softening as he watched his daughters clamor for his attention.

"Sophia, Belladonna, mind your manners," you chided gently, though there was a fondness in your tone. "You mustn't pester your father so."

Turpin's smile widened as he reached out to ruffle Sophia's hair affectionately, his touch gentle despite the playful glint in his eyes. "Indeed, my dears," he added with mock severity. "You must learn to comport yourselves with the dignity befitting young ladies of your station."

But the girls paid his admonishments no heed, too caught up in the excitement of the moment to care about propriety. They threw themselves at Turpin with abandon, their laughter filling the air as they clamored for his attention.

Turpin, unable to resist their infectious energy, wrapped his arms around his daughters, pulling them close in a tight embrace. "Very well, my little rascals," he conceded with a chuckle. "But remember, you mustn't forget your manners in the future."

You shook your head in amusement, unable to suppress a smile at the sight of Turpin indulging his daughters' antics. Despite his stern demeanor, there was a tenderness in his interactions with them that spoke volumes about the depth of his love for his children.

In that moment, surrounded by the ones you loved most in the world, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the life you had built together. As the laughter of your children echoed through the evening air, Turpin suddenly doubled over, a violent coughing fit seizing him. Concern etched across your features, you quickly rose from your seat and moved to his side.

"Richard, are you alright?" you asked, your voice filled with worry as you gently supported him.

Turpin waved off your concern with a dismissive gesture, though his coughs continued to wrack his frail frame. "I'm fine," he rasped between coughs, his baritone voice strained with effort, "just a minor inconvenience."

But you knew better than to ignore the signs of his declining health. With a firm hand, you helped him to his feet, guiding him back towards the house with gentle insistence.

"Let's get you back to the bedroom," you said firmly, your tone brooking no argument, "you need to rest."

Surprisingly, Turpin didn't protest, instead grasping his cane tightly as he leaned on you for support. Together, you made your way back into the house, calling out to the children as you passed through the doorway.

"William, Sophia, Belladonna," you called out, your voice carrying through the halls, "time to wash up for dinner."

The children, obedient as always, responded promptly, their footsteps echoing as they made their way inside. As they passed Turpin, who was already halfway up the stairs, he couldn't help but scold them for their reckless behavior.

"Mind your manners on the stairs, children," he admonished sternly, though the trio paid his warnings little heed as they dashed past him, eager to wash up before dinner.

Turpin sighed wearily as you reached his side, helping him up the stairs with careful steps. Once in the bedroom, you assisted him in laying down on the bed, his coughs gradually subsiding as he settled into a more comfortable position.

Watching him closely, you began to undress him, your hands moving with practiced ease as you removed his formal attire. Turpin watched you silently, a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes.

"You're still so young," he commented softly, his voice tinged with regret, "you shouldn't have to take care of an old man like me."

You didn't respond to his words, instead focusing on the task at hand as you dressed him in comfortable clothes. With gentle hands, you tucked him in, ensuring he was warm and comfortable before turning to leave the room.

But Turpin's sudden grip on your wrist stopped you in your tracks. Startled, you met his gaze, only to find his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and resolve.

"Do you remember the sentence I gave you years ago?" he whispered, his voice barely above a hoarse murmur.

You nodded slowly, the memory of his possessive decree resurfacing with painful clarity. "Yes," you replied softly, your heart heavy with the weight of his words, "I remember."

Turpin's nose twitched slightly as he studied your face, his expression pained. "Forget that sentence," he said abruptly, surprising you with the suddenness of his request.

Confusion clouded your features as you looked at him, searching his eyes for any hint of deception. "What?" you asked incredulously, unable to comprehend his sudden change of heart.

"You are still young," Turpin continued, his voice trembling with emotion, "you deserve a man who will take care of you, who will love you as I never could."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to his words, a mixture of sadness and disbelief washing over you. Turpin had always been possessive, demanding your unwavering loyalty with cruel insistence. And yet, here he was, urging you to forget his decree, to seek happiness beyond the confines of your marriage.

"You're crazy," you whispered hoarsely, your voice thick with emotion, "if you think I'll ever look for another man."

Turpin reached out to brush away your tears, his touch surprisingly gentle against your skin. "You deserve to live, to find happiness," he insisted, his own eyes shining with unshed tears, "even if it's not with me."

But you shook your head, unable to accept his words, unable to fathom a life without him by your side. "Shut up," you whispered brokenly, your voice barely above a whisper, "Just shut up."

For the first time in your life, you defied Turpin's orders, your heart rebelling against the notion of a future without him. Despite his cruelty, despite his flaws, you loved him with a fierceness that defied reason, that defied logic.

Turpin's expression softened momentarily, his gaze filled with a mixture of frustration and sorrow. "You silly, stupid woman," he muttered under his breath, his baritone voice tinged with anguish.

You looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze, the weight of his words heavy on your heart. With a trembling hand, you attempted to pull away from him, to distance yourself from the pain of his rejection.

But Turpin refused to let you go, his grip on your wrist tightening with unexpected strength. "No," he said firmly, his voice commanding despite its tremulous quality, "You will listen to me, damn it!"

Startled by the sudden change in his demeanor, you turned back to face him, your eyes wide with surprise. Turpin's hooked nose twitched slightly as he studied your face, his expression torn between anger and desperation.

"I may be cruel, I may be a monster," he began, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper, "but I cannot bear the thought of you suffering because of me."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to his words, the raw emotion in his voice cutting through the layers of resentment and anger that had built up between you. Despite his flaws, despite his cruelty, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man before you.

Turpin reached out to brush away your tears, his touch surprisingly gentle against your skin. "Listen to me," he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion, "if there are other lives, if there is a chance for redemption, I will find you."

You blinked in disbelief, unable to comprehend the magnitude of his promise. "What do you mean?" you whispered hoarsely, your voice filled with uncertainty.

Turpin's gaze bore into yours, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "If one day I am reborn, if one day I have the chance to make amends for my sins," he said solemnly, "I will look for you. In every life, in every world, I will look for you."

A sob caught in your throat as you listened to his words, the weight of his promise settling over you like a heavy blanket. Despite everything, despite the pain and the heartache, you couldn't deny the truth in his eyes, the sincerity in his voice.

"Because you are mine," Turpin continued, his voice filled with a quiet intensity, "and I am yours. And nothing, not even death itself, can change that."

"Richard..."

Suddenly, Lionel jolted awake from his bed, disoriented and slightly bewildered by the vividness of his dream. Running his hands through his hair, he looked around the dimly lit bedroom, the remnants of the dream still lingering in his mind.

With a groan, Lionel reached over and disarmed the alarm at the head of his bed, silencing its incessant beeping. Damn these crazy dreams, he thought to himself, shaking his head in frustration.

As he undressed and stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over his tired body, Lionel tried to remember the details of the dream. It was always the same, a smile, but the specifics eluded him, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

Furrowing his brow in concentration, Lionel scrubbed at his skin, hoping to shake off the remnants of the dream that clung to him like a stubborn shadow. He had better things to think about, like the party he was hosting today and the Monet he planned to purchase.

But try as he might, the memory of the dream persisted, taunting him with its elusive details. Frustrated, Lionel leaned against the tiled wall of the shower, closing his eyes and willing the images to fade away.

As the steam filled the air around him, Lionel took a deep breath, letting the warmth of the water soothe his tired muscles. He had a busy day ahead of him, and he couldn't afford to dwell on a mere dream.

With renewed determination, Lionel finished his shower and stepped out into the cool air of the bathroom, the memory of the dream still lingering at the edges of his mind. But as he dried himself off and got dressed, he pushed the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the tasks that lay ahead.

There would be time to ponder the meaning of his dreams later. For now, Lionel had a party to host and a painting to acquire, and nothing was going to stand in his way.

Lionel's brow furrowed in frustration as he examined the counterfeit Monet in front of him, the queen's face mocking him from the canvas. He sighed heavily as Harry Deane and PJ Puznowski walked away, his heart still racing with the realization of how close he had come to being tricked.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief at his own gullibility. He had almost fallen for their scheme, but he refused to let himself dwell on it any longer. There were more pressing matters at hand, and Lionel couldn't afford to waste time regretting his near-miss.

Straightening his bow tie with a determined gesture, Lionel plastered a smile on his face and made his way back to the party. He had a reputation to maintain, after all, and he couldn't let a little setback ruin his evening.

As he mingled with the guests, exchanging pleasantries and discussing business deals, Lionel couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered at the back of his mind. It was as if something was tugging at his subconscious, pulling him towards a truth he couldn't quite grasp.

And then, he saw her.

She was standing across the room, surrounded by two other women, her sweet smile lighting up her face. Lionel felt his heart skip a beat as their eyes met, a sense of déjà vu washing over him like a tidal wave.

For a few precious seconds, the world seemed to fade away as he stared at her, captivated by the warmth and kindness in her eyes. It was a sensation unlike anything he had ever experienced before, a feeling that defied explanation.

But before he could dwell on it any longer, she looked away, turning back to her friends and resuming her conversation. Lionel watched her with a mixture of longing and confusion, his mind racing with questions he couldn't begin to answer.

Who was she? And why did she stir something within him that he couldn't quite define?

With a shake of his head, Lionel forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He had a party to host and guests to entertain, and he couldn't afford to let his thoughts wander.

But as the evening wore on, he found himself stealing glances in her direction, unable to shake the feeling that he had found something he never knew he was searching for.

It was then that he noticed her uniform, the realization dawning on him with a sense of disbelief. She was a waitress, just another face in the crowd, and yet... there was something about her that stirred a sense of familiarity within him.

With a rueful laugh, Lionel shook his head, dismissing the notion as absurd. But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had found something important, something worth holding onto amidst the chaos of his extravagant life.

And as he watched her move gracefully through the crowd, laughter dancing in her eyes, Lionel couldn't help but feel a sense of hope stir within him.

Perhaps, just perhaps, he had finally found what he had been looking for all along.

[zhounauts]

IT WAS ONE OF THOSE DAYS. one of those days where you woke up ten minutes after your alarm. one of those days where your hair wouldn’t cooperate with you so you were forced to shove it into a messy ponytail. one of those days where you realized that the rest of your day would be bad as well.

to make it worse, when you opened the door to head to the bus stop it was absolutely freezing, yet there was only three minutes left till the bus came and the bus stop was four minutes away, so going back for a jacket wouldn’t be wise. you curse, slam the door shut then run for your life.

unfortunately, sprinting was not your forte, but atleast one thing was going right this day as when you got to the bus stop, the bus was there with the doors open. atleast one fucking thing is going right you mumble internally, hopping into the crowded bus and staying squeezed against a window.

but then your airpods died on the bus, which then officially marked this as the worse day of your school year so far.

a fucking seventy two? you mentally sob, staring at the bright red pen on your exam. tears well up in your eyes, but you hold it in, taking deep aggressive breaths in and out. “hey, l/n,”

“hey,”

“…”

“hey,”

“what the fuck do you want!?” you exclaim at gunwook, meeting eyes with his stupid cocky ass smile.

“what’d you get on the test?” he teases, smiling a shit eating grin. you try to cover your paper, but you know he’s already seen the grade. he smiles again, before happily humming. “i got a ninety two,”

“get the fuck away from me,” you spit, annoyed out of your mind, and unable to handle gunwook’s shit today.

you weren’t quite sure when this relationship with gunwook had started. maybe it was during eighth grade, when he became student council president, leaving you without a position. or maybe it was in ninth grade, when he spilt chocolate milk all over you during lunch. or maybe it was tenth grade when during PE he hit you with a ball in the face and didn’t apologize. all you knew for sure was that, park gunwook is a fucking opposition and i fucking hate him

gunwook’s good grade only adds to your shitty mood, and you glare at the front of the classroom, burning lasers into the board. you aren’t sure how long you stay there for, until excited cries fill the room and you snap out of our trance.

“it’s snowing!” someone exclaims. quickly, everyone heads to the window excitedly but you only groan. great. fucking great. its snowing and i don’t have a fucking jacket. you turn away from the window, and plant your head onto your desk, facing away.

and from a distance, gunwook stares at you curiously, and worried. he furrows his brow, staring outside the window and then back to you. it’s cold, where’s her jacket? is she stupid?

you exhale the freezing, snowy air as you step outside of the school. you shudder, trying to capture the little warmth from your school blazer, wrapping it tighter around yourself in a feeble attempt. your horrible day plus the cold freezing weather tips you over the edge, as you feel tears welling up on your eyes once again. the only difference this time is that you can’t hold it in and you feel a tear roll down your cold cheek.

you take in a big sniff, not even trying to stop the tears anymore and start to walk.

“yah!” gunwook exclaims, out of breath at the exit of the school. “Hey!” he tries again. students stare at him strangely, but he ignores them and maneuvers around them. “Yah! l/n y/n!”. you whip your head around at his voice, and seeing you, your red ears, rosy cheeks, and teary face makes gunwook’s heart want to stop. he grabs your shoulders.

“hey! it’s cold out where the hell is your jacket!? are you stupid?” you can’t say anything, because all that comes out when you open your mouth is a incredibly pathetic sob.

“aw fuck man!” you exclaim, wiping your tears, “stop don’t look at me this is very embarrassing and i don’t want you especially to see this,” gunwook doesn’t say anything, only watching you as you wipe your tears aggressively.

“hey what are you—” you start, watching him, but you don’t get to finish your sentence, as gunwook suddenly wraps his scarf around you and throws his jacket at you.

“wha- what the f—”

“put it on,”

you can only sputter in surprise at his sudden kindness, gaping and not moving.

“gosh! put it on already,” he snaps, “raise your arms,”

“hey i don’t need you to put—”

“just shut up and let me help you, big crybaby,” you quiet down at his words, raising your arms. he takes his jacket and puts it onto your arms for you,fumbles clumsily with the zipper, then zips it all the way up.

“yah, park gunwook, what about you?” you ask. he doesn’t answer you however, only picking up his backpack from the ground and starting to walk away. “hey! gunwook! gunwook!?” you call, as he storms away. you give him a nasty frown from behind, before running to catch up to him. “helloooo??” you ask obnoxiously, waving your hands in front of him.

“what,” he says bluntly, teeth chattering.

“it’s cold, take your jacket back,”

”stop resisting it and take it! you need it more," he hisses. you watch as he shoves his hands into his thin uniform jacket, hunching up his shoulders at the cold and beginning to walk again. you stare down at the jacket and scarf, cheeks turning rosy.

“hey!” you call again, catching up to him.

“what,” he answers miserably, and very cold. you unravel the scarf from your neck, and quickly put it back onto him before he can protest and tie it tightly. you hesitate at your next move, before grabbing his hand out of his pocket and shoving it into the pockets of his puffer, your fingers intertwined with his. you look at him, and he looks back in surprise.

“my place is closer, we’ll walk there then take your jacket back and go home,” you mutter, “this is a one time thing okay!? know that i still fucking despise you,”

“i could say the same,” he retorts, but gunwook knows he’s lying. and he always has been. and you knew you were lying as well. and as the two of you walked, you realized.

it was just one of those days, one of those days where you woke up ten minutes after your alarm. one of those days where your hair wouldn’t cooperate with you so you were forced to shove it into a messy ponytail. one of those days where you realized that the rest of your day would be bad as well.

it was also just one of those days, one of those days where two liars could no longer lie anymore

a/n a story dedicated to the first (and probably last) snow of the year!!! based on some real events, except a fine man named park gunwook did not give me his jacket or scarf 💔

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 61

With some Gallifrey at War content because I Make The Rules

The Fesitval of the Timewright, or Anmers-Tonastide, is a Gallifreyan holiday. (Novel: Cat's Cradle: Time's Crucible)

When the Sixth Doctor was forced to work with Davros at a company, he quickly made a nuisance of himself by ruining hours worth of Davros's work and then made Davros his assistant, having him make tea. (Audio: Davros)

The Third Doctor and Sarah Jane Smith once defeated an android maker, and out of revenge, the android maker made an android identical to the Third Doctor. The android had a bomb in its head. The plan was for the android to kill the Doctor, take his place, and then detonate, but it was all for naught because when the Doctor returned, he was in his Fourth incarnation. (Short story: The Android Maker of Calderon IV)

The Sword of Never is a weapon used for execution on Gallifrey. It can completely obliterate living things, rendering all of a Time Lord's regenerations useless. (Novel: Scratchman)

The Ninth Doctor's signature outfit was made of the first clothes he saw after his regeneration, not the result of prolonged rifling through wardrobes as it had sometimes happened in the past. (Short story: A Day to Yourselves)

When time spiders created a time loop, the Eleventh Doctor was bitten, but before he could permanently die, Valarie allowed herself to he bitten instead as time rewound. The time spider would target her. This killed her, which caused the Doctor to decide to blow up both himself and the TARDIS in the resulting grief and rage. Then time rewound again, and everything was eventually resolved. (Audio: The End)

The Third Doctor once developed a time bomb to defeat the Xhinn. It had the effect of aging them past their natural life span (and thus killing them) and destroying their space ship. (Novel: Amorality Tale)

The Mimesis was a theater on Gallifrey in which people could rewrite reality as part of an act. It was created by a cult of Gallifreyans. (Novel: Managra)

During the Last Great Time War, the Time Lords developed a weapon called the Hush - a being of living sound that could steal and eat voices. Later, the Tenth Doctor trapped the Hush in an audio recording, but it eventually escaped. (Audio: Dead Air) The Hush was also voiced by David Tennant.

One time, people began receiving phone calls from lost loved ones due to time distortion. Liv spoke to her father, Helen spoke to her brother, and the Eighth Doctor spoke to someone as well. It is never clarified which lost loved one it was that he spoke to. (Audio: Absent Friends)

When asked what animals they thought they were most like, Fitz said he was probably a golden retriever. The Eighth Doctor, on the other hand, thinks of himself as a unicorn. (Novel: Fear Itself)

Leela calls Jamie "Little Knife." (Audio: Dumb Waiter)

The Brigadier was able to recognize the Sixth Doctor based only on his clothes, the unexpectedness of his arrival, and the manner in which the Doctor greeted him. (Audio: The Spectre of Lanyon Moor)

When the Third Doctor 'resigned' from UNIT after the Brigadier killed the Silurians, he left England for Peru. While running away, he stowed away on an airplane disguised as an air stewardess after placing the original stewardess in a closet. He chose that particular stewardess - Fiona - because she was the tallest and would have a dress that fit him. (Audio: AWOL)

The War Master created several War Seeds - Gallifreyan-TARDIS hybrids - using his own DNA. The Seed could see into the future, can sense their siblings, and can dematerialize on the spot, and they embed themselves into a society and turn the people there into weapons for the Time War. The Seed's face changed between the different incarnations of the Master. Missy encountered the Seed and called him her son, bargaining with the one keeping him to give him the army the Seed created in exchange for his return and then leaving him on a safe planet to rest. (Audio: War Seed)

First 1 Prev 60 Next 62

[enmasae]

Desire of the fittest - Part 1

Self Aware Genshin Alternate Universe - Guide AU (my own take on sagau)

Next

Warnings :

Adult content (such as violence, bullying, toxic relationships, cursing, angst, nsfw, and others) and yandere behavior (such as obsessive and possessive display)

Theories and lore informations

Since this is my take on an alternate version of Genshin Impact, I've taken the liberty to include elements that may not align with the game's lore but will make sense in this particular story.

Content : Kaeya and Diluc's wonderful sibling dynamic, Pantalone's charisma, Ningguang and Beidou making me question things about myself, Venti's poetic rumbles, Aether's sister issues

As it is a "x Reader", i use the pronoun "you" and wrote the protagonist as gender neutral.

In the city of contracts, one might never sleep admidst the lights adorning the starry night. The milliths exhibit strong commitment to the protection of their people and, to some extent, their alcohol. Priorities vary, with some indulging in their duty while others drink to their heart's content. For example, a reckless young knight in training sneaks in the few dim alleys the town might provide, a risky task considering his bright red hair. However, this detail doesn't dissuade him from neglecting his duties and following his own sense of justice.

"I hope you got a good excuse for this one, you know. I'm running out of ideas to give Varka and Jean to save our badges."

The knight's face betrays little surprise as he observes the other man leaning on his shoulders. The redhead stares at his coworker and gives him a forceful shove, clearly irritated by his mere presence. The other knight raises his hands as to surrender, a quirky smile growing on his features.

Seizing the man by his collar, the redhead forcefully pins him against the nearest wall. One hand silences the sweet talker, while the other firmly grips the weapon's pommel at his belt. Despite this, the knight's focus remains fixed on the pair strolling past the concealed alley. Only when the target disappears from his view does the redhead shift his attention to the restricted man.

"If you're so afraid to lose your career, why do you keep following me ? Tell me Kaeya, is it funny for you to stick your nose in my business ?"

Kaeya, as he's called, emits a dry laugh before forcing himself out of the redhead's grip. He brushes off his shoulder pads and arranges his hair to his preferred style, tidy yet with a hint of wildness.

"I care about you Diluc, is that so hard to catch on ? You're the only family i have left. You know ? Your brother ?"

The red hair is quick to rectify the man.

"Adoptive brother."

Unfazed by the knight's irritable mood, Kaeya crosses his arms and nonchalantly toys with his nails. Diluc, rolling his eyes, shifts his attention to the pair he's been tailing. He silently curses upon spotting them entering one of the numerous restaurants lining the main street.

"Fantastic, just splendid. Now, either you willingly return to Varka and the Tianquan, or I'll simply knock you out and leave you here until I'm done."

"Or, I could help you get to the bottom of your self-assigned heroic mission, because I know troubles come when you get impulsive like that."

Diluc grunts in his breath, accepting the situation as it is, much to the patched eye knight's delight.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

In the Liuli Pavilion, customers savored their meals in tranquility, engaging in cheerful conversations about their day and the latest gossip. However, an air of tension hung over the staff tonight. While some attributed it to the festivities taking place, little did they know that the luxurious VIP room, a privilege only accessible to a select few in Teyvat, had been reserved for the evening by one of the renowned harbinger.

Raising his wine glass, the ninth harbinger subtly toasts the occasion with his present partner. Sipping the drink, he places it meticulously on the table, ensuring his actions meet the standards of the person sitting across from him. As his lavender eyes gracefully meet yours, he can feel his smile growing fondly.

"Now that I think about it, you never gave me one of your intertwined fate, hum~?"

His comment makes you scoff in slight mockery, amused by his phrasing.

"You know very well that's not how it works."

Sadly for you, he isn't one to back down easily, he tends to lean more towards negotiation. Despite having performed numerous deeds for you, the unfortunate truth is that you've settled every debt owed to him. Your shared appreciation for fairness is a quality he respects. Even if he loathes the lack of any blackmail's materials he could use against you, it's very unlikely that he will take action to remedy this fact.

"Even if I generously provide the goods~?"

Setting aside your chopsticks, you emphasize your point. Normally, engaging in a debate with him would be enjoyable, but at the moment, you don't have the mind for such mental games.

"Pantalone."

Considering his personality, you should have known that such a small display won't faze him.

"[Name]."

You sigh and focus your attention on the meal he graciously covered for you. Though you could have easily afforded it, you appreciate the care. While savoring your food and avoiding prolonged eye contact, your pointed ear twitches at a sudden yet subtle sound.

"Is something disturbing you ?"

Glancing discreetly at one of the open windows, you reassure the man, hoping to lessen his keen interest in your every move. His meticulous gaze is bound to make you uneasy. It would be in your best interest to change the subject.

"A war is brooming."

The revelation doesn't appear to surprise the man greatly as he gestures for you to carry on.

"Hum ? And, what kind ?"

"I cannot see what the future unfolds, Pantalone, I'm no seer. It could be harsh, fierce or treacherous, I wouldn't know."

Chuckling, the man runs his finger along the rim of his glass before indulging in another sip.

"I'm gonna need more information, my dear. I'm afraid I can't do much with only an assumption."

Seizing your food in a more aggressive manner, you point your chopsticks towards the man's face.

"It's far from a possibility, it will happen."

Pantalone leans to eat the food held between your utensils with a rather teasing smile. He finishes his mouth while whipping any condiment that might have clung to his lips.

"Hm, quite salty if you want my opinion. Anyway, how come one who can't grasp the future like you, your words not mine, seems so convinced that a war will occur, hum~?"

As a way to turn back on him, you snatch a portion of his food directly from his plate. Deliberately savoring each bite at a slow pace, your resentful gaze remains fixed on his. You're not one who likes to share.

"I didn't know you could be childlike, it's quite cute~."

Clearing your throat, you refuse to get embarrassed by such words.

"As I was saying, I am sure it will happen because it concerns my kind."

As you finish your plate, you fold your hands together, creating a makeshift headrest. You catch the curious gaze of the harbinger as he gestures you to pursue.

"They have started to show an interest in this world. And believe me that it will get ugly once they come here. After all, Teyvat and its people are one of a kind."

Pantalone appears to think for a moment, his usual smile shifting in a subtle frown.

"I understand now the kind of problems such scenery could cause... What about you ? What would you do if- I mean, when the time comes ?"

You smile brightly, seemingly eager to answer this specific question. The man cannot help but notice the subtle glimmers of light shining softly around your head. While you may view it as an annoying flaw, he appreciates the element's reactions to your mystical presence. These manifestations are a giveaway on your feelings, making it easier for him to read.

He chuckles to himself while reminded of that one time steam literally came out of your ears.

"I already planned everything to the last minus detail, you don't have to worry about me."

Pantalone returns your smile and not so subtly extends his hand toward yours. He smoothly intertwines his fingers with yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

"Oh I'm not worried, I know you're capable~. I was merely curious if you would be more... open at the thought of fulfilling your role as a guide, especially in this context. After all, you still lack a main vessel, don't you ?"

You swiftly withdraw your hand from his grasp before standing up. Your gaze shifts to the open window where a little wick of red could be seen next to a soft looking lock of blue.

"Our time together was pleasant, but i'm afraid you'll have to excuse me."

As you take your leave, Pantalone's smile fades as he too stands up from his seat. It seems he took things too personal again. He approaches the staff member, seemingly waiting for the dinner's payment, and gives him the right amount via a lavish bag full of moras.

"H-hope to see you again, s-sir."

Disregarding the pitiful display, he leaves the establishment , wondering when he might have the opportunity to see you once more.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

"Ningguang, please, i beg of you to listen to reason. This kind of threat doesn't loom over Mondstadt alone, all of Teyvat is at risk."

The grand master of the Knights of Favonius searches fervently for any signs of concern in the reddish eyes of the woman before him, yet her smile remains calm and unfazed. Her presence commands respect as she speaks to the man in an eloquent tone, dismissing his concerns with a flick of her fan.

"I am well aware of the situation in the north and the peril it poses, Varka. However, I feel the need to remind you that our capabilities are limited in addressing this issue."

The towering man forcefully slams his fist on the woman's desk, causing some paperwork to flutter down gradually. Under normal circumstances, Varka isn't someone to easily lose his composure. Yet, with the recent surge of problems, even his usual calm begins to falter.

"Stop beating around the bush !"

Displeased with the man's tone, Ningguang rises from her seat and strides toward the irritated knight. She seizes the man's cheeks, causing him to grunt from the pressure made by her claw-like jewelry.

"The Qixing and I are currently deeply engaged in the construction of the Jade Chamber, i cannot allow half of the millith's forces to join the knights of favonius in a perilous mission doomed unsucessfull. Do i make myself clear ?"

Varka attempts to free himself from Ningguang's grasp by reaching for her hand, but the noblewoman prevents him from doing so by stepping back herself. Seated elegantly on her desk, she discards her fan to take a slight inhale from her pipe, attentively observing the resentful gaze of the man.

"I came to Liyue believing that the Tianquan would be the most understanding. Unfortunately, it seems that selfishness plagues all nations."

"Cut her some slack old man, not everybody is willing to die for some greater good. Here, have a drink."

Varka looks at the half-naked woman slouching on the expensive couch while presenting him an opened flask, most likely containing alcohol. The man averts his eyes, embarrassed by her shameless behavior.

"Oh archons, please, have some decency."

The woman slowly rises from the couch and approaches the man with an unusual sway. As she walks towards him, she struggles to maintain balance on her two feet. Her body moves uncontrollably, resembling the unsteady motion of a boat. Stopping uncomfortably close to Varka, to his displeasure, she fervently pokes his chest.

"Well, look who's talking! You're the one who barged in uninvited in the middle of the night while this elegant lady and I were enjoying a wonderful night of passion."

Ningguang observes the interaction closely but takes no action to intervene as the woman keeps on intruding the man's personal space. However, her passive behavior changes abruptly when her loved one begins to slide her hand under Varka's uniform.

"Beidou, i must advise you to refrain from teasing him, the gentleman appears to be on the brink of mortification~."

The sea woman gives the man some space without making a fuss, returning to the couch. Flopping onto it crudely, she sips her beverage while muttering inaudible words to herself. Ningguang lets out a sigh as she glances at the drunk woman pouting.

On the other hand, Varka straightens his knight's uniform, choosing to close the topic and avoid dwelling on it any further.

"Your nocturnal escapades are not on my list of interests and i'd like to keep it that way. Spare me the details and we'll all sleep a little more soundly, thank you."

Just as Beidou was about to voice her mind, the door to the private room burst open. Two young knights hurriedly entered, slamming the door shut as if sealing themselves off from a pursuing threat. Judging by Kaeya's heavy breathing, he seemed as if he had just sprinted for his life. Diluc, though equally exhausted, maintained a more composed demeanor.

"Care to explain where you two were ?"

The brothers instantly straightened from their slouching forms, standing at attention, fists over their hearts. Varka folded his arms, seemingly awaiting a response. Diluc broke the silence, his eyes challenging the Grand Master's gaze as he spoke first.

"On duty."

Kaeya scoffs dismissively, adding a sardonic remark to punctuate his disdain.

"I'm not sure discretely following a harbinger and a guide, getting discovered and almost dying on the spot was part of the mission we were assigned to."

The Tianquan's ears perk up at the mention of such individuals by the young knight. If his statement proved to be true, then troubles were brewing right under her nose. The prospect doesn't sit well with her.

Diluc quickly retorts with a tone laced with disdain, his brother's attitude getting on his nerves more than it already has.

"Would it kill you to shut your mouth once in a while ?"

"Would it kill you to respect the knight's code once in a while ?"

Beidou erupts into a loud laughter as it slowly fades into amused chuckles. In her inebriated state, the interaction between the two unfolds as a hilarious spectacle. Varka doesn't appear to find the situation funny as his facial expression twitches with carefully concealed anger.

Interestingly, Diluc appeared to share a similar state, albeit for different reasons.

"You don't even know what you're talking about."

Kaeya makes a concerted effort to maintain formation as he turns his head to look at the redhead.

"Oh, forgive me ! All you ever do is chase your damn heart's desires in the guise of justice, and that's precisely how you put not just yourself but everyone around you in danger ! You're downright inconsiderate and recklessly hot-headed."

Sensing a headache starting to form, Varka decides to finally intervene.

"That's enough, both of you. Childish bickering is unbecoming of knights. Now, I want to know where you were and what you were doing. Keep it brief."

The bluish knight keeps his eyes shut and mouth silent. His brother decides to confront the Grand Master, seemingly unimpressed by his towering composure and the fact that he could send him flying with a flick of his wrist.

"It doesn't matter what we witnessed, you couldn't possibly do anything about it anyway. Just like your expedition in the north, they won't amount to anything in the end."

The fiery attitude of the knight briefly snaps the drunk woman out of her clouded mind. She cheers with her nearly empty bottle before sleep reclaims her once more.

"Ah ! The kid got some spunk ! Reminds me of... what was his name again...?"

Diluc coughs as smoke wafts into his face. He glances at the woman responsible, who smiles while inhaling from her pipe again.

"It would be in your best interest to learn what to keep to yourself and what should be shared, boy. If a guide is indeed involved with a harbinger, something serious is looming. Trust me, you don't want the weight of people's lives on your shoulders."

The knight ignites the remaining essence inside the pipe, allowing it to burn and depriving her of anything else to smoke. The woman scoffs at the man's use of his Pyro vision. It's akin to witnessing a child throwing a tantrum for not being taken seriously. Yet, unlike the hollow threats of a kid, the fire in his eyes dared the Tianquan to change his mind.

Surveying the remaining people, he briefly locks eyes with Kaeya. Sensing his concern, yet dismissing it, he storms out of the room.

"I know what i must do, and it doesn't concern any of you."

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　　　.   　　˚　a few years later 　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

A loud shattering noise brings Diluc back to his senses. He glances at the culprit and frowns upon seeing the local bard laying on the floor with a broken wine bottle. Giggling to himself, the drunkard appears to be in his own world, thoroughly enjoying himself. The bartender grabs him by his shirt, hoisting him back onto his stool.

With the late hour upon him, Diluc finds himself with only the lonesome bard as a customer. Eager to begin his journey home and well aware of this specific client's penchant to be annoying when it comes to alcohol, he decides to employ a different strategy than his usual approach.

"So, when do you think i should kick you out ?"

Venti continues to giggle slightly, leaning on the bar counter. He toys with the glass Diluc so gracefully served him, mischief forming in his eyes as he glances at the redhead. Strangely enough, he doesn't seem to be that drunk anymore.

"Let's say... If you tell me why you were lost in such a thoughtful row, i might let you know~."

The bartender dismisses it with a simple shrug, clearly not in the mood to satisfy the bard's curiosity.

"I was just reminded of something."

As the breeze softly wafts through a small crack in the bar's window, Venti's smile takes on a more knowing gleam. He slides his empty glass playfully along the counter, a silent request to get a refill. Unfortunately, Diluc only takes the glass to clean it, refusing to pour more alcohol for him.

As he resigned on getting more of the sweet beverage, Venti sighs and settles on trying to decipher the bartender's thoughts.

"Well, I don't mind to guess~."

Diluc scoffs, skeptical of the drunkard's boastful claim. While he doesn't feel the need to engage in Venti's game, a hint of curiosity lingers. Who knows, perhaps the bard might have something intriguing to say.

"I've caught wind that the traveler's back from their journey. We haven't crossed paths, but rumor has it that their tale isn't quite cheery."

As Venti's concern reflects in his eyes, Diluc can only wonder what's hidden behind those poetic rumbles.

"I've known about their return in Mondstadt for quite a while now, but i haven't gotten the chance to meet them yet."

The bard contemplates the redhead's words with a thoughtful hum. Determined to get under his skin, he retrieves his lyre, creating a gentle tune that pierces the silence in the tavern. His expression bears the weight of sorrow as he poetically expresses his thoughts.

"Let his story be a lesson.

One learned from past takes,

To steer clear of repeating mistakes.

Beware of ones who claim as guides,

for their path conceals deceptive tides.

As stories have shown,

they cannot be trusted to bring you home.

Truth easily brushed aside with vows so sweet,

Yet, remember, once humans, their hearts did beat.

Let their story be a lesson,

Unspoken, like an untold confession.

One that shall not be named,

so it may never repeat again."

As the melody gently fades away, satisfaction spreads into the bard upon witnessing surprise on the man's features.

"Hehe, told you i was good at guessing~."

In his silent contemplation, Diluc gazes at the sword that once symbolized his knighthood, now relegated to a mere wall ornament. There was a time when he wielded it with pride. These days, when confronted with his nocturnal 'duties', he opts for heavier armaments. Regrettably, without his claymore in close reach, his former sword remains the sole option should the need for self-defense arise.

"Such strange beings... Aren't they fascinating ? While not being from these lands, it feels as if they've existed here long before life itself."

Venti follows the redhead's gaze, unbothered by his cautious demeanor. After all, he, too, once felt intimidated by the mere mention of guides. Nevertheless, his past fear primarily stemmed from his unfamiliarity with them. Having personally witnessed their exceptional powers, he understands that while one should avoid provoking them, it's quite simple to earn their favor.

"Some cruel, some benevolent, they only share their pride. Powerful yet feeble, to survive, they are reliant on what they term a 'vessel'. To their host, they may seem divine, yet in truth, they're nothing but a parasite."

Observing the bard rise from his stool, Diluc steps away from the counter to obstruct the main entrance of the tavern. Crossing his arms, he challenges Venti to take another step, his pyro vision blazing brightly as a silent warning.

"How do you know so much about them ?"

Amused by the situation, the not quite inebriated individual appears unfazed by Diluc's fiery demeanor, lifting his arms in mock surrender. His eyes emit a faint glow as a gust of wind forcefully opens the window, extinguishing all the candles illuminating the tavern. Irritated by the incessant noise of the window slamming against the wall, Diluc promptly closes it. Turning his attention back to the bard, he furrows his brows upon realizing that Venti hasn't made a hasty retreat. It's peculiar since the bard is renowned for employing cunning tactics to escape undesirable situations. Venti nonchalantly shrugs in response to the accusing gaze from the redhead, as if he weren't the one responsible for the sudden gust of wind, despite the 'anemo vision' resting on his belt.

"That's a tale for another day~. What's more important is why you seem to hold such an interest in them."

Realizing the bard has no intention to utter another word, Diluc sighs and clears the path to the exit. He gestures to Venti with a nod, signaling him to leave while he allows it.

"I have my reasons."

Entertained by the fact that he didn't need to be forcibly kicked out, the bard chuckles to himself before making a swift departure, leaving his parting words to resonate in the air.

"Hehe, fair enough. But if you do wish to learn more about them, heed my advice. Fools seeking aid from those with selfish desires rarely find anything good in return."

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

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As waves gently caress the shore, a symphony of memories, both ancient and recent, courses through them. The gentle cadence of the sea does not drown out the melody hummed by the young man standing in the water. Unfazed by the sea reaching his knees or the cool night breeze, he stands with eyes open but vacant, bathed in the ethereal glow of the moonlight.

With utmost care, he places on the water's surface a leaf-crafted vessel bearing a delicate arrangement of flowers, a tribute to his sister. As the final notes of his haunting melody linger in the night, a lament of anguish and sorrow, he releases the makeshift boat to be carried away by the current.

Soft tears flow down his face as his voice gently wanes. Upon arriving for the first time at this shore with a solemn vow to reunite with his sister, his ignorance veiled his eyes. Admidst the new sights this world had to offer, a strange familiarity embraced him. As the wind tousled his hair down to the way the soil felt beneath his feet, it was as if he had returned home.

He reflects on his past as a soldier, an obedient one who never questioned orders, devoid of a sense of morality, discerning neither good nor bad. He was merely following commands.

He recalls about her once gentle nature, a soul averse to causing harm, adorning herself not for personal satisfaction but for others' admiration. Her explanations of right and wrong were delivered calmly, never raising her voice.

They both changed so much, left with nothing but themselves and memories to nurture. Their relationship was at the time a delicate balance, with even the smallest mistakes sparking intense fights.

With time, she developed a stronger personality, becoming more reserved and secretive. He, however, found a way to articulate his feelings, expressing himself in ways he couldn't comprehend before. She loved to tease his newfound soft side.

But someone had robbed him of that. When he encountered her again at the end of his journey, he realized he was too late. In their final meeting, although her body was still breathing, there was no soul inhabiting it, no mind radiated from her mortal shell.

As she was no longer herself, he had no option but to end her suffering.

"Well, it's not often i get to meet with you alone. Where is that little fairy friend of yours ?"

As he feels tender hands cupping his face, a smile graces his features, whispering your name. To him, it has been too long since the last time you two shared such a peaceful moment. The infrequency of your meetings only heightens the value he places on them.

"Paimon is currently receiving care from the sisters of Mondstadt's cathedral. She got quite injured during our latest adventure. As for why i am here, I needed some time alone to bid a proper farewell."

He opens his eyes, savoring the sight of yours. Their intricate hues bear untold secrets that he longs to unravel. The patterns on your skin accentuate the natural bioluminescence of your body, preserving tales from times long past. Gently, he raises his calloused hand to your own, relishing in the comfort. As he senses your delicate fingers wiping away the tears from his face, more flows out.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

As his guide, he understands the price to pay for the honor bestowed upon him. Deep down, he understands the strength and knowledge you provided were for your own survival. The love he receives depends on the satisfaction he brings to you. He doesn't care if you use him as a vulgar puppet, as long as he remains by your side. He can't lose you, not you too.

"My sister liked to say that home is wherever we are together. Since we were all that were left of our home, i guess it was true."

His voice is parched and laden with sorrow as he clings to you like he would for a lifeline.

"She was the one determined to find somewhere for us to settle. But everywhere we went, troubles came. Either we had to flee or we were chased away. Times were hard, but at least we had each other. She was the only one I could rely on."

"But times have changed; you don't have to flee anymore, you don't have to follow orders, you don't have to live in her shadow. You can listen to your heart's desires."

In the silent exchange of glances, Aether notices the profound emptiness in your eyes, a void untouched by the shared sadness or comfort he seeks. The weight of realization descends upon him, as denial attempts to cloak the newfound awareness. The touch that he craved for earlier radiated no warmth. A sense of betrayal settles over him, sending chills coursing through his body.

"... you knew."

With the guilt slowly making itself evident on your face, he pushes your hands away from his. Stumbling on his feet, the world around him spins as if he has just awakened from a profound dream. The thought of you betraying his trust unsettled him. After all, the bond you shared wasn't a trivial pinky promise but a deep connection where he lived for you, and you for him.

"... you knew it would happen... you knew and yet... you did nothing ?"

He retreats slowly toward the shore, and as you follow, your hands gently signal him to calm down, much like one would soothe a frightened animal.

"It was already too late the day i saved you from that shade."

His heart aches as your words sink in. Closing the distance between the both of you, Aether decides to listen. He allows you to take his hands in yours, feeling the squeeze accompanied by a sudden cold. It's a familiar chill that he's come to associate with your moments of sadness.

"Then why did you save me ? Why didn't you save her ? Why. Me."

You guide him gently to the dry sand, ensuring his gaze follows your movements. As you start drawing shapes on the ground, they soon come to life in a light green hue, dancing around both of you. Aether recognizes himself in one of them and reaches out to touch it. Luminescent particles spread apart at his sudden movement, only to reform elsewhere near them. The scene changes, depicting the fateful day he lost Lumine.

"... you were both destined to die. I chose you because you reminded me of my old self."

He witnesses the divine being capturing his sister only to target him next. Aether perks up by the appearance of another shape. He observes how you protect him from the deity before the scene changes once more. Nostalgia fills him as he watches you forge the bond between the two of you. A soft laugh escapes him at the sight of Paimon being fished out, breathing life into your dynamic.

"You were quite stupid and ignorant."

Beads of sweat flow down his face as the shapes replays some of his past mistakes. In an attempt to avoid further embarrassment, he raises his hand to dispel the particles. You intervene by gently seizing his hand and guiding it to his heart.

"Yet, I could sense your determination to protect what you hold dear."

His ethereal counterpart proudly raises his blade against the final obstacle in his journey. It appears fearless, prepared to confront what he believed would be its greatest foe. However, that confidence crumbles when the monstrous shape morphs into the likeness of his sister. He observes as his particle self thrusts its sword through her, taking her life. As the particles slowly disperse, he meets your gaze, bitterness filling his throat.

"If I were to apologize for all the secrets i kept from you, that would be a lie. For all I did was solely to protect you."

You embrace the boy one final time before fading away. Aether's arms linger in the air before he wraps them around himself, trembling slightly. Shivers run down his spine as he comprehends what you've left behind. He gingerly picks up the small gemstone on the sand and clenches his fist. Anger wells up within him as he gazes at the cracked little starshaped orb, a symbol of your shattered bond.

You abandoned him.

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"Ugh, are you done yet ? Witnessing your sickening sweetness with him is making me nauseous."

Upon opening your eyes, you sense cramps crawling through your body, as if emerging from a deep coma. You snatch the helmet-like device off your skull and shove it away. The man attending to you utters an annoyed "watch it" in response.

"Deal with it."

The man assists you in exiting the machinery, disconnecting various tubes and electronics that monitored your health and body state. He grunts upon witnessing your attempt to straighten up quickly, and he gently compels you to lay back. Muttering additional curses, he likely expresses irritation at your impulsive actions, fully aware of the associated risks.

"Do you really need to go to such lengths? First, you toyed with his memories, and technically, you're the reason why he lost his dear 'sister.' And now, after all the efforts you put into him, you're just giving up ?"

You forcefully pull his hands away from your body and swiftly rise to your feet. Letting out a grunt, you massage your temples as a headache begins to intensify. Moving slowly, you skip a few steps, struggling to stand on your own but determined to reach a proper bed for some rest.

"I know what i have to do and i don't need your concern."

Depriving you of the chance to take another step on your own, the man hoists you onto his shoulder and carries you like a sack of potatoes. With no strength left, you acquiesce, but in silence, you mentally note to make him pay for this humiliation.

"Ugh, guides. I would never understand your kind."

You snarl and swiftly retort to his remark, delivering a quick hit to his hips.

"I am nothing like them."

The man appears unfazed by your punch, softly placing you on a very comfortable bed. He sighs at your angry gaze and flicks your forehead. It perplexes him how careless you can be when it comes to taking care of yourself, yet how gentle you are when it comes to your vessels.

"And yet, here you are, acting like one."

"And yet, here you are, taking care of me."

You lock eyes with the man, urging him to look away, but he continues to relish the moment. He neatly folds the cozy blanket atop you and tenderly traces the features of your face with his fingers. Despite his harsh and unyielding tone, his facial expression reveals another narrative, one where he could have been more sincere about his feelings.

"We just have a common enemy, nothing more."

Frustrated by his contradictory tenderness and attitude, you opt to usher him out.

"You never know when to shut your mouth do you ? I wonder where you got that."

The man scoffs and exits the room, clearly offended by your words. Finally relishing a peaceful moment, you close your eyes and envision the starry sky you've come to know by heart, one you hold dear, even if it's a mere fabrication. You identify a few constellations and recollect which ones align with your favorites.

After spending countless years in these lands, your meticulous preparations are on the verge of paying off. All the accumulated resources, weapons, and artifacts are about to prove their worth. Finally, you'll have the opportunity to engage in a game that truly fulfills your desires. One marked by chaos and unforeseeable events, where rules are broken and laws cease to matter.

Anticipation builds as you look forward to witnessing the expressions of newcomers when things deviate from their expectations, struggling to survive in a world they believed they knew.

It's going to be a gameboard where, finally, you hold the advantage.

Doesn't it sound fun ?

{Words : 5629}

Thank you for reading the first part of the series !

I hope you enjoyed :D

Next

[aflame4goinghome]

Talk

s.f.k. x f.reader

a/n: this was meant to be a short little one shot but it actually turned out to be pretty long... oops. it’s only lightly proofread and i’m posting this at 2:30 am so i hope it’s good. enjoy :)

word count: 5.3k

summary: You’ve known Sam practically your whole life, and your relationship has always been the same. He’s your best friend, and he’s never given you a reason to think he feels any other way. So why is he acting so different tonight? Your love for him has so far gone unspoken, but all secrets are about to be revealed.

warnings: fluff, angst (some fighting & yelling), swearing, smoking, kissing, shameless nicknames like always; SMUT (MINORS DNI): oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex (practice safe sex, folks!), dirty talk, some begging, slight praise kink if you squint, soft dom!sammy

“imagine being loved by me.

i won’t deny i’ve got in my mind now,

all things i would do.”

You’ve known Sam as long as you can remember. You’ll never forget the first time you met him. It was the first day of the seventh grade, you had just moved to Frankenmuth that summer from Detroit after your parents split up and your mom wanted to move out of the city. You’d only lived there for a month and your house was pretty secluded on a long road, so you didn’t have much ability to make any friends until you started school.

You were riding your bike to school and someone crossed the street right in front of you, forcing you to slam on your brakes to avoid hitting them and knocking them down. You came to a screeching stop and looked up at the scared boy in front of you, who hollered, “Are you trying to kill me? What the hell is wrong with you?” You got off your bike and the two of you walked the rest of the way to school together. And that’s how you met your first friend, Sam Kiszka.

The two of you have been pretty much inseparable ever since. You had a lot of classes together and he let you sit at his table at lunch, introducing you to his best friend, Danny. From that moment forward, the three of you did practically everything together. You guys would go to the movies, listen to records, and sometimes even jam together in the Kiszkas’ garage with his older brothers, Josh and Jake. You always felt that the rest of them were much more musically talented than you, especially Jake, but you enjoyed singing harmony with Josh every once in a while. You were like family.

Once you got older, you noticed your relationship with Sam began to change. Not in a way that was obvious or disruptive, but there was something that developed that would always be on the back of your mind- your feelings for Sam. You first discovered that you had feelings for him at your ninth-grade homecoming dance. You and Sam went together as friends, slightly organized by your mothers, and something in the air changed that night. There was a knock at the door after you had gotten ready and you opened it to see Sam, all dressed up in a suit and tie.

Your gaze softened as you saw him, and you felt a feeling that you’d never experienced before. When he saw you, in your dress and your hair done, you noticed an expression on his face that you couldn’t quite place, like a deer in headlights. And then he entered the threshold, brushing off whatever it was, acting just like your normal Sam. You put it in the back of your mind and moved on with your night.

However, near the end of the night, something happened that you’d never be able to forget. They turned on the last slow dance of the evening and the two of you had avoided every other slow dance prior out of awkwardness. But something pushed you to ask him for this last song, so you did and he agreed. You both walked over to the dance floor and he placed his hands awkwardly on your waist as you put your arms around his neck. You both swayed there for a while to some random slow song from that year that you couldn’t remember now even if you tried, and there was a look in his eyes that would be burned into your memory forever. He looked at you so softly, like you might break. You looked up at him- his cute swoopy hair, his dimples, his dopey smile- and you knew right there and then: you were in love with Sam Kiszka.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・✩ ✦ ✩・゜゜・．*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Things are a lot different now than they were when you were 15, but your feelings for him are just as strong as ever. He’s never shown any hints of feeling the same way, however, and you’ve never made any effort to tell him. You’re much too afraid of it changing your relationship, especially if he didn’t feel the same way about you. You’re more than happy with what you have with him now, though, even if it’s only platonic. He’s your best friend and you love the time that you get to spend with him, considering it’s quite limited now.

When you guys were in high school, the band that the boys had formed ended up gaining popularity. Even before you, Sam and Danny graduated, they were going out on tour, opening for big bands. You were incredibly impressed and so proud of them, but you definitely missed your best friends. Once you graduated, they were away even more than before. So, when they all wanted to pick up everything and move to Nashville a few years ago, you decided that you would too.

You had delayed going to college for a couple of years because you couldn’t afford it at the time and neither could your mom, so you used this new opportunity to apply to Tennessee State University in the area and you were accepted. You’re in your third year there now and it’s been working out great. You got an apartment not far from where the guys were all living, and that’s how you met your roommate and now close friend, Lucy. She is attending graduate school at Vanderbilt for the same field of study and shares your immense love for music, so you got along almost immediately.

The guys’ band has become relatively famous now. They’ve recently released their third album and have gone on several tours, their current one being a world tour. You haven’t been able to see them as much lately because of it, but you try to catch as many local shows as you can. Despite being away so often, you and Sam are still as close as ever, spending basically every day together when he’s on break from the tour. Every once in a while, you’ll sometimes wonder about the ‘what-ifs,’ but your friendship with Sam is too important to risk by confessing your feelings for him.

Tomorrow is Lucy’s 24th birthday and the band is on a break from tour for a few more weeks, so the two of you are throwing a huge party tonight to celebrate. Your apartment is much too small to host that many people, so Josh offered to host the party as long as you both helped out with supplying the food and decorations. Of course, Josh was more than happy to supply the booze, being someone who would never turn down a party. It’s your last big get-together before the band leaves for the European leg of their tour, so you’re all really looking forward to it.

It's already 3 in the afternoon and you and Lucy have to go over to Josh’s soon to help decorate before all the guests arrive, so you start to get ready. You curl your hair and pull it half-up, then put on some simple makeup with some silver glittery eyeshadow. Lucy wanted to make the theme of the party “Starcatcher” to incorporate the guys’ newest album, so you wanted to throw in a subtle reference to the theme. You go to get dressed, finding the new dress that you had bought just for the party. It’s a short, tight dress adorned with silver glitter, matching your makeup.

It’s not as if you intended to catch anyone’s attention tonight with your outfit, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing. You’ve tried dating since you moved to Nashville, but nothing has ever worked out. All of the guys are either shallow musicians who don’t want to ‘put a label on it’ or immature frat guys with no emotional intelligence. Besides, you still find it hard to completely forget about Sam. You know that he’s probably taking plenty of girls home while on tour; as a rockstar, why would he not? It didn’t bother you, it’s not like he knew how you felt anyway.

You grab your things, then slip on your heels and pop your head into Lucy’s bedroom. “Hey Luce, you ready to go?” you ask, stepping inside of her room. She turns around from looking into her vanity mirror to look at you. “Oh my god, Y/N! Look at you! Sam is gonna die over that dress,” she says, teasing you. She knows all about your little crush, of course, you tell her everything. She’s the only one in your friend group who knows since the rest of the guys wouldn’t possibly be able to keep that kind of secret.

“Luce, come on. You know he doesn’t look at me like that,” you answer, rolling your eyes, “Plus, maybe I’ll find another guy to appreciate me tonight. I don’t need it to be Sam, I don’t expect it to be.” She rolls her eyes back at you and turns her attention back to the mirror. “Okay, okay, whatever. I’m just finishing up my eyeliner, we can leave in a minute,” she says. She finishes up her makeup and you both head to the party.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・✩ ✦ ✩・゜゜・．*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Lucy drives you to Josh’s place and the two of you pull into his driveway, seeing that you’re not the first ones there. You knock on the front door and are greeted by Josh, whose face lights up at the sight of you. “Hello, darling!” he exclaims, pulling you in for a tight hug. He pulls away, smiling, and sees Lucy behind you. “Ah, Lucille, happiest of birthdays to you, my dear,” he says to her, hugging her tight as well. You both enter the house and find Jake in the kitchen, preparing some sort of dip recipe.

“I thought that we’d be the first to arrive,” you say to him, making him turn his attention away from the stove. He sees you both and smiles slightly, saying “Well, it wouldn’t be a party if I didn’t make a queso dip, would it?” You chuckle, walking over to get a whiff of it. “No, it wouldn’t. Smells delicious,” you say, patting him on the back then turning around to place all the snacks that you’ve brought on the kitchen island. You all start to set up, putting out the snacks and alcohol and hanging some decorations on the walls.

Around 6 o’clock, the front door flies open with Sam and Danny waltzing through. You all turn your heads to look at the sudden noise and your eyes find him. He’s wearing a short-sleeved button-up, half unbuttoned, some dark jeans, and sneakers. You watch as he removes his sunglasses and brushes his hands through his hair as he and Danny approach the kitchen, then try to direct your attention back to hanging the star decorations that you’d been attaching to the ceiling.

“Hey, Freckles,” Sam says, walking into the kitchen to greet you. He’s called you that ever since that first day, on your first walk to school. He looked down at you and saw your face, completely covered in freckles, and settled the nickname right then and there. It’s still managed to stick after all these years. "Hi, Y/N! Hi, Lucy, happy birthday," Danny says, walking into the kitchen and sitting down at the table to help blow up some balloons.

“Here, let me help you,” Sam says, reaching his hand up to meet yours and finish hanging the star. “Thanks, Sammy,” you say, stepping down from the step ladder you were using. “No Rose tonight?” you ask, looking up at him. “Nah. Didn’t want her to get too drunk, she was absolutely belligerent last time,” he said, laughing as he jabbed your side with his elbow jokingly. You giggle and say, “Yeah, she’s out of control. You should probably look into that.” He smiles at you silently for a moment, looking down at what you’re wearing. It’s not long enough for you to notice, however, and you move on to helping Josh with the liquor table.

You finish decorating and the guests begin to arrive around 8. Most of them are Lucy’s friends from grad school, as well as some friends from work. You don’t really know a lot of them, so you’ve just stuck with the guys by the bar area of Josh’s dining room for most of the night so far. “Here you go, Frecks” Sam says, handing you another tequila soda that he’s made for you. You thank him and take a sip, then look out at the crowd that’s amassed in Josh’s living room.

It’s been over an hour now since the party started and you still feel slightly awkward since you don’t know any of the people here, but you don’t really want to just be a wallflower all night either. Suddenly, Lucy comes charging toward you. She’s gotten a bit intoxicated, having made some drinks while you all prepared for the party in addition to the ones she’s had since then.

“Babe, c’mere, I want you to meet my friends,” she says, pulling you away. You look at Sam and Danny with a ‘please save me’ face as she drags you into the crowd, hearing them laugh at you as you move further and further away from them. You end up in a small group over on the other side of the room, a few girls your age and a guy that you don’t recognize. “Y/N, these are some of my friends from my classes this semester- Tara, Emma, and Stephen. Everyone, this is my roommate and bestie, Y/N!” You wave shyly and say hello, catching eyes with her friend Stephen.

He’s pretty tall and has dark black hair that’s slicked back with a couple of pieces hanging out in the front. His eyes are dark and mysterious, and you can’t help but admit that he’s rather handsome. You doubt anything could ever come to it, but it might be nice to distract yourself from your one-sided feelings for Sam. Lucy goes back into whatever conversation she was having previously with the girls as Stephen steps closer to you.

“Hey,” you say, looking up at him with a shy smile. “Hey there,” he replies, checking you out quickly before meeting your eyes again. “Do you go to school around here?” he asks. “Oh, yeah, I’m in my undergrad at TSU. I’m a couple years behind but I’m starting to catch up,” you say, sitting down on the couch as he goes to sit next to you, rather close. He makes small talk about what you’re studying, where you’re from, what you want to do after graduation, and more. He’s definitely a nice guy, and he seems interested in you and learning more about you, so you don’t mind sitting and talking to him.

“You’re gorgeous, you know,” Stephen says, smiling at you and reaching over to brush some of your hair behind your ear. “Thank you, Stephen… you’re not too bad yourself,” you say, blushing slightly as he places his other hand on your thigh. The two of you sit there for some time talking closely, flirting a bit back and forth. You glance over to the dining room for a moment and see Sam, who’s looking at you. He’s leaning up against the wall, arms crossed with his eyes glued to you and Stephen, piercing right through you. He looks almost angry, which you don’t completely understand. Maybe he’s upset that you ditched him since he doesn’t know many people at the party? But he has Danny right next to him, who’s talking away as Sam stares daggers into you.

“Excuse me just one moment, Stephen. I have to go check on something,” you say apologetically, getting up off the couch and heading into the other room. Sam’s eyes lock onto yours as you approach, still not faltering from their angry gaze. “Sam? A word, please?...,” you say, looking over at Danny, “…alone?” Sam looks down at you and uncrosses his arms, “Yeah, whatever.” You grab his wrist and drag him into the kitchen, then out the back door to Josh’s porch.

You drop his wrist and turn around to face him as he reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, sticking one in his mouth and lighting it. He takes a long pull, breathes it out, then scoffs. “What? What is it?” he says in an annoyed tone. “What is it? Sam, what’s wrong with you? I saw you looking at me in there, what the hell is your problem?” you say, throwing your hands up, exasperated. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You just met that guy and he was just all over you. It’s fucking gross,” he says, raising his voice at you slightly and rolling his eyes, taking another puff of his cigarette.

“So what if I just met the guy? Why does that matter? He was really nice, I wanted to talk to him! It’s not like I was gonna be over there all night, I was going to come back over to you guys.” you say defensively, crossing your arms and looking up at him, waiting for an answer. He runs his fingers through his hair frustratedly, “Frecks, he so clearly wanted to sleep with you! He probably doesn’t even actually care about you, he just wants to get laid! He’d never treat you right.” He takes another drag of his cigarette and then sighs.

“Why do you even care, Sam? Am I not allowed to talk to guys? Is that it? Am I supposed to just follow you around like a little lost puppy all night? It’s fucking pathetic!” you yell, your eyes starting to well up. “No, Frecks, God! That’s not what I’m saying! But I can’t just stand around and watch some guy flirt with you right in front of my face! It’s making me fucking crazy!” he says, putting his head in his hands and shaking his head. “Sam. Look at me,” you say, looking up at him, tears starting to fall down your cheeks slowly.

His gaze softens as he looks down at you, then he throws his cigarette on the ground and steps on it to put it out as he steps closer to you. You look up at him, glossy-eyed, waiting for some sort of explanation for why he was acting like this. Sam never gets angry with you, you don’t understand what’s gotten into him. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he gets closer to you and suddenly, he raises his hand to cup your cheek and pulls you in, kissing you. At first, it’s soft, his lips feel warm to the touch as you kiss him back, his thumb caressing your cheek affectionately. Then he deepens it, pulling you into him with his other hand on your waist and smiling against your lips.

It grows to become ravenous and uncontrollable, and you start to struggle to breathe. He turns you both around and backs you into the outer wall of Josh’s house as he teases his tongue into your mouth. You welcome it, moaning into his mouth as you deepen the kiss even more. Both of your hands are on the back of his neck, tangled in his long hair, pulling him closer to you. You suddenly feel very aware of where you are and remember all the people inside, so you pull your mouth off of him, still staying close. “Sam, the party,” you say, looking up to meet his eyes.

“Fuck the party. Let’s go, c’mon,” he says, grabbing your hand and dragging you through the backyard gate, around the house to the driveway, avoiding the crowd inside. You giggle at the situation, feeling like a couple of teenagers, then ask “But what about Danny?” You both stop at his car and he looks down at you. “He’ll just stay at Josh’s tonight,” he says, smirking, “I’ll text him, don’t worry about him, honey…” He holds your waist and pulls you in for another kiss before opening the door for you, letting you into the passenger seat. He rounds the car and gets into the driver’s side, starts the car, and pulls out of the driveway.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・✩ ✦ ✩・゜゜・．*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The drive to Sam’s place is short but also agonizingly long at the same time. He keeps a steady hold on your inner thigh as he drives, keeping his eyes on the road. Occasionally, he rubs his thumb lightly, sending shivers down your spine. Never in a million years did you think you would be here, with him. It was something you only imagined, but you never thought that Sam would want you like this. It warrants a conversation, but you can worry about that later.

Sam pulls into his driveway, puts the car in park, and then rushes to get out and open your door for you. You get out of the car and his lips are already attacking you, putting his hands on your hips as he backs you up toward his front door. He drops your lips for a moment to unlock the door, opens it, and then drags you in with him, closing it and shutting it behind you. You both kick off your shoes and then he swiftly brings you to his bedroom upstairs.

You’ve been to Sam’s house hundreds of times, but this time felt different. As you enter his room it almost feels like the first time, giving you butterflies as he pulls you into him, taking your lips in his. He lays you down on the bed as he continues to kiss you, making his way across your jaw and then down your neck. You lean upwards into his touch, wanting more. His lips feel electric on your neck, sending shockwaves through your entire body and creating friction between your legs.

He pulls back for a moment and slides his finger under the strap of your dress. “Can I…?” he asks, looking down at you for permission. You nod and you watch him as he slides the straps of your dress down your arms, leaving it bunched above your waist and freeing your uncovered breasts, as you couldn’t wear a bra underneath. “Fuck,” you hear him mutter under his breath before he leans back down, taking one of your nipples into your mouth as he holds the other in his hand, squeezing it, making you whine. He moans against your skin and then leans back to unbutton his shirt, throws it to the side, and then slides your dress the rest of the way off, past your legs.

He kisses his way down your stomach, to your hip, and then your inner thigh. You writhe slightly under his touch, barely able to contain yourself from his teasing. You’re insanely aroused now after all of the kissing and feeling his hands on you, you don’t feel like you can wait anymore. “Sammy, please,” you whine, his eyes looking up at you deviously. “Don’t worry, honey. It’s okay, I’m gonna take care of you,” he answers, his voice sounding so smooth that you feel closer to the edge just from hearing it. He slowly slides your panties down your legs, tossing them onto the floor.

He kisses your inner thigh once again as he spreads your legs a bit more. “Y/N, you are so beautiful… You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about all of the things that I want to do to you…” he says before lowering his mouth onto your aching pussy. Your back arches at the feeling of his mouth on you. His movements are slow and gentle, his tongue circling your clit slowly as his hand rubs your thigh softly. He runs his tongue swiftly through your folds, making you moan quietly before returning to your sensitive bud. You’re already so close from all of the anticipation when you feel his fingers on you before he dips one of them inside of you. He uses steady movements, curling his finger into you as he brings you closer and closer to your release. “Fuck, Sammy, that feels so good,” you whine out to him and he moans against you.

His tongue starts to speed up as he pushes a second finger into you, pumping them in and out of you relentlessly. You clench around them and he removes his mouth from you for a moment and says “Come on, honey. I know you’re close, give it to me. Want it so bad,” then goes back to attacking your clit. His smooth voice combined with his movements inside of you bring you right into a crashing orgasm, arching your back as it washes over you. After you come down from it, he removes his fingers from you and climbs back on top of you.

He slips his hand behind your neck and kisses you passionately, slipping his tongue into your mouth as you taste yourself on it. You moan into his mouth and he pulls away, saying “You taste so sweet, baby. Did you taste it? Isn’t it sweet?” You nod and smile weakly at him, still in a bit of a trance. You lean forward to sit up and kiss him again, reaching your hand down to grasp at his hardened cock through his jeans. You start pulling the zipper down and he leans away from you to get off of the bed and remove them.

Sam gets off of the bed and slips his jeans down his legs, stepping out of them and palming himself lightly over his briefs. He then tucks his fingers underneath the waistline and pulls his underwear down, revealing himself to you for the first time. Your jaw drops at the sight, he is much bigger than you had ever imagined. You’d thought that it might be big considering that he’s tall, but this is much more than you expected. He immediately sees your reaction, chuckling a bit and taking your hands to bring you off the bed to stand up with him.

“Surprised, Frecks?” he says, laughing a bit. “I don’t wanna hurt you, honey. You think you can take it?” he asks, looking down at you with a smirk. You just nod before lowering yourself to your knees and taking him in your hand. Given your small stature, your hand can barely even fit all the way around it. You look up at him as you lean up to lick the tip lightly. You watch as he leans his head back, groaning and mumbles some expletives under his breath. You slip the head into your mouth and work your way as far to the back of your throat as you can go.

You start to move, bobbing your head up and down his shaft as you hold it with one hand and grasp his thigh with the other. He reaches his hand down and places his hand in your hair, holding your head as you continue your movements. You swirl your tongue around him and begin to rub your thighs together to relieve some tension, but he’s had enough. “Uh-uh, nope. If you keep going like this, I’m gonna come right there in your mouth,” he utters, using his hand in your hair to take you off of him and bring your face up to his. “I want you, Sammy. So bad,” you say, looking up at him, begging him with your eyes. “Honey, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you,” he answers, leaning you back down on the bed.

He kisses you slowly, holding your cheek in his right hand as he uses his left to line himself up with you. He pulls away, his face just a few inches from yours. “I’ll be gentle, okay baby? You tell me if it hurts at all, and I’ll stop,” he says softly. He leans his forehead against yours as he slides the tip in, eliciting a soft whine from your mouth. He pulls out slightly and then pushes back in, just a bit more, easing you into it. “Fuck, honey, you’re so tight. Relax for me, okay? I’ve got you.” He does this same thing a few more times, easing in a little further until you’ve adjusted enough for him to push in to the hilt. He lets out a deep groan, lighting your insides on fire as you pull him close to you, kissing his lips harshly.

He kisses you back hard, moving his hand from your cheek to grasp the hair at the back of your neck as he pulls you into him. His other hand is firmly planted on your hip, holding you still underneath him. He begins to pull out slowly, slamming back in once, making you whine into his mouth. He starts a steady pace, pulling out and slamming into you over and over again. Your hands are grasping at his back, surely scratching it up to the point where it will leave a mark. “Harder, Sammy, please,” you whine, feeling him smile against your lips. “Can you handle that, baby?” he says, smirking. You nod ferociously, “Yes, please, please.”

He pulls out of you, causing you to whine at the loss of the feeling of him inside you, then swiftly flips you over onto your stomach. His hand goes under you, pulling you up to your hands and knees, while the other lines himself up with you once again, slipping in with ease. You both moan as he places a hand on the small of your back, pushing you down slightly as the other grips your waist. He sets a faster pace, slamming into you so hard that your head starts to spin. “You like that, honey? That hard enough for you?” he asks, relentlessly pounding into you. You mutter a string of yeses, unable to focus on what comes out of your mouth.

The hand previously on your waist moves down to your clit, moving in tight circles as he continues to fuck into you repeatedly from behind. “That’s it, baby, that’s it. Give me another one, all over my cock. I know it feels so good,” he grunts as he brings you to another climax. His pace inside you never slows as he fucks you through your second orgasm, uttering words of encouragement as you come down from it. You can tell he’s close now, his hips faltering a bit. “Mmm, fuck honey. I’m so close, where can I-?” he asks, as you interrupt him before he can finish his sentence. “Inside, Sammy. Please, I need it so bad, wanna feel you,” you whine, causing him to throw his head back and moan at the idea of it.

He pulls out and flips you back over, then quickly slides right back into you. “Wanna look at you when I come, baby. Wanna see your face as I fill you up. Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, unable to hold back anymore. He thrusts inside you a few more times before he reaches his own climax, pulling you in for a long, hard kiss. He whimpers against your lips as he finishes, coating your insides completely. His hands are holding your face affectionately as he pulls away from you, looking at you like you’re his whole world. He pulls himself out of you, still hovering over you, his eyes trained on yours.

“I love you, Y/N,” he says. He rubs his thumb on your cheek, looking down at you. “I love you too, Sammy. So much. I always have,” you say, smiling up at him. He pulls you in for another kiss, smiling against your lips and letting out a sigh. “You’re everything to me, Freckles. Everything.” He kisses your lips again lightly before taking your hand and helping you out of the bed, bringing you to the bathroom to clean up. You both take a shower, wash everything off, and then return to his bed.

You settle into bed, laying your head on top of his chest, breathing him in. His hands play with your hair as you wrap your arms around him, nestling in. “Goodnight, Sammy,” you say, sighing into him as you shut your eyes. “Goodnight, my love,” he answers, placing a kiss on the top of your head before drifting off to sleep, feeling the happiest he’s ever felt.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・✩ ✦ ✩・゜゜・．*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[sky-kiss]

A/N: Blatant Asmodeus propaganda. After betraying Raphael in the HoH to save Baldur's Gate, they steal his corpse back from Meph and entreat Asmodeus. Also. A Dracula gif. To push my agenda.

Raph x GN!Tav: A Pact Struck, A Contract Sealed

Ages have passed, and empires have risen and fallen since a mortal last attempted to bind his Aspect. Asmodeus feels a tickling in the back of his psyche, barely a drag at his near-infinite energy. His awareness fragments and then shifts, searching for the source of the petition. The words come second, the feelings first. 

Desperation. Pain. A soul-deep grief. Physical hurt, too, but it's a stinging afterthought. The Lord of the Nine Hells cocks his head to the side, eyes closed. They are petitioning his avatar. They whisper in the darkness. A chill winter breeze howls around them, bowing the branches of dead trees. How fitting, he thinks, that this little creature should surround itself with such things. They wear death like a shroud. 

He is not in the habit of entertaining such low-hanging fruit…but there is a touch of something in their desperation, a sweetness Asmodeus has not sampled in many years. It amuses him. And he is not above indulging his amusement—the Archdevil motions with his right hand, passing a fraction of his awareness to the Aspect. The darkness of his throne room fades in favor of a moonlit night—the sickly sweet tang of blood colors the air. 

Ah, and there is his petitioner. They sit with their back pressed to an ancient white birch, skin badly frostbitten. Cania's stink lingers across their skin, brimstone and hellfire marrying together. They curl around their prize, clutching a badly mangled figure to their chest. Asmodeus hums, kneeling. Its wings are broken. So many bones shattered. 

"Tell me, child." His voice is low and pleasant in the chill air, a warmth chasing along the baritone. "Do you know whose name you have called? The attention you would court?" 

They nod, grip tightening on their prince. Tears cut through the mess of dirt on their skin. Crying, he thinks, and what a charming little oddity. Who shed tears for a devil? How curious. How delightful. "Lord Asmodeus, Prince of the Darkness. Lord of Lies." 

"Indeed, I am. Pretty titles, aren't they?" 

"I thought…" they catch themselves. Asmodeus notes the tremor in their right hand and the way they struggle to stay upright. His presence is overpowering at the best of times; the wounded little creature is fighting valiantly not to succumb to darkness, mind breaking under the weight of his Aspect's attention.

"My apologies, little one. It has been some since I treated with your kind. Allow me." He reaches out with one clawed hand, tapping his nail to the center of their forehead. The ward will protect them from the worst of it. They blink at him. "Continue, please." 

Their right hand tightens in the corpse's dark hair. "My Lord, I had hoped to make a deal with you. I know…I am beneath your attention…"

"Most are. The benefit of being a god, I suppose. But it has never stopped me in the past." 

Despite themself, they smile. Shuffling, the adventurer turns their burden outwards. Though badly burned, cheekbones shattered, he recognizes the features—so much of the father in the son, an agony to both parties. Mephistopheles' boy stares blankly forward—a hollow shell of himself, a waste of potential.  

It pains the Prince to see so promising a resource wasted. 

"I made a mistake. I…" they swallow. "There was something that had to be done. And it came at a cost. Raphael…” 

"The boy is known to me, child. If I may?" They hesitate. Asmodeus forces his temper down, the air around them heating. He is a god and not in the habit of being denied. But the Hero of Baldur's Gate relents, shifting their burden into his arms. The Lord of the Ninth cups his hand over the pretender-king's mouth, his forehead. Asmodeus shuts his eyes. "Such a waste." 

"Can you help him?"

"Do you doubt me, little one?" They shift back, dropping their eyes at the sharpness of his tone—a warning, barely veiled. "Mephistopheles has devoured that which he gave—the infernal. The mortal soul…is uncontested. Lost somewhere in Avernus. It could be located…for a price."

"Anything." 

Asmodeus chuckles. He is not ignorant of the sudden rush of color in the little creature's cheeks or how the sound makes them avert their eyes. This guise is pleasant, after all, tall and angular and dark. The wind catches in the blackness of his hair, the long strands falling well below his shoulders. "How dearly naive. I've half a mind to take advantage of such generosity." They shiver under the force of his stare, reality undoubtedly going dark around the edges. He hums. "But…the alternative could prove a more pleasurable distraction still." 

The Lord of the Ninth stands, holding out his hand. The hero, Tav, sets their palm in his. He helps them to their feet, settling his other hand on their shoulders. So close, he can feel the weight of their exhaustion and desperation rolling off them, an ambrosia. The depth of their affection for the boy-king. Interesting and useful. Asmodeus touches their cheek. 

"I will treat with you, little one, and more fairly than I ought. Your dear one's potential: a few more centuries, a stern hand, and Raphael might have made a powerful piece on the board. His sire is…" Asmodeus tapped his chin. "Increasingly irrelevant. Immutable and tiresome." 

Tav stares up at him, such a little thing. And there is potential there, too, the ability to warp and mold this boy-king into something suitable to his grand design. He touches their cheek with a claw. "I will give the means to locate Raphael's soul. In retrieving it, you will prove your worth and dedication. I have no use for the faint of heart. Is this clear?" 

"Yes, my Lord." 

"Clever pet, very clever." He smiles, chucking them under the chin. "You bring the boy to my court in Nessus, where he shall be given the means to decide his fate. Is that clear?" 

"Yes."

What an amusing twist of fate. He bends, collecting the Prince's mangled body in his arms. Tav looks ready to protest, to fight for their dear one (and again, how delightful; Asmodeus cannot help but feel charmed), only to remember what precisely stands before them: a god in truth, the Lord of all the Nine Hells. Asmodeus smiles at them, bowing his head. "I shall keep him for you, little one. You have my oath. Collect his soul, and we will meet again." 

He leaves them without another word, a touch of the dramatic, a hint of mystery to whet their palette. Asmodeus inspects the corpse in his arm. 

Sweet Prince, broken and bloodied. 

Asmodeus will make him whole again.