#and i know there won’t be more chapters | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hongism · 3 days

Text

mists of celeste ➻ 51

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader

➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut

➻ word count: 21.1k

➻ rating: M

➻ warnings: language (additional warnings under the cut, pls heed them!)

➻ summary: Months into your stay aboard The Horizon, it becomes apparent that things are not as cut and dry as you thought, and that you might have bitten off more than you could chew with this crew.

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

────────────

act seven ➻ part three

additional chapter warnings: cannibalism (dream), discussion of suicidal ideation, hallucinations

When you come to, you almost don’t realize that you have woken up at all because you open your eyes to complete darkness. The first thing you notice is the weight at your back, something digging into your shoulder blades and making you wildly uncomfortable, but that sensation is pushed to the back of your mind as your brain starts catching up with the reality you’re in. Your right arm does not feel wholly attached to your body in any way, and even when you attempt to use it to help move around in the cramped space you’re in, it refuses to budge at all.

Above you, there is a firm plank of wood that slots into your faux coffin so perfectly you imagine it’s aiming to act as your grave.

In your left ear, you hear a quiet yet unsettling whispering coming from outside the box.

“I know you’re there,” comes the distorted yet familiar tone, “I’ll pull every splinter of wood off this box to reach you. You can’t hide forever.”

You swing your left arm up as hard as you can manage given the limited space you have to deal with, ramming your elbow into the block of wood over your body. The huffs of your breathing make the enclosure feel that much smaller, and in turn, it causes your moves to lean more frantic than an organized attempt to escape.

“Keep struggling just like that. I like a fight~”

The voice belongs to San — there’s no doubt about that — and yet it sounds nothing like your San.

Twisting onto your side, you slam your left shoulder sideways into the wooden box, and that finally loosens whatever seal is keeping it shut. You tumble out onto the cold, metal ground followed by spools of what looks to be fabric and threads. Your right arm aches suddenly with a sharp pang in your upper bicep that makes you hiss and clutch at it desperately.

It’s dark all around save for one singular light in the distance, but it flickers into nothingness every so often.

“I’ll give you a head start if you’d like,” comes San’s cruel whispers from just beside you. A chill of terror passes down your spine, but when you turn to look over your shoulder, there’s nothing — and no one — there.

You hoist yourself up while still gripping your aching right arm. A bit of feeling has returned to it, just enough to let you twitch your fingers and make a weak fist with them. The light in the distance illuminates enough of the room you’re in to show you a somewhat clear path to the only exit, though the shadows around you have an almost sinister feel to them. You open your mouth to speak into the darkness, a witless hope that you can reason with the San that’s out there, but your voice bubbles up and dies on your tongue. With those hopes dashed, you resolve to simply make a run for it.

Breaking into a sprint, you launch yourself towards the archway leading to the exit as the shadows rise up to meet your every step like they’re chasing you. The boxes scattered throughout the room are like a maze keeping you from a safe and easy exit. When the light flickers out, you stall and count the seconds until it flickers back into its wobbly pattern again — thirteen plus a half. Each time the darkness swallows you, the exit seems to get further and further away no matter how much you run towards it while the light is on. A cry of frustration rests on your lips but the sound refuses to come out.

“Won’t you look at me, star?” San’s voice rises behind you once again. Darkness envelops the room.

Thirteen and a half.

“Do you fear me?”

Yes, you think. Your fingers squeeze around your bicep until your palm is wet and hot with some sort of liquid that makes your skin slippery.

Five and a half.

You tense. The shadows at your back feel so close that it’s almost like there’s a breath of cold air running down the back of your neck.

“Does my presence frighten you?” he whispers.

One.

You reel around just as the light comes back to life, intent to catch San where he’s lurking once the shadows are dispersed under the fluorescent haze. The world spins terribly even though you hardly moved much, and you topple over like a wobbly top onto your knees. The light has morphed into a solitary spotlight coming down from above onto you, blinding you so much that you try to block your vision to an extent. You look forward to the floor only to be met with a horrifying sight.

“…San?” you say under your breath in a slight panic.

There’s a body on the floor before you, and with the excess light that’s suddenly spilled into the room, you can clearly see that you’re inside the cargo bay aboard The Horizon. The place where you started your journey with this crew. And now the place where San’s slumped and crumpled body lies before you like a corpse. You reach out towards the back that’s facing you with a tremor in your hands that won’t go away. Your fingers close around a cold arm and twist the body so that you can see the face even though the build looks so starkly like San that you’re dreading it.

The moment you do, however, the face morphs and twists before your eyes until it resembles Minho. Gasping, you scramble backwards on your hands, tweaking your injured arm as you do. His lips are blue, as though he’s been dead for some time, skin pale and eyes wide open — bloodshot. Saliva runs down from both corners of his mouth, dried and flaking against his ghostly white face.

A strange whistling echoes throughout the cargo bay.

Minho’s corpse speaks to you.

“Why did you bring me here to die?”

You twist over onto your hands and knees, ignoring the flare of pain that shoots down your arm as you launch yourself forward in a vain attempt to escape. The whistling continues to ring in your ears, like a macabre song fueling your sprint out of the cargo bay and into the attached corridor. You move through the hallways frantically, passing room after room with open doors and faceless bodies inside each one. By the time you reach the mess hall, you’re out of breath, and your sanity is fraying at the edges because of the damn whistling that refuses to stop following you.

The lights here are flickering too, and the usual hum of machinery that radiates throughout the ship is absent completely. The tables in the hall are shoved to the side haphazardly and coated in a thick layer of dust. Beside one of the toppled tables sits Jongho’s guitar, broken on the ground with its strings snapped.

“There you are.”

You don’t have time to process who the owner of the voice is — you barely have time to brace yourself for the impact that strikes you from behind. It does nothing to save you from the impending fall, though the floor dissipates as you approach it face-first, and you swing into darkness instead. Next thing you know, you’re sitting in a chair with no way of seeing what’s around you and warmth blossoming across your face.

The hands that cover your eyes are not your own yet they are just as calloused and rough on your skin, but the voice against your ears is so soft by comparison.

“Are you ready, mon amour?” It’s Seonghwa who speaks with a foreign warmth to his tone you haven’t heard in some time. You bring a hand up to cover his, eager to pull him away and restore your vision. “Not yet, you haven’t answered the question.”

“I’m ready,” you breathe out in nothing more than a whisper.

“Good.”

Light creeps into your vision, pulling back the curtains of darkness, and what you see before you is both astonishingly beautiful and horrifying at once. You’re at a dinner table small enough to seat two, and across from you sits none other than your captain. Except unlike you, who possesses the freedom to move from the chair as you please, Hongjoong has ropes bound around his torso and keeping his arms stuck to his sides. He stares ahead at you, face oddly blank and expressionless. Seonghwa creeps into your peripherals draped in white robes that make him look like a saint sent from the heavens.

“Seonghwa.”

“Shh, mon amour. Let us prepare this feast for you to enjoy.”

A deep haze settles over your mind, whether from the odd sweet aroma in the air or from Seonghwa’s lilting voice. You do not feel fully present as you watch what unfolds next. As Seonghwa takes his captain by the hair and drags his head so far back that it seems as though his neck is the feast in question. Something glints in Seonghwa’s hand, but you realize it far too late, as the next second leads this dinner into something far more horrifying.

He splits Hongjoong’s neck open on the blade. Little crimson rivulets spill over the silver. Your brain is calling for you to take action, to stop this gruesome scene before it becomes worse, but still your body does not move. Seonghwa continues to wrench the knife along skin without relent, as though it is nothing to him, like Hongjoong is merely a slain animal for him to butcher as he sees fit, and you are terrified.

“Is this not what we are owed, Y/n?” Seonghwa says, angling his head down to the blade. He pulls his tongue along the flat where a minute amount of blood has pooled. “Our devotion deserves just rewards.” The edges of his sleeves are staining more and more by the second, though it is nothing but an afterthought in the moments that follow. Seonghwa turns his head further in to lay his lips along the seam he has created in his captain’s flesh. He sinks teeth in deep, and when he draws back, there is blood up to his nose and dripping down his chin.

“We’ve earned this, Y/n.” If your body could function according to your mind, you would certainly jump in your seat from the sudden intrusion of a new voice joining the fray. Yunho comes in from the left, out of a strange pit of darkness that seemingly has no beginning or end. He balances a knife of his own in one hand, fingers barely clutched around the hilt, but his grip shifts once he steps over to the table. It’s with a firm hand that he drives it directly into Hongjoong’s sternum. Or, what you believe to still be Hongjoong. His face is more obscured than anything, and his form does not seem recognizable in the slightest to you, but it was him before Seonghwa slit his throat. It must still be him now, no?

Then this man beside Seonghwa cannot be Yunho. You have never known him to be violent.

“We have all given him parts of ourselves, my star.” Warmth surrounds you. Before you realize it, you are standing, and San is there behind you like a mere extension of yourself. His arms wrap around your body, hand resting steady on the base of your throat. Hot breath pours from his lips and down the side of your neck. It causes a tingle to rush up and down your spine; though despite that, your body still does not feel like it is your own. “Does it not make sense for us to take in return?” San’s hands retract to rest on your lower back. He pushes you down like he wants to bend you over the table, but rather than letting your chest collide with the empty plates laid out there, he nudges your leg up with his knee. Like a puppet, you crawl across the table, sending utensils and glassware both to the ground. San caresses your head and squeezes the back of your neck in silent reassurance. That this is okay, this is fair, this is what you are owed.

When you reach the other side, Hongjoong is upright once more. It is still him, though you aren’t sure if there is relief in you upon seeing his face. Knife still in his chest, throat still slit and bleeding — now even with a chunk of flesh ripped out to add to the carnage — he stares right at you with strangely lively eyes. All this and yet the monster is still not defeated. What a fool you would be to believe that it would be an easy feat.

“If there is something you desire—” blood coats his teeth, making his crazed grin all the more insane “—you must tear it from my flesh.”

His fingers are cold on your wrist. You did not notice how close you came to the edge of the table, now teetering between the wood and falling into his lap, nor did you realize that you had brought a hand to his chest in the process. That’s where he holds you now, keeping your hand flat over his heart with an ice cold grip.

A phantom heartbeat makes itself known on your fingertips. A steady and calm ba-dum, ba-dum that gets stronger and stronger the more your fingers sink into flesh and bone.

Something shifts.

You don’t understand how, but you are no longer on the table. Hongjoong does not sit across from you any longer, nor are there even the slightest traces that he ever was there to begin with. The table is clean once again and set for one — you and you alone. You are already holding a fork and knife in your hands.

Seonghwa comes forward from the spot where your captain just was, dressed again in white but this time he is clean and free of blood. He sets a plate down before you, one you do not immediately look at because you are too busy examining his face for any trace of Hongjoong’s flesh and blood. He smiles without showing his teeth and nods towards the dish.

“Please eat, mon amour. You’ve worked so terribly hard for your meal.” He finishes his words with a full-blown smile. His teeth are stained red.

Before you, on a pristine plate, lies a still-beating heart.

It’s not the morning hour or your lover shifting in the sheets that finally pulls you out of your sleep, but rather a muted horror lingering in your body from a rather violent and gruesome nightmare that came upon you once you fell asleep last night. Despite your wishes to forget such a thing, it persists in your memory, even as you climb out of bed and make your way to the bathroom where San is already up and prepping for the day ahead.

“Good morning,” you mumble while rubbing the sleep from your eyes. He returns the greeting just as incoherently, lips wrapped around a toothbrush, but he still makes way for you to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Water’s still warm,” he pulls his toothbrush out a bit to get the words out, eyes on you through the mirror as you strip down to nothing. “I didn’t wanna wake you up.” He doesn’t need to explain a thing, though you’re certain he already knows as much so you don’t voice those sentiments out loud. You stand up straight to look at him through the reflection too. A small smile plays at your lips, one that’s meant to be reassuring. You hope the smile doesn’t drop too soon when you turn, but if it does then San plays the part of being clueless exceptionally well. He was correct about the water though, as it feels blissfully warm on your skin.

Your hopes to forget the dream that plagued you last night are dashed almost immediately, however, when you close your eyes to keep the barrage of water from spilling into them. It returns to you in a flash, like you are reliving it just the same, and the dream floods your senses fully. The metallic taste on your tongue horrifies you to the point of eliciting a small gasp from you that leads to water rushing into your throat and making you choke. You only realize that you’ve bit your cheek once you’re recovering from the sudden choking fit.

“Are you alright?” San sounds two seconds away from a serious panic.

“I-I’m fine, fine, just had an awful dream.” That isn’t what he was asking, but the realization dawns on you only after you’ve spoken.

The curtain pulls back a bit to show San’s concern in full. The soft pout on his lips makes you want to kiss him.

“I bit my cheek and choked on water because of it. And I was thinking about my dream. Wasn’t… I don’t know, it was just surreal and horrible.” You don’t imagine there to be any normal way to explain what you dreamt about in the slightest. Leaning forward out of the shower a bit, you plant a quick kiss against his frown to reassure him. “I’m fine, I just need to fully wake up and shake it off.”

“If you wanna talk about it…” he trails off, eyes still full of concern and trailing over your face even as he tastes your touch on his lips with his tongue. “I’m gonna head down and get some breakfast. Take your time.” He seems to note that you’d like space to mull over your nightmares, even if your reassurance hasn’t diminished his worry much at all. The curtain falls back into place, leaving you enclosed in the shower in peace, and you let out a small breath when you hear San leave the room.

You douse yourself with water and hang your head under the showerhead to let it pelt you from above in a vain attempt to clear your mind. The metallic scent of blood was so real and prevalent that you can almost taste it on the back of your tongue now, as the memory of the dream sinks back over you like a dark shadow.

Your limbs seem to move on their own as your right hand brings the fork forward to sink into the beating flesh of the heart. Blood spills out of the tiny pinprick holes your fork leaves in its wake. The scarlet pools at the base of the plate. The knife slips through the organ after some struggle, as though the thumping flesh is wrought with steel.

Seonghwa still stands across from you on the other side of the table with his hands folded in front of him like a steeple. He smiles, lips closed and tightly wound into a grin that’s almost painful to look upon because of how strained his expression is. He watches you cut away at the heart and take a small cube neatly onto your fork.

“To think he would let you of all people feast upon his heart,” he says, eyes wide and unblinking. You pause with the bite halfway to your mouth. The knife in your left hand clatters against the plate when you drop it unceremoniously. Seonghwa unfurls his hands and lays them against the pristine white tablecloth. “Tell me, mon amour, would you…” he swallows hard around nothing. You remain frozen in place, and it’s your turn to watch him now as he slides around the edge of the table and comes over onto your side. Seconds tick by at an agonizingly slow pace, and Seonghwa lowers himself to his knees. A trembling hand clasps around your thigh tightly. It takes you a moment to recognize the expression painting his features to be excitement. “Would you grant me a bite?”

Your hand moves the fork over to him without conscious thought. You coax his chin up with your free hand, fingers lingering on the underside of his jaw as his pretty lips part in an almost feral want.

“Ask nicely and perhaps I might.” Your voice comes out in a sultry tone that does not feel like your own despite it sounding like you. Seonghwa exhales a shaky sigh, his pupils blown out and sweat beading his brow.

“Please…” Seonghwa shudders and shifts his chin down, catching your thumb between his lips and nipping at the pad gently. “Just a bite.”

You split the seam of Seonghwa’s lips further open upon your thumb and wedge it between his teeth, finally bringing the fork down to his waiting mouth. His breath lies hot against your thumb. The soft pants he exhales are frantic, and his gaze upon your face is so unsettlingly steady that you cannot force yourself to be the first to look away. As the fork descends upon his mouth and pushes the small bite onto his tongue, you retreat and pull your thumb out of his mouth. Seonghwa moans around the morsel, a little rivulet of blood trickling down from the corner of his mouth as he shudders around the taste of Hongjoong’s heart.

Seonghwa’s chest is heaving when he pushes up on his knees and reaches for your face with both hands. You let him cup your cheeks, neatly manicured nails digging into your flesh as he tugs you down to meet his lips with your own. What follows is a mess — a kiss full of blood, saliva, teeth, and the lingering heartbeat resting atop Seonghwa’s tongue as he thrusts the wet muscle into you to coat the whole interior of your mouth with the taste of iron. The fork in your right hand hits the ground with a sharp clang that rings too loudly in your ears. You search the table blindly with your other hand until you find the plate with the rest of the heart on it, and when you close your hand around what’s remaining, the heartbeat thumps like it’s part of you.

Saliva connects your mouths when you push Seonghwa back and separate your lips. He’s dazed, still looking up at you like you’re some benevolent god offering him saintly blessings, and you do. As you swipe your thumb over your bloodied lip, you push the heart firmly against Seonghwa’s parted lips. He groans, eyelashes fluttering around the taste, and there’s a sick squelch resounding in the air once he works his teeth into the flesh.

“This,” he says through soft pants, twisting his chin down into his shoulder to catch his breath even as you force the organ further against him. It stains his pretty tanned skin with red streaks that drip down the front of his white garb. “This shall be our final feast.”

You come to again on the floor of the shower, hunched over with your head leaned into the corner of the tiles. The water beating down on you is icy now; any lingering warmth you had upon entering has dissipated while you were unconscious. Beneath your head where the water can’t quite reach is a streak of crimson. You lift a hand to your head first in search of the source of the blood but stop immediately when a fresh drop falls. Tapping your nostril with your middle finger first to confirm, you rub roughly at your nose with the back of your hand to sweep away any other droplets that threaten to come out.

The shower handle doesn’t budge right away when you reach for it blindly above your head, fingers slipping off the knob upon the first few tries. By the time you finally do get it to shut off as intended, you’re huffing your frustrations out in small bouts of profanities.

Your head hurts by the time you are able to finally pull yourself out of the shower and get dried off, but the nosebleed has stopped so you take it as a small victory. San set out a fresh set of clothes for you on his way out it seems, something you had forgotten to do entirely, and you smile as you see them laid out on the bed through the bathroom doorway. Even though you’ve thoroughly dried off, it’s still somewhat a struggle to tug your pants on, and your turtleneck is even more a pain in the ass. You slip into your boots by the door as you’re lacing up the corseted vest San set out for you overtop your shirt. You tie it tighter than is necessary, mostly on account of your thoughts drifting off to other things as you go about your routine.

Of all things to dream about, the cannibalism of your captain is a new — and quite startling — one. No part of you wants to revisit the visceral images that haunted you, and you aren’t sure you want to understand the subliminal messaging your brain is trying to communicate with you either. It’s best, you imagine, to push everything about it far to the back of your mind to be forgotten in the waking hours and only recalled when night falls again.

The corridor outside your shared room with San is void of life, though you can hear voices rising from the first floor of the hostel. Upon descending the stairs halfway, you catch sight of San standing near the foyer, one arm folded over his broad chest as he uses the other to accentuate whatever he’s talking about with minute gestures. Nightingale stands across from him, with the bright glow of his eyes tracking your every move as you descend the staircase.

“Pardon me then,” he utters through a nod in San’s direction.

“Oh.” San glances back over his shoulder, gaze softening upon landing on you. “There you are.”

“Sorry it took me so long.” You aren’t wholly certain how long you spent passed out on the shower floor, though given that San seems to have already eaten, you imagine it was enough time to cause a bit of worry.

“No worries, star, I spoke with Nightingale to pass the time. He’s found a charter for Soojin and Luca to take, one that’ll get them to one of the larger ports a few cities over. Setheno here is more of a trading hub than one meant for more widespread travel. Apparently, Nightingale intends to leave with them, though it doesn’t depart until the beginning of next week so you… you still have time with Soojin. Not sure if or when we’ll cross paths again.” San shrugs, extending his hand out to you as you step up to him. “He also mentioned that the two of you had spoken recently.”

“Ah that… I, uh, I’m sorry for not bringing it up sooner. We were preoccupied with other things and it slipped my mind. Since we had already discussed similar things so much, I didn’t want to bring it up again and again or seem vengeful by any means.”

San shakes his head quickly even before you’re finished speaking. His hand shifts around your hip to rest against your lower back. “I’m not upset, don’t misunderstand. Simply wanted to be transparent and let you know that we had spoken about it as well — just the time you went to speak with him in the training room, that is. I had already given him a heads-up after I told you that story making sure he knew you were wholly aware of it. Even though I told you the circumstances of our relationship and what Captain had me do to him, I am very glad that you heard it directly from Nightingale too. Not just my side of the story.”

“Did you by chance tell him I knew of your history before I did that?”

“It’s possible.” San purses his lips and looks off at the wall as he seems to rack his brain trying to complete the timeline of matters in his head. “I stopped by the training room first thing in the morning after I told you, to speak with Yeon — Nightingale — and let him know the extent of your knowledge about our history. To be frank, I also told him that he need not be the one to share that history with you as I had already done so because I didn’t wish for him to feel it was his responsibility in any way. It seems he wished to disclose it regardless though.” He shifts his chin down and looks back at you with a small smile decorating his lips. “It’s a miracle we even have a working relationship, given said history.”

“He… didn’t mention any of that when I spoke with him.” Though you sigh, it comes out more as a breath of relief than anything else.

“You were still in bed when I got up, so I imagine I was the first to accost him. I’m sure he thought it was an organized attack on his psyche when we both came to corner him separate times to dig up ghosts of the past.”

“Which would explain why he acted like a raging asshole who purposefully tried to drive a wedge between the two of us?”

San’s hand withdraws from your back, and he lowers his head. “Please do not — just.” A breath before he deigns to lift his head again. “If you say anything further, I will not be able to resist hurting Nightingale. Should he hurt you, then I will hurt him tenfold in return. So please, if you do not wish to see that then bite your tongue.” You take his face into your hands.

“Quiet those thoughts, San,” you murmur. His gaze chases your lips then flutters shut.

“You’re right, it’s not helping anything to think like that.” When he brings up a hand to cover one of yours, your chest tightens. You wonder, albeit briefly, if you’re of any help or solace to him as he is to you. “I’m supposed to go help Yunho stock some supplies for the ship in a few minutes. You wanna come along?”

“It’s not as though I have any other plans,” you shrug, letting your hands fall down by your sides in unison.

The morning air is far more welcoming than the ambience you experienced last night on your walk with Mingi. With bright beams of sunlight cascading down across the gorge and the dense fog lifted from the streets, it’s almost as though that place you walked the night prior was nothing more than a figment of your imagination. Just as your cruel nightmare had been. Minho is going to have the time of his life when he hears about it, you know that much for certain.

“Ah, there you are!” Yunho comes into your line of sight in a flurry of white as he balances a stack of boxes on the ground before you and San. “San, these small crates are ready to go on over to the docks, I’ll take care of the medications!”

“This is more than expected, no?” San says, brows knitting together as he releases your hand to take up the crates. Yunho stares for a moment with his mouth open and his jaw wholly slack before he winces and shakes his head.

“Yeah, I guess I messed up inventory because I had to shift some numbers around and alter some entries.”

“It’s not like you to do that,” you add, and the earring dangling from your right ear chimes with the movements of your head.

“Hongjoong said the same thing but…” he hesitates. His tongue darts out to wet his slightly chapped lips. “Something must’ve slipped through. It happens! I’m sure it’s not the first time I’ve done so.”

You take two of the crates atop San’s stack without a word, and it earns you a sharp pinch in the side from the man himself.

“Can’t let me show off my big manly muscles for you, huh?”

“What? You don’t wanna see mine?” you tease in return, nudging him with your hip.

“Oh I’ve seen you show them off quite well,” he hums as his gaze seems to trace your body beneath your clothes.

“Ew! Ew, stop being gross in front of me, I’m still here!” Yunho covers his eyes with his free hand, balancing the crate he’s holding on his hip and cradling it under his arm. “Let’s run these over quickly; Mingi and Jongho are already at the dock running a post to help load and transport supplies. Say, do you know if we’re offloading today too?”

“Mhm, Seonghwa and I are meeting with a number of buyers this evening,” San replies, sidestepping you slightly when Yunho nearly knocks into him. “As are Captain and Yeosang, I believe.”

“Ah… sweet freedom,” Yunho hums, but his tone isn’t as light and airy as it usually is. You dare to glance over at him, to try to catch his expression or the gleam in his eyes, but he masks his emotions masterfully.

“He’s been a bit incessant since we landed, yeah?” San talks as though he understands what Yunho means nonetheless, and although it excludes you to an extent, you are certainly good at making your own assumptions. And frankly — it wouldn’t take a genius to guess.

“You know him as well as I do. Can’t stand change even a little bit.” Yunho clenches his jaw. “Speak of the devil.”

Ahead, Hongjoong stands with Seonghwa’s tall and lithe form at his back like a menacing shadow. If possible the circles under his eyes are even darker than last you saw him, though you aren’t graced with the sight of face for long before he’s turning away in a clear attempt to avoid eye contact.

“Here’s the rest!” Yunho says as you approach the dock, and any remnants of his emotions are tossed behind the metaphorical mask he slips on when Hongjoong acknowledges your presence. “Also, Mingi, those pain meds are at the top of this crate. I kept a bottle with me back at the hostel in case you need more while we’re here.” He passes off the box under his arm to the Berserker, patting the side of it as Mingi nods.

“Is something the matter?” you inquire when Mingi turns to you next. He motions for you to add your crates to his growing pile, waiting to respond until you’ve securely set them atop the one he’s carrying.

“I’ve been having a killer headache since last night. Have you?”

You lock eyes with him just before he straightens and the crates block his face completely.

“No, I’ve been just fine—” it’s unwise at best to lie to Mingi, but to do so with Jongho just mere steps away as well is simply asking for trouble “—no headaches. Has anyone else been having them?”

“Lieutenant,” Mingi says under his breath. He shifts his body to the side just enough to block Hongjoong and Seonghwa from seeing his lips as he continues to whisper to you, “though that may be due to another reason altogether.” The Berserker turns away, and you straighten up, clearing your throat in the process as the weight of your captain’s stare bears down hard on you.

“That’s the last of things, Captain.” Yunho passes his load onto Jongho as San departs from your side to help organize the cargo in the transport.

“Seonghwa will follow along to help finalize the deal on that side of the gorge.” Hongjoong beams like a proud cat, but the man at his shoulder does not share the same sentiments on his solemn expression. “Do be good and behave. I am quite eager to be rid of all the excess goods we’ve been lugging around for so long.” You avert your eyes so that you do not have to see the way his sharp gaze tries to sear holes into your skin. His index finger drums against the band of one of his rings on his opposite hand like a metronome. Steady and unwavering, tick tock, a slow and deliberate rhythm.

Seonghwa’s chin dips to his chest as he nods, and the man turns on his heel to follow after the Berserkers without waiting for further instruction. You almost wish to go with him when you see what unfolds before your eyes next — your proud captain sidling up to Yunho and looping his arm around the healer’s lithe waist. The look in his eyes reminds you much of an apex predator. As Seonghwa had once mentioned sending Yunho into the lion’s den, that analogy is not lost on you nor is it an inaccurate one to say the least.

“What are we doing today, dearest?” he purrs against Yunho’s shoulder despite the rigidity he’s met with. Yunho only has the gumption to stop the man when Hongjoong reaches down and tries to lace his fingers through Yunho’s, only to grasp at air as Yunho instead clears his throat and dodges the wandering touches.

Hongjoong’s soft gaze shifts in an instant, and his lips draw into a firm little line as he once again attempts to grab Yunho's hand.

“What exactly is it you’re trying to do, Captain?” Yunho hisses through his teeth with so much venom that he spits a little.

In that moment, your oh-so-proud captain has the audacity to look like a kicked puppy, lips folding out into a minute pout, and the tension in Yunho’s shoulders melts into nothing half a second after. Tick tock. Like clockwork.

Yunho lets out a sigh, one akin to defeat. He waves Hongjoong off and pries himself out of the man’s grasp, leaving him to glower and stare at the side of Yunho’s head with barely concealed fury. “I’m going back to the hostel. It’s too humid today to walk around. Come with, Y/n? San will probably go along with the Berserkers.”

You glance back at the transport, seeing San still inside next to Jongho, and give a slow nod. When you fall into step with the healer, it takes everything in you to not pass a lot over your shoulder at Hongjoong, just to see his expression one last time before you go.

“Sorry, I thought he would follow if I didn’t ask you to come with me. The last thing I want right now is to be cornered again.” Yunho’s lips quirk into a crude smile as he speaks.

“I can’t blame you,” comes your quick response. “It’s hard to say what’s worse: being alone with him in silence or when he decides to open his mouth.”

“Both are…” Yunho laughs out of the blue. “Truly stressful.”

At the door to the hostel, Yunho pauses his stride and turns to look at you. The image of him driving a knife into Hongjoong’s chest flashes before your eyes. If he were an angrier man, one not afraid of violence, perhaps that would be a potential reality on the horizon. Either Hongjoong’s hold is truly so deeply rooted that those under his thumb cannot move, or he is merely lucky that those closest to him are incapable of harming him.

But this Jeong Yunho before you is more akin to a white lamb left on an altar, much like Seonghwa and all others Hongjoong delights in toying with.

He grins a tad awkwardly.

“How do you feel about going to a bar with me tonight?”

────────────

Your excess of free time leads you into the courtyard, though you cannot claim to be outside for the scenery and nothing else. Rather, it’s the man seated at the small table he was at last time you spoke with him.

“I didn’t even have to hound you to meet me this time,” he chirps as you sit in the chair adjacent to his in lieu of announcing your presence. “What a delightful change.”

Minho turns the book in his lap over so that the pages splay over his thigh, and when he folds his fingers over the back, the spine gives a slight crunch.

“May I ask you an odd question?”

This makes him perk up a hair, eyes flashing interest as he angles his torso more towards you. “That is what my job is for, in a sense.”

“Does your job also include the interpretation of dreams?”

Minho offers a shrug, eyes flitting up to glance at the sky before coming back down to reconnect that unsettlingly firm eye contact he seems so obsessed with.

“I’m no fortune teller or witch, but there is some science to it.”

“What does it mean to dream about eating someone?”

A laugh rips from Minho’s lips, and it quickly devolves into a cackle that has him doubling over on himself. He slides his book off his thigh, snapping it shut without bothering to mark the place he left off on. He gives it the same amount of care when he tosses it onto the table like it’s nothing.

“There are simpler ways to occupy my attention, Ghosty, I must say,” he says, still chuckling as he jerks his chair across the cobbles to face you head on. “But you always pick the most exciting options. Eating someone?”

“My dreams since coming here have been odd and surreal, much like intrusive thoughts but dialed up to eleven.”

“Well, you aren’t alone in that. I’ve been having strange dreams too though… I fear none quite like cannibalism.” He draws a hand up to his face, thumbing over his chin before continuing. “In any case, dreaming of consuming someone can mean a myriad of things. It can be sexual in nature, it can mean you feel so close with someone that your subconsciousness interprets that connection as a need to take that person into yourself. Or there could be a level of intimacy to such actions, the act of one giving themselves unto you so wholly that they give you their flesh. Dreaming of such things is not always cannibalistic in terms of literally wanting to eat someone in the waking world. I would not be concerned that you will suddenly have the desire to change your diet anytime soon. Sometimes those dreams steam from desiring someone heavily — either sexually or otherwise. If those you’re consuming in your dreams are faceless beings, then it could be as simple as your mind begging for a deeper connection or a level of intimacy that is neither sexual nor romantic necessarily.” Minho pauses to smile at you, eyes falling shut and creasing briefly before he snaps them back open. “But I could sit here and psychoanalyze you for days if not weeks and still not be able to give you a definitive answer as to what it means for you specifically to be having cannibalistic dreams.”

His tone leaves more to be desired, as though there’s another thought hanging at the end of his tongue waiting for its cue.

“And yet…?” you prompt, almost immediately regretting your curiosity. The chime dangling from your right ear lets out its melody when you tilt your chin and further seek his gaze. Minho leans forward at the waist and into your personal space.

“And yet I can piece together who it is you are consuming in those dreams of yours, hm?”

Though you smile, your eye is twitching.

“You fear the conclusions you come to on your own might be true, so you go to others seeking other answers but when they tell you that you’re correct, you become incensed.” Minho hums and folds his arms loosely over his chest. “Hardly a unique dichotomy. It is in our nature to become so defensive, after all.” The doctor moves one hand and flicks an invisible fleck of dust off the pad of his thumb. When he speaks again, it’s with a flourish of his wrist. “There is nothing to be ashamed of really. Desires are natural. Lust is powerful. A denouement is on the horizon. And frankly, it’s hardly your fault given how every piece has been moved with such care to bring you to such a mental state. You cannot be expected to have done anything else with the odds so stacked against you—”

Minho catches himself a beat too late, eyes flicking open and darting over to your face in an instant as his typically manicured expression slips into one of slight panic. He exhales a breathy laugh.

“Ah… I see now,” he mutters. You hold his gaze. “How easy it is for one to let their guard down…”

Your tongue feels like cotton, and the thoughts in your head have slowed to as near a halt as is possible. Though your lips move around unformed words and phantom questions, you can’t seem to bring yourself to ask. As the doctor said, you dread vocalizing your thoughts only to have them confirmed to be true. Even if you already know.

If he were to ask right now: what is it you are feeling?, then you aren’t wholly sure how you would be able to answer that. Neither dread nor disappointment stirs in your chest, though there is a deep ache. In truth, it’s nothing you did not already know even if you had hoped Seonghwa spoke the words purely out of contempt in the heat of the moment.

When your hatred turns to infatuation, I’ll be sure to tell you all the ways in which Hongjoong has orchestrated the destruction of your psyche since your arrival here.

Minho makes no effort to correct himself or cover his words; in fact, he deigns to say nothing at all.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” you say, unsure of your volume thanks to how loudly your heart is seeming to beat in your ears. The man opens his mouth, closes it, then squeezes his eyes shut.

“What is it you’re expecting me to say?”

“That you misspoke,” you answer almost before he finishes his question. “That you spoke out of line, based on assumptions, that — that…”

“What point is there in appeasing you with half-hearted words that you know to be lies?”

“You tell me, you’re the psychologist!” When you jut your hand out to him, Minho’s face returns to its usual candor. He folds his fingers around your outstretched ones, clutching the back of your hand tightly as he moves quickly and efficiently to kneel in front of you with his knees on either side of your feet.

“Ghost — Y/n, breathe.” His other hand moves to your knee. “You have to breathe. Deep breath in, hold it, hold it, now let it go. Again, again. Come on, again for me.” Your hand is trembling against his despite how tightly he’s gripping it. “It is not your fault. You did not know. You cannot blame yourself for this.”

You sink into yourself. “I should have followed Jisung off that fucking cliff.”

“No, no, Y/n, that’s what we’re not gonna do or say. You’re spiraling.”

“I’ve lost my fucking mind.”

“You’re having a perfectly reasonable reaction to uncomfortable truths.”

“I must be fucking crazy,” you say through a shaky laugh as you lean back in your chair and let your head dangle off the back of it. “I must still be sleeping, that’s it. I’m not awake yet.” Minho grips you hard enough to make certain that his nails bite at your skin, as though to prove you wrong. “I need to—” Fuck, you need to feel anything other than this crippling anxiety pulsing in your veins. You bend in half again in a blur of movement, rushing forward and into Minho’s space in search of something that is surely a detrimental mistake, but he’s quicker than you are even in this panicked state because he flicks his hand up from your knee to place it firmly over your mouth before you get too close to planting your lips on his. Something akin to disappointment burns in his stare, though it’s replaced so swiftly that you want to believe you imagined it. Cheeks flame with an inherent shame as a wash of realization rushes over you.

“Enough of that,” he states firmly, as though chastising a small child. “You are not sleeping. You are not dying. You are not insane or crazy or whatever other colorful word you can think of that is synonymous with those two things. You are having a panic attack, Y/n, and you will be okay.”

Your body stops fighting him so heavily then. The logic in his words, combined with how certain his tone is, blocks out every spiraling thought for just a moment. The tension in your shoulders slacks as you slump in the chair.

“Thank you,” he says under his breath, slowly bringing his palm off your mouth. “Now, I need you to breathe with me. Steady and slow, just following my movements. Breathe in as I clench my fist, exhale as I release it, okay?”

You wet your lips as you nod in the hopes that it will dispel some of your trembling.

“Do not look at my face,” he murmurs, hand raised by his head. And when, slow and steady like a pulse, he draws his fingers in until they’re a tightly wound fist, you let his motions guide your breathing. Though your chest burns, the tightness in your throat is far more pressing and weighty. While not impossible, it is difficult to a degree to gulp down breaths until the searing panic dilutes. The black coating the edges of your vision diminishes. It comes with regret though because looking upon Minho’s face in your peripherals shows you an expression of such deep pity that you glance away in an instant.

Is this the oh so glorious fall from grace that Seonghwa had been waiting for?

“Ghost of Eros, who have you become?” It’s Jisung’s voice that echoes in your ears. You haven’t allowed yourself much time to fall into these thoughts since his death, mostly to keep yourself sane and away from more hellish thoughts. You crave the allowance to cradle your head in your hands and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until all thoughts pop out of you, but Minho keeps your right one firmly occupied still.

“You used to be the most renowned sniper in certain parts of the galaxy.” Ah, not Jisung’s voice. Minho is the one speaking to you. Yet his tone is tinged with that same venomous pity as before. “Say, do you even remember how to fire a sniper rifle, Ghosty?”

“Of course I do,” you say as you come back to yourself bit by bit. “You just… it’s not something that can be described so easily without demonstration.” You glance down at where Minho kneels before you. From this angle you can see down past the high collar of his white coat, and a blossom of redness sits across his smooth skin near his collarbone and across the line of his shoulder. He shifts under your stare, and the shrug makes his collar cover the welts across his skin.

“Are you blind to how reckless you are?” he asks suddenly. “In all departments, to be fair, but very much so in terms of situations that would put you in danger.” His chin drops to his chest as the doctor lets out a sigh. At last, he releases your hand, pushing up on his knees to help him stand upright for only a second before he’s dropping back into his own chair. “You live like a person who does not wish to. Thus, I am going to ask you this outright, and you will answer me outright in return. Fair, no? Do you wish to die?”

“No,” comes your answer, as though it is the most obvious thing in the universe. Minho levels you with a stare once more, and it prods at your already soft and sensitive outer shell. “No, it’s not that I wish to die. If I were to die then… perhaps I would not mind as much as others might in such a position.”

The man across from you leans forward enough to set his elbows atop his knees.

“Do you think of Jisung often?”

You wonder if this man is truly so good at his work that he can see through to your brain at any given second, or if you wear your thoughts and emotions on your face to be read like a book. On the other hand, the question feels more of one being asked by Minho-the-human-being as opposed to Minho-the-snarky-psychologist.

“I try not to.” Then — “I do not want to.”

“Does that come from a place of guilt?” Silence is often the most telling response. “Allow me to frame things in a more digestible way for you. Let’s say I die trying to protect a person I love. Then that person blames themselves for my death… in that instance, I would see a need to claw my way out of hell to tell her that I am fine. The choice made was not one made lightly. That she has nothing to feel guilty about. Because it was not her fault. That she deserves to be happy more than anyone else, and more than anything, she deserves to live on. If nothing else then for the mere reason of honoring the life given to save hers. The cost of sacrifice is not her guilt.

“I understand that Jisung did much to harm and betray you in the days leading up to his death. Even before then, too. But know that on that cliffside, what your captain witnessed and informed me of in the aftermath of that hell was a desperate man throwing himself at the remaining threat to your life after Hyunwoo fell. He had a goal to push Hyunjin off that cliff as well, and though he failed, he did so in an effort to save your life. Were he a man intent to die from the start, then he would have let himself be killed before even leaving that barn. His final gift to you was his sacrifice, and in that, his remorse.”

“Ha… oddly, that makes me feel more guilty than before,” you mutter through a crude laugh. Minho shakes his head.

“I would not tell you this unless I was certain you were ready to hear it. We are not the amalgamation of others’ hopes and dreams, nor are we destined to carry the memories of those we’ve lost as burdens. Do not carry his death as a burden of guilt upon your shoulders.”

“And what of you, doctor? Do you think of him often?” you inquire in return, finding his gaze drifting upwards to the sky. He chuckles as a hand seems to move to the back of his neck with a mind of its own.

“I did not join him willingly, yet I did not leave him willingly either. I am coping with far worse things than the aftereffects of Stockholm syndrome.” You wish to hear the words he won’t say. I try not to. I do not want to. “What I told you of caged birds carving their way out of their prisons with their beaks… such things come from lived experiences. I fear I cannot share in your mourning or your guilt, and I can never be a person who will sit alongside you to exchange fond memories of a man who left me with no such memories. Unlike you, I have no choice but to carry his memory on the back of my neck for the rest of my life. What he did for you in his last moments was freedom to me. I am free because of his decision to save your life. That shall always be my fondest memory of him.” Morbid, yet you share an understanding in that.

“Perhaps it shall be for me as well,” you mutter, a little wistful, a little longing. “May I request something of you, Minho?”

“Again, I am no witch so I cannot promise to grant any wishes, but I shall certainly do my best,” he jokes, one leg crossing over the other. You think of the man always standing at Hongjoong’s shoulder, tired eyes bearing down on the ground more and more often these days as his cheeks grow gaunt.

“Please help Seonghwa,” you implore. The expression that crosses the doctor’s face is vaguely close to the one of pity he spared you not long ago, though you find it to be less demeaning and more sympathetic now.

“I cannot.” His lips barely move, like he’s sorry to share the words with you. “I cannot help him unless he is willing to come to me. Forcing my care on anyone always has an adverse effect, and it limits what I can do if I am lucky enough to not be shunned immediately. As much as I desire to help him… there is nothing I can do. Not unless Seonghwa finds me first.”

You glance down at your lap in an attempt to hide your disappointment as you nod. The crumbling remains of your relationship with the lieutenant are ground too fine for you to handle on your own. Even if you did have the ability to do so, you wouldn’t know where the hell to begin trying to mend things. Regret bites at your skin like a rabid dog latching onto your ankle and slowing your path forward.

“I suppose that’s all I wished to discuss,” you say, clearing your throat. Granted, you got far more than you bargained for when coming here to ask one simple question. Minho’s gaze maintains its emotion as you stand up. Something rattles beyond the gate, and you cast a sweeping look over the streets on the other side in search of the source.

“I’ve poked and prodded you enough—” Minho twists his head to look towards the fence along the front of the courtyard. Though slightly delayed, he picks up on that same rattling noise you heard moments earlier. “I’ve bothered you plenty for one day,” he continues. The rattling continues behind him, and if you did not afford him your attention then you would have missed the way his blinks come in rapid succession, how he inches himself towards the edge of his chair like he’s eager to bolt out of it. “I do not wish to overstimulate you by speaking further about these matters, but do please be gentle with yourself. Not only tonight, but in the coming days as well.”

“I’ll try.”

“I am always available,” he continues, swallowing roughly after speaking those four words. “Be well.”

“Same to you,” you murmur. You take one last glance over the edge of the spiked fence before you depart the courtyard the way you came and head back into the sanctity of the hostel.

Minho stands abruptly the moment you disappear behind the door, and when he does, a hand holding a none-too-inconspicuous orange bottle juts out from behind the wall the fence connects to.

“Enough of that,” he hisses. His eyes flit across the streets on the other side of the fence; his concerns, however, are baseless as the citizens milling about continue on their paths without sparing the scene a glance. A head of mussed black hair and dingy highlights pokes out from the same place as the bottle, then sharp red eyes come into view next. Minho is graced with the full extent of the Brute of Kebos’ face a second later. His steps carry him to the edge of the fence, close to the wall where he’s met with Mingi fully revealing himself.

“She was on her way out,” he argues. Minho wonders if the Berserker poked and prodded at your emotions the way he had.

“There was no need to draw attention to yourself in such a manner.”

Mingi huffs out a breath of air that sounds oddly akin to a laugh. He dangles the pill bottle over the spikes of the fence. It’s barely kept from tumbling down between his index finger and thumb.

“Captain’s orders.”

Minho feels a twitch beginning to make itself known in his right nostril. Foolishly, he stretches a hand out in a feeble attempt to snatch the bottle from the man’s grip, but Mingi yanks it back. He doesn’t even get to lay a single finger on it.

“And what does your captain desire from me this time?” The Scourge of the Black Sea and his crude bargaining chips, and even cruder methods of exercising them. Mingi glances past the man to the door you just passed through.

“He asks for the same thing she does.” Ah, so Mingi was listening to an extent.

Minho can’t contain the laugh that tears from his lips. “Then I’m afraid my answer remains the same: I cannot help someone unwilling to see me.”

“You’re incapable of knocking on a door of all things?”

One less knowledgeable might mistake Mingi’s words to be an attempt at humor. Minho leans forward and rests his forearms between the spikes lining the barrier between him and the pills.

“Have you ever heard of those old folklore stories and fantasy fictions about vampires? How they cannot enter a home without being allowed in first? My line of work is very much similar to that — I cannot force myself upon anyone, nor can I convince anyone to let me in.” He fixes his eyes on Mingi’s despite how much terror the sight of those red irises brings him. “Simple. As. That. I might as well not exist at all in your lieutenant’s eyes, and until he is willing to see me, then your captain’s orders are an impossible feat.”

Silence stretches between the pair. Mingi stares back at him, but there are no cues or indicators of emotion for Minho to glean from at all.

Then — Mingi twists the cap of the pill bottle off, and before the doctor can even suck in a panicked breath, half of the pills are dumped onto the ground on that side of the fence. At his feet. Some drum against his shoes and scatter across the cobbles. The twitch moves up to Minho’s eye, but he’s blinking so furiously that it’s hard to tell the difference between the annoyance and panic.

“I know you’re feeling antsy, doctor. Did someone take the stash you smuggled into that little pack of yours?” Mingi quirks a brow at him. The faint upturn of his lips tells Minho that the Berserker is enjoying this quite a lot, paying that sadistic voice in his head its dues in things other than blood. “Or did the real doctor finally figure out where his meds have been disappearing off to?”

“Tell…” Minho has to let his mouth form around the words on his tongue in silence for several seconds. He cannot tear his attention away from the bottle in Mingi’s palm. “Tell San to approach him and implore him to meet with me. Or you can do it. Either one of you should be perfectly capable of such a thing.”

“Good on you, doctor.” Mingi caps the bottle, and it’s like all the oxygen in Minho’s lungs comes alive as he starts breathing steadily again. The Berserker cups the back of one of his hands and sets the closed bottle in his palm, delicate and gentle, then with his other hand, he curls Minho’s fingers around the cylinder. Warm. “I apologize for my crude tactics. I was not the one who stole the medicine.” Mingi’s touch is like hot coals against his skin.

“I am aware,” Minho sighs through his teeth as he straightens up. His grip on the pill bottle is iron tight.

“I shall leave you to it then, doctor.” Mingi turns and disappears behind the wall once more, leaving Minho where he is. Once he’s certain that the Berserker’s steps have withdrawn, he shifts his jaw until it pops. A sear of pain ripples through his cheek.

Minho glances at the half-full bottle in his hand, then drops to his knees to pick up the fallen pills off the dirty cobbles through the wrought iron bars.

────────────

When you find Yunho again, it’s already late enough into the evening that you need to have your mask up even though the majority of the people milling about have neglected to do so. Yunho is not one participating in that majority, leaned up against the wall close to the hostel door with his arms crossed over his chest. Though you cannot see his face in its entirety, you imagine he gives you some sort of faint little smile when you pivot and make eye contact with him.

“Didn’t change your mind?” he asks with a tilt of his head.

“Dare I say I need a drink as badly as you do?” you jest in return, though the level of truth in that statement is far greater than you’d like to admit aloud. “Come on, there’s a bar just down the street.” He keeps pace with you despite his long legged advantage. Quiet lingers in the air between you, but it’s far from a peaceful one in your opinion; you both seem to have plenty occupying your minds, and those things are the exact reason why you’re seeking alcohol in the first place.

The bar, quaint as it may be, emanates a nice warmth that’s a welcome relief from the humidity of the evening. The purple-tinted glow of the streetlamps filters through the windows and casts colorful shadows across the tables and floors. People line the booths and the tables, leaving small pockets of unoccupied space near the corners of the bar, but it’s the actual bar itself that Yunho drifts toward with you following in tow.

“Whiskey on the rocks for me—” you’re barely seated when a bartender flits over to the two of you and Yunho puts in his order, leaving you to stutter out a quick “gin and tonic please” as he tries to make a speedy departure. To his credit, Yunho wastes no time in getting into the thick of things right off the bat. “I’m being made a proper fool of, aren’t I?”

Your thoughts drift back to the morning, to the ostentatious show Hongjoong put on, to the day prior when the captain did something similar with more success. Your heart aches for Yunho again, as it has so often these days.

“It’s hard to watch, isn’t it?” comes his second question, and this one is far easier to answer honestly.

“It is, a bit,” you mutter as the bartender returns with two drinks and slides them across the counter. You stare at the budding condensation on the outside of the glass. “But we’re all fools when it comes to love, aren’t we? I’ve ignored things that are very deeply… not right with San, choosing to ignore it time and time again because I want the love I have for him to be easy and simple.”

Yunho huffs out a rather exasperated sigh against the rim of his glass.

“I don’t even deserve this. I don’t deserve to be treated like this. What went wrong wasn’t my fault — it was fucking Hongjoong and fucking Seonghwa playing a dumb game of jealousy with me as one of the pieces. Seonghwa manipulated Hongjoong into getting what he wanted — just like he always fucking does — and then Hongjoong manipulated me into going along with it because he knows I would follow him blindly into anything.” Yunho tangles his fingers through his hair so roughly that your scalp aches just watching him tug at the strands. “Seonghwa just wanted to fuck Hongjoong, so why’d he have to drag me into it?”

“Yunho…”

Conversation slows to a halt between the two of you. The rumbling beats of music hanging about the bar seem so much louder in the absence of Yunho’s voice. Your fingers trace over the dangling chime attached to your right ear as your other hand flexes around the base of your drink. The conversation lulls to a halt long enough for both of you to finish your drinks and receive replenished ones.

“I know my place compared to him,” he says like the words are pure venom on his tongue, “and no one can take that place. I’ve long since come to terms with that.” When he laughs, the sound comes out wet and choked but his eyes only glisten with some form of loathing. “I thought I could get around it since the two of us are so damn different but that doesn’t change the facts. I’ll never be a killer or Siren or anything else of use to Hongjoong so what’s the fucking point? I failed at the one job I had — couldn’t do shit to help Mingi and got replaced by a shiny new doctor because I’m too involved in the personal lives of the crew but we fucking live together so how can I not be involved? Does he expect me to not make friends or have feelings or wants? God forbid I have wants!”

“Yunho,” you say again, louder and with a hand firmly pressed to his shoulder when his voice turns strained. He jerks his chin in your direction as though realizing for the first time since he sat down that you’re beside him. “Just let everything go.”

“I don’t want to be stuck in one place forever, chasing my tail and running in circles because I keep caving to a man who won’t ever…” Either his mind goes elsewhere, or he cannot bring himself to finish the thought. “I’ve been good at pretending I don’t know Hongjoong’s game all this time. Good enough to where he doesn’t seem to realize that I’m fully aware. But despite that, I let myself give in over and over again. I’ll never be able to get out if I keep doing that.”

“What is it you want then?”

“To make a decision for myself and not be judged for it, not have him looking down on me for it. I want… to have someone who isn’t Hongjoong.” Yunho dips his chin to his chest then looks up at you. His tongue runs along his lower lip before he catches it between his teeth and blinks several times in quick succession. The look would be undoubtedly flirtation if not for the deep nervous furrow of Yunho’s brows. “We’ve teased and toyed with the idea, haven’t we? Would it be so bad if we had each other just because we wanted to and not for any other reason?”

For once, you’re assuredly quick to reject the proposal.

“Even if I was fool enough to believe that’s what you truly wanted, I’ve never done that and had it be truly no strings attached.” Unless you were to count that time with Yeosang, though that feels like a different beast in retrospect. “To be strangers would be one matter, but with how messy and interwoven the threads are — that would be an unavoidable mess.”

“You’re right,” the healer mutters through a sad grin. His fourth drink arrives at the same time your third one does, but his pace hasn’t slowed one bit. “Part of me knows that I’m never going to love someone the way I loved Cassie, and there’s so much of me that would rather not try to fall for someone the way I did for her. In the beginning, things with Hongjoong were okay because my feelings for her were lingering and fresh, yet even after it stopped being about coping with the losses we shared, we kept going back to each other. I used to be tied to this idea of making things work because I fell for some part of Hongjoong that I don’t even know exists anymore. I want to be careless and free again without having to worry about how much collateral damage it may cause.”

“Look around: there are plenty of fish in the sea here.” You shrug your shoulders up close to your ears. “Plenty of people would love to have a nice tall man in their beds for a night, I’m sure.” In an attempt to bring some sort of levity to the conversation, you crack a smile and nudge Yunho with your elbow. He ducks his head once again, though this time, the tips of his ears are flushed bright red and he hides the rest of his blush from you by taking a drink. You laugh into your own glass.

“You’re quite intimidating, you know that right?”

“Hm?”

“Like, Cassie had a sort of soft beauty to her, even when she’d come to me with cuts and scrapes I needed to patch up, she still held an almost ethereal aura about her. You’re attractive in a really intimidating way. And that’s not me coming onto you, just to be honest, I don’t have any explicit reason in saying that. I find you objectively attractive, always have. Maybe it was actually really fucking hot to see you stand up to Hongjoong day one the way you did!” He’s laughing as your expression twists into one of shock. “You and San look really good together, yeah?”

Despite biting back a smile, you roll your eyes and push his hand, and subsequently his drink, down to the counter. “Had too much to drink already?”

“Well my eyes still work! What a mean sandwich the two of you would make.” Yunho’s sigh is half joking and half wistful. The corner of your lips quirks up even as you hold your index fingers up in the sign of an ‘x’ over your face.

“You aren’t the only one who suffered a bad experience sharing the dear lieutenant as a third,” you say from behind your fingers.

“Ah, what a good homewrecker the man makes.” You agree with the sentiment internally, because it feels too cruel to voice it. “I hope it doesn’t come between you and San, truly. San has… he’s finally found something to protect and hold onto desperately, and you’ve given him a stronger voice to stand on his own. Without heeding Hongjoong’s every whim, that is. So I hope that the two of you last for a long time.” Yunho shakes his head ever so slightly, lips curling around the rim of his drink. “Such serious talk for a night out! Have you found the freckles on his ass cheek yet?”

“Yunho! I’m not telling you whether I have or not?!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! But really, you gotta give me more credit — that little pleasure piece down there was my doing.” The wink he sends you, coupled with the insufferable, shit-eating grin painting his lips as he speaks drives you to slap the back of your hand to his bicep.

“Where exactly did you learn to do all of that anyway? I doubt it’s something you picked up from your mother in the clinic.”

“I taught myself, for the most part. With lots and lots of videos. And of course, practice, back when the crew was larger and I had many more people readily eager and willing to be test subjects. We made frequent pit stops, sure, but I had to make do myself at a certain point.”

“Yet you don’t have any yourself?”

Yunho laughs. “I wouldn’t dare try to. I’m quite the pussy when it comes to pain. Stub my toe too hard and I’ll scream like a banshee.”

“It’s that bad?” you say through a laugh of your own.

“Jongho and San used to play this evil prank on me where they’d leave little things on the ground for me to trip over or step on, just to see who could make me cuss the loudest. They finally had to quit because the last time, I face planted into a wall so hard when I tripped that I broke my nose and busted my cheekbone. My poor, pretty cheekbone.” He cradles his cheek, eyes squeezed shut to add to the theatrics of it all. “Cruel bastards, the both of them!”

“My team in the military wasn’t big on pranks, from what I recall.” It’s not the liquor that makes you take a trepid walk down memory lane, but Yunho’s reminiscence has you thinking back as well. “One time I fell off the top bunk in our dorms, but that was because I yanked on the bed sheet too hard, all pissed over something stupid, then my hand slipped, I punched myself in the face, and fell off the bed in the process. I tried catching myself on the way down but landed so hard on my arm that I snapped my clavicle.”

“Holy shit? Holy shit, I bet that hurt like a bitch!”

“To say the least, but I think actually my pride was what was the most damaged at the end of the day. I mean what a loser way to break a bone.” You nurse your drink as Yunho laughs again, and a sharp pang of clarity hits you after the fourth sip. Laying your hand on his forearm, you naturally pull his focus to you, a curious and equally puzzled gleam to his eyes. “You deserve to feel happy, Yunho.”

His lips part like he wants to counter immediately — perhaps to tell you that he is happy — then a smile covers the momentary crack in his facade. It’s strained and pulls at the corners of his lips too hard.

“Having someone to fuck isn’t always the solution to that,” you continue before he gets the chance to make excuses or play the fool. “And I know I’m the last person who ought to be saying that, but it’s something I’m trying to teach myself too. If I can do it though, I know you can.”

Yunho’s expression does not give away much, though his brows are pinched together just enough to indicate that some thought in that head of his is causing some level of distress. Rather than offering up a response, he downs the rest of his drink like a pro and fetches enough credits from his pocket to cover both of you and then some.

“At least I don’t feel inadequate doing that,” he mutters, just barely audible, before pulling his gas mask up over his face. A sigh leaves your lips, but you follow him nonetheless, mimicking the same motion as you get up from your stool and follow him to the door. He doesn’t speak again until the two of you are out in the night air outside the bar. “Do you think there’s any happiness to be had where we are? Doing what we do?”

“If you wanted to wash your hands of it all, you could,” you say after a breath of hesitation. Yunho looks forward, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

“Because I’ve not killed anyone?” he scoffs. The scrape of his heel over the cobbled streets echoes along with the sound. “How many wounds have I stitched up for criminals? To either keep them alive or make sure they can keep on doing as they please? My finger may not be on the trigger, but I am just as guilty of putting the gun in killers’ hands.”

You shrug your shoulders up, walking ahead of the man a few steps and turning to look at him face to face as he steps forward with you.

“The guilt is yours to bear as you see fit, but you are no more guilty than the mothers who birthed those criminals. You told me once that your job is to save lives. Do you measure the lives of those you save by their deeds, good or otherwise?” You spin on the ball of your foot to walk alongside Yunho again. “Then—” your index finger points to the sky, then angles down to the man beside you “—who are you to be the judge, jury, and executioner?” Yunho’s breath hitches. Perhaps your stare is a bit too harsh, a tad too uncaring. “San has killed innumerable amounts of people. He did unspeakable things in his past. Does he then not deserve to be saved by you, doctor?”

“That’s different, the circumstances were—”

“Ah, so there are circumstances to your judgment?”

Yunho hisses through his teeth, a sharp spike to his frustration that hurts your arm when he grips you hard enough to bruise. Though you could easily detach yourself from his grip and plant Yunho on his ass right here in the streets, you refrain from doing so sheerly out of curiosity. A longing for an explanation to his madness. The straps of your mask dig into the back of your head. Yunho has shoved you into a cramped alleyway that’s hardly big enough for two people, but he manages it well enough by pinning you to the wall of one of the buildings. You shift your jaw in an attempt to alleviate the strain caused by the mask biting at your skin.

“You do not understand. There are things I cannot wash my hands of,” Yunho spits out. His mask clanks against yours so hard that you worry it might break.

“Yunho,” comes your breath of warning.

His hand trembles where his fingers are latched around your wrist. When he speaks next, it’s without the same vehemence.

“I have a confession. I can’t blindly continue onwards while holding onto it. I… wanted you when you first joined the crew. I wanted you so badly.” His eyes flicker back to something more recognizable: familiar, warm, an inviting chocolate brown, searching for answers in your gaze. He finds nothing in the firmly set flat expression you’ve schooled yourself into mastering. “I wanted to do to you what Hongjoong does to me,” he continues. The bait bobs along the surface of his eyes, and you can see yourself taking a bite if you’re not careful. “Just to see… if it would be as easy as he makes it seem…”

“But you couldn’t.” A pesky strand of hair has gotten caught in the strap cradling your skull, and its nagging pain distracts you. “Because you’re not that kind of person.”

Yunho lifts a hand to your throat. It’s large and encompasses your skin with ease.

“Hongjoong has a way off killing you without letting you die. Like he’s reaching into your chest and ripping your heart out.”

Yunho’s fingers pulse around your neck, and they surely feel the way your pulse jumps and scatters into a frantic rate that betrays your panic before your expression cracks and the panic seeps through to the surface there. His grip loosens a hair, and his hand trails down a little too far for comfort. You recover from the lapse and snatch him by the wrist to stop his movements. When you dare to look up at his face, you find him staring upwards at the slivers of night sky between the tall buildings on either side of you.

“I know. I pretend to be dumb around Hongjoong but I know. I know Hongjoong is taking the damn painkillers, know he’s trying to make me believe that I’m taking stock wrong even though I’ve been doing it for years without issue — for fuck’s sake — just like I know that when I’m selected for missions it’s not because Hongjoong thinks I have any value being there. All he wants to do is spite Seonghwa. I know I’m only allowed to fuck Hongjoong because he won’t put his dick in anyone that isn’t Seonghwa. It’s always Seonghwa, Seonghwa, Seonghwa.”

“I know, Yunho, you told me already. It’s okay.”

“Ah, I’m sorry, I must be — I’m feeling the liquor a bit, that’s all. Don’t take anything I say to heart.” Yunho’s smile looks more like a sneer though. “Is it… could it be because I refuse to kill? I can’t — reason out why it is that I’m not enough?” His head collides with the wall above your head, and you have to jerk your head to the side to avoid bruising his throat with the hard edges of your mask. “If I should kill someone then—” you hear his inhale even through the filter of the gas mask, then his hand is up around your throat once more. Tighter this time, squeezing at the base of your neck in a way that is wholly ineffective if he were truly trying to murder you here and now. With his ramblings, however, you aren’t sure you can take those chances.

“Yunho,” you offer a final warning in the hopes of reaching the part of his brain that controls his reason. The fingers at your throat dig in like he’s aiming to take chunks of your skin out with his nails.

“If I am tainted, perhaps he will desire me more.”

“Please forgive me for this in the morning,” you mutter under your breath. His head tilts much like a dog’s would when faced with confusion. Unbeknownst to him, it only allows you better access to the pressure point you’re after, and your fingers jam up against it faster than he has time to react. His muscles are rendered all but useless, and you twist his body in your grip hard enough to make his knees give out. The second his knees thud against the ground, you slide your arm around his neck, bending your elbow just hard enough to restrict his air flow without doing too much harm. “This is for both our sakes,” you add just before his gaze goes a bit hazy and unfocused. He passes out in your grip seconds later.

There’s a moment of guilt that takes over you, one born of the panic in his eyes when you grabbed him, but given the circumstances, you’d much rather live with that than have him live to make a decision you know he would regret terribly. You loop your arms under Yunho’s and do your best to hoist him up enough for you to support a majority of his weight.

“You shouldn’t have to kill someone just for another to love you back,” you mutter to Yunho though he cannot hear you. “…I hope that you never have to break that rule you made for yourself.”

You can only be thankful that Yunho didn’t pick a bar at the other end of the city, and your struggle in walking back to the hostel with the much larger man draped around your shoulders like a sack of flour. When you flatten your hand to the door leading inside, Yunho’s head lolls to the side. You nearly slam his temple into the doorframe as you thrust the door open with your foot.

The lobby and attached lounge are both void of life; a far cry from the night prior where you came into such a warm and lively atmosphere. Now, you cross the threshold silently, passing empty chairs and empty couches in a sort of greyish lighting adding to the already dismal ambience. The staircase looms before you, dim and shadowy at the top like it's trying to mock you. The air rushes out of your lungs then back in quickly in an attempt to brace yourself for the upcoming struggle.

“Allow me.”

“I’m beginning to think you lurk around every corner just waiting for me to pop up,” you joke, half-serious as you look up at the man who has just stepped into view at the top of the staircase. He shoves his hands into his pockets, and with each step down the stairs, his sandals slap against the wood.

Five steps from where you stand at the bottom, Mingi tilts his head to the side, gaze drifting over Yunho’s limp form quick enough for you to almost miss it.

“You would be incorrect.”

He descends the rest of the way.

“I know, I know — it’s just a—”

“Every corner would be improbable as there are places where corners do not exist.” Mingi smiles first with his lips, then with his eyes when he squeezes them shut. You’re stunned into silence just long enough for him to relieve you of Yunho’s weight without argument. “But if I give away my hiding spots then you’ll know where to look for me.”

“…places where corners do not exist?” you murmur.

“You’re overthinking it, Ghost. It’s just a joke.”

“I didn’t kill him,” you say, nodding towards Yunho’s limp form that’s now supported by Mingi. The damn Berserker makes it look so easy that it hurts your pride, for no reason.

“Well, he’s still breathing, so if you had claimed to then I would be questioning both your sanity and how good you are at killing people.” Mingi’s words actually stir a laugh out of you — one of disbelief, but still a laugh nonetheless, and you shake your head. Loosening the mask around your face, you let it hang about your neck and suck in a breath of air unfiltered now that you’re in the safety of the indoors.

“He was rambling nonsense and on the verge of making… a terrible decision.” Your gaze lingers on the side of his face as Mingi hoists him up a bit higher. “It’s thanks to my intelligent decision to knock him out that I did not kill him.”

Mingi’s gaze sharpens on you.

“He made an attempt on your life?” What comes out as a simple statement at first morphs into a question by the end of it. Your subconsciousness drives you to rub at the base of your neck where the skin itches some still.

“No,” you say after several seconds of silence. “No, he was seeking guilt. I told him that there was still a way out of this for him, that of all of us, he could escape freely. He despised that answer quite a lot, and then—” a lazy wave of your hand finishes the thought for you.

“It is understandable. His greatest fear is inadequacy. Yet, he is a Normie. He is not capable of anything great. He has no place on this crew by comparison.” Mingi’s flat tone coupled with the brutally harsh words take you aback. Climbing the stairs slowly, you keep pace with the Berserker while eyeing the man draped over his back. Still unconscious, or a very good actor perhaps. “He is useless, and yet he remains. Because he is needed when others make mistakes.”

“Mistakes?” you hum. “Our captain seems to make a lot of those.” You ascend a few more steps only to realize that Mingi is not following you. Turning, you see him three steps below you, red eyes watching you with blank curiosity. You squeeze the railing tight in your left hand.

“Yunho should leave the crew, then.” Said as a statement, you almost don’t realize that Mingi is asking you if that is your true opinion until many seconds pass in silence.

“Yunho should… do what is best for him. What is best for his heart and mind both. If he is truly so miserable here, then why should any of us demand that he stay? If we — if we truly care for him then allowing him the freedom to choose is the best thing we can do for him. Even if we do not like the choice he makes. You know much about that, do you not?”

“I could have chosen to take the serum, yes,” Mingi says, shaking his head as he speaks. “You fought for my ability to choose back then, but that is different than now. Yunho has zero desire to leave. Given how you are speaking, you know that very well. He has made his choice. If you truly care for him, then is it not best to allow him to live with that choice no matter the consequences?”

Your tongue weighs heavier in your mouth, and an acrid taste is rising in the back of your throat. You try to clear your throat to dispel it.

“You have not yet given up on your hopeless ploy to save people who do not wish to be saved, Ghost.” Mingi’s gaze turns narrow, and he looks up at you through half-lidded eyes. “Or perhaps is that an excuse to cover up your subconscious intentions? Dispel those closest to the man you find so evil so that you may drive the knife into his chest without suffering deeper guilt.”

“Are you accusing me of something, Mingi?” It’s nothing short of a miracle that your voice remains steady and contained. He steps up one, two, three. Now he looms over you, bending at the waist just enough to be eye to eye with you, and there are mere centimeters between your faces.

“It is in your nature, Ghost, to kill those with authority over you,” he says, his breath huffing out over your cheeks. “I keep warning you time and time again. You will not succeed this time if you make an attempt. Do you truly wish to die at the hands of someone you cherish so deeply? Or have you deluded yourself into thinking that he will not be the one to execute you at his captain’s command?”

��And how do I know you are not doing your captain’s bidding right here and now?” You tilt your chin up and look Mingi in the eye without faltering. “How many instruments has he engaged to orchestrate my failure and destruction?”

“Oh, how interesting.” Mingi chuckles. “You finally caught on.”

“So again I ask if you are accusing me of something? Because if you were truly doing that, then I would not be alive and breathing right now, would I?”

“Between the two of us, you are not the only one guilty of regicide, Ghost. It is in our nature,” he repeats through a whisper that makes you shiver. “The question is… how willing are you to repel that part of your nature?”

“Are you?” Your gaze narrows on him as you hiss out your counterargument, but Mingi hardly reacts at all. You may as well have not said anything at all based on the way he blinks slowly back at you. “Let’s simply get Yunho upstairs,” you murmur, turning your chin away from the man and looking towards the top of the stairs. Mingi leans back enough to let you breathe easy again, and you steal a glance his way when he straightens up. “Where’s his room?”

“Hongjoong is in it.”

“What?”

“He had Seonghwa book one room for him and Yunho to share.”

“That’s—” utterly psychotic. You bite the words back though; you’ve frayed the ends of Mingi’s nerves enough for one day and it would be unwise to continue to do so further. And though your rage towards how Seonghwa has been treating you of late is not quelled one bit, you do feel some outstretch of sympathy solely on account of how downright cruel such a request from Hongjoong is.

“Yeosang and Wooyoung are sharing, as are Jongho and myself. You and San have a room, the doctor and Nightingale, then your friend and her small charge.”

You hesitate at the top of the stairs. The hand you have wrapped about the railing is so tightly wound that your knuckles are stained white.

“…Our captain had the lieutenant book a room just for himself?”

Mingi mumbles something, uncharacteristically quiet and under his breath. You do not press him to echo the words to you.

“Then let’s bring Yunho to San and I’s room. We’ve got a perfectly suitable couch he can sleep on.” The door to your room is blessedly right across from the stairs, and you give a series of light knocks to announce your arrival that’s met with no argument. San awaits inside, propped up in bed with a book set before him and the lamp casting light over the pages. His features mold into a smile that’s soft around the edges just before his gaze flits past you and finds Mingi lugging in an unconscious Yunho about his shoulders. The book snaps shut with a pop! and he slings his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Did something happen?”

“The two of us went for drinks, and he had a bit much,” you explain. “I, um, had to knock him out to get him back here.” As far as you’re concerned, San doesn’t need to know anything beyond that right at this moment. Mingi allows you such privacy and leads Yunho’s limp body to the couch across from the bed.

“Ah… Hongjoong and him are sharing a room too. We got back not long ago but — disturbing his beauty sleep is asking for death, pretty much,” San mumbles, bringing his hand up to his mouth. “We can leave him here no problem, right? Are you comfortable with that, star?” When he comes over to where you’re standing, his hand drifts to cup your hip, thumb tracing over the flesh through your clothes. You don’t think twice before leaning forward and pressing a kiss against the line of his jaw.

“Mhm, that’s fine. I actually suggested that too.”

“He’ll be fine on the couch for one night surely.” San cracks a smile that’s a little lopsided and very endearing. “Though, if he complains, I’ll just remind him of how much worse it could’ve been!”

Mingi clears his throat as he rights himself. His gaze slips from you to San then down to the man now sprawled over the couch cushions.

“And if he asks where his bedmate has gone?”

San’s lips fold into a more devious smile. “I’ll simply say I’ve borrowed him for a bit of fun!”

Mingi does not betray much with his expression, but you know that he does not find the excuse to be so believable that it will deceive Hongjoong.

“Then, if that is all…”

“Hm? Oh, yes, goodnight Mingi.” San offers a small wave but Mingi does not budge even as the Spectre turns to the bed.

“Thank you for your help. I appreciate it,” you say to the man.

“Of course.” He looks like he wishes to say more, but refrains on account of San, who’s begun to hum behind you as he crawls back into bed. “Goodnight.”

You exhale a breath that was lodged firmly in your lungs when the door snaps shut behind Mingi. It doesn’t take much work to rid yourself of your clothes and get into something far more comfortable, though glancing at Yunho on the couch leaves you with an inkling of guilt again. His attempt on your life was still very much that — you hardly regret stopping him the way you did (in fact, you left him practically unscathed) — but the place it was coming from was neither genuine or one born of reason.

“He came onto me,” you mutter over your shoulder. Once again, you hear the flutter of pages and a snap as San forgoes his book and redirects his attention to you.

“You are welcome to do whatever you please.” His tone holds no animosity; San can be perhaps a bit too forward with his emotions when he speaks. Tonight, you are grateful for it though. “Yunho is a very good partner, quite doting and accommodating to whatever needs and desires his partner might have.”

“Not…” you clear your throat. Abandoning the dresser, you move to the bed and slip underneath the covers. “Not in that manner. Though it was a topic of discussion briefly. As was the idea of a threesome, but I rejected both offers rather quickly.” You fold your hands over the sheets. It’s a struggle somewhat to look at San’s expression as he’s still sitting upright further up on the mattress than you, but his comfort comes in the form of fingertips tracing your hairline. An encouragement to continue, or a sign that he’s listening intently to what you have to say. “I suggested that he find others to sleep with instead. Can’t take him anywhere: people were ogling him from all sides while he was… lamenting his relationship struggles.”

“Far from surprising. He’s always garnered that sort of attention wherever we go.” San laughs as he runs his fingertips over your scalp. “It’s a shame…” He stops himself from finishing the thought, but you’re not given a chance to press him to continue. “You’ve not stopped trembling since you came in,” he murmurs. With his free hand, San moves his book off to the side table and sinks lower under the covers until he is eye level with your shoulder. “What…” San seems to weigh his words very carefully before daring to speak again. He settles on the most barebones question of all. “I’m always here if you need to talk, yeah?”

And you yourself cannot fathom why you’re trembling at all or when it began. Mingi failed to mention it to you, though you understand that it could have been mere courtesy. To confirm, you lift a hand from the sheets and watch your fingers shake like grass under unruly wind in the low light.

“Ah,” you let out a noise of realization. “I didn’t eat anything before or while we went drinking. Maybe that’s why my head’s bothering me too.”

“Do you need anything to help you sleep?”

“Mm, no, I just need to sleep it off.” You let your hand fall back to its place atop the sheets. “You said once that Yunho is the best drinker on the crew, right?”

“Best at handling alcohol by far, yeah.” San laughs a little as he angles his head down to rest against your bicep. “I’ve seen him down eight shots in a night and not even be tipsy afterwards.”

It stands to reason then that Yunho’s excuses of blaming the alcohol for his behavior are shoddy at best.

You do not fear Yunho, nor were you in any sort of genuine fear for your life back in that alleyway. Your brain barely perceived him as a threat — certainly not one to leave a lasting impression on you. And though it is odd, questionable even, and calls into question your sanity, you do not feel unsafe in San’s presence. There is a lingering unrest brought about by the severe lack of knowledge surrounding what Hongjoong may or may not have had him do to you since your first meeting, but the safety that comes with being beside San has not been called into question. When he tucks himself back under the sheets and rests his head in the juncture between your neck and shoulder, you are all too aware of the steady breaths coming from the couch.

Perhaps it is not that you are afraid, but rather that this unending discomfort comes from some deeper realization. Tonight, whether sober or not, Yunho seemed prepared to abandon that cardinal rule he set for himself: to never bring harm to someone. Solely because he believed it would grant him Hongjoong’s favor.

────────────

A familiar landscape greets you when sleep finally descends, though it doesn’t come with the mild comfort of white sands and black waters. Grey dust pools around your feet, bare and sinking into the flaky terrain as you take a few tentative steps into the ruins ahead. Even in its dilapidated state, you can see that you stand in the remains of a church. Something acrid reaches the inside of your nostrils, making your lip twist in disgust. The stench of something long dead.

One pew remains intact. Upon it sits a figure with contrasting black and white hair split horizontally across the back of his head. His form is so perfectly still that it makes you wonder if he’s even truly there. When you push further into the ruins, the ground gives way with each step, making the grey ash climb up to your ankles. Something sharp digs into the soles of your feet. From what you remember of being in a place similar to this before, you do not want to look down.

“Wooyoung?” you call out. You grip the end of the pew to step carefully around it and look at your friend. He deigns not to return your stare; instead, his gaze is trained firmly on the shattered remains of what once was a stained glass window behind the pulpit.

“Do you know what used to be there?”

His question catches you off-guard, and as you shift to look between the window and his face, you shake your head. Then, right before your eyes, the glass trembles and morphs, broken pieces climbing up from the heaps of ash around the church. As though drawn by some magnetic pull, they move to fill in the frame. The picture fills itself out piece by piece, stained red by the moonlight filtering in from behind, and it makes the imagery all the more horrible to look at.

Long, bony fingers that stretch into sharp points spiderweb over a small face with closed eyes with even smaller hands clasped as though in prayer. The arms attached to the hands descend from above but there is no body to be seen, nor is there a face to put to the monstrous figure. The figure below — the child — kneels on a stone that juts out over a deep black abyss. In the empty space between the arms of the unknown beast, a red moon gleams. Below the abyss, separated by a thin bronze strip, there is a raven with its wings spread wide, and the head is turned sideways, its maw open and pointed towards the sky. The one eye that’s visible is the same red as the moon above it and the one currently hanging above your heads. Its talons curl around a bleeding heart.

“Daichi says that the murders… the sacrifices were always for the greater good of our people. What justification can there be for killing your children and grandchildren under the guise of being blessed by some unseen gods? I don’t get it,” Wooyoung mutters. He leans forward and places his hands on either side of his knees, clenching his fingers around the wooden bench. “If they had known what would happen to them, would they have still done so? Or would they have murdered more in vain attempts to beg for protection from their gods? Repeated the ritual in smaller and smaller increments of time until there were more adults than children? Or even… sought younger candidates for their plight?”

You deign not to answer any of his questions outright; they do not seem to be directed at you in the hopes of response anyway, but you doubt he’ll receive a response from either the ones responsible for the atrocities or those beings such sacrifices were for.

“Our ritual failed. Why?” Vague memories filter their way through your head but they aren’t tangible enough for you to grab hold of.

“I won’t die because of their fate. I won’t let them choose how my life ends or when it ends.”

“Our fates have been sealed, Tsukio. Isn’t it simpler to accept that?”

“Don’t call me that. That’s not my name. And yours isn’t — it isn’t Umiko!”

“They did not have the opportunity to conduct it.”

“Why?” you press again, harder and with more force to your tone. Wooyoung is selecting little truths out of the bigger picture.

“They…” Wooyoung stands suddenly, pursing his lips as he looks down at the floor where ash resides. You wonder if he too feels the slight crunch beneath his toes, if he knows what remains there. “…did not have enough children to do so.”

“They did not have five children to sacrifice?” you retort the second he finishes speaking, and a flush rises up his neck to stain his cheeks. In one blink, Wooyoung looks utterly ashamed, but in the next, a flash of anger takes over his face. You wish to inquire further, wish to know what sowed those seeds of shame, crave to understand that which you cannot remember yet Wooyoung can. None of your questions leave your lips, however.

“They did not deserve to bear even a single child if they were going to just raise their young for slaughter.” Wooyoung turns his palm to the sky, narrowed gaze glaring down at the ash painting his skin. He thumbs over it with his other hand. “I don’t like it here. I don’t want to be here.”

Before you can react, the world around you swirls like it’s in the center of a vortex, and the church dissipates into a haze of nothingness. In its place, black water stretches out before you. Your toes sink into soft sand and smooth stones now instead of ash and bones. The violent and sudden shift makes your stomach lurch, sending you forward to propel your hands forward to brace on your knees in a barely successful attempt to catch yourself as a dry heave ripples through your body. Wooyoung looks none too bothered in stark comparison.

“How do you do that?” Wooyoung watches you carefully out of the corner of his eye as you approach the spot where he crouches by the water. “I can’t seem to control any bit of the Dreamscape while I’m here.”

“That’s not true,” he sighs before patting the sand beside him. You take the invitation to sit down there, folding your legs underneath you. “You can, we share the same abilities in that way. You simply can’t remember how to do so.”

“Would you show me, if I asked?”

Wooyoung’s lips quirk a little, and he shifts to kneel in front of you. Taking your left hand into both of his, he flips your palm up to the sky.

“Close your eyes.” Two fingers dig into your palm. “Imagine a butterfly sitting on your hand; the type doesn’t matter, just picture it in your mind. Think about how it would feel, the shape and size of it, what it would look like.” You do as told without complaint or question, letting his instructions flow over you as he continues to speak. “It gets easier over time, and takes less time and effort. Like me now, I can change a whole landscape with just a thought. Or revisit old memories in the same manner. It starts small, though. Thinking something into existence out of nothing. Keep focusing on that image of a butterfly in your hand… and eventually you open your eyes—”

Your eyes flit open when you feel the slightest phantom touch against your palm.

“—to something amazing,” Wooyoung whispers through a smile, looking down at the same spot on your palm.

There in place of his fingers sits a small butterfly with wings painted blue and black. The wonder that bubbles up in your chest is palpable, like the wings of that very butterfly are beating frantically against your ribcage. It folds its wings in and out on your palm, small spindly legs testing their strength against your flesh, then in the blink of an eye, it brings itself into the air and flutters up and away into the starry sky. You lift your hand closer to your face, and your fingers trace over the spot where the creature just was as though another might pop up in its place.

“So, yes, you are capable of altering the Dreamscape as you see fit. You likely have already done so here and there; perhaps, not consciously, as Seonghwa mentioned to me you only feel able to use your abilities if your life is under duress. That makes sense — to an extent, it’s true. Your Siren genetics act as a barrier of sorts to defend you in times of need, but you are equally capable of using them in other circumstances.” Wooyoung reaches both his hands out, motioning for you to let him take hold of yours. This time he cups both your hands together. His palms are warm against your knuckles, and his fingertips skate over your wrists. “Now try again, with something bigger. The same way as before.”

An image blooms behind your eyelids when you shut your eyes, and as you focus on bringing the creature to life with your mind, Wooyoung’s honey tone seeps into your ears.

“While you won’t be able to do this in real life, it helps to start trying to hone these abilities in the Dreamscape. Learning to focus your energy into something, to pull from an invisible pool within you — these are both key in being able to draw upon your Siren abilities in the real world. It’s easier when your body is asleep because there aren’t any external stressors happening at the same time — so long as you aren’t ripped out of sleep early.” Wooyoung’s hands withdraw from yours, but you can still feel the heat emanating from them so he must remain close. “As a Siren, you can do all sorts of things that others might find odd and unnatural. But that’s how the universe works, no? San has his endless stamina, can blend in with shadows to conceal himself, has that Spectre constitution that lets him run faster and jump higher. Yeosang has his intelligence, the elevated mental capacity that comes with being an Elitist. A natural tendency to lean towards logic over emotionality, and everything comes easier to him even if it’s something he’s never tried before. Mingi and Jongho have their unmatched strength, but also the unfortunate side effect of absorbing the emotional auras of those around them which makes Berserkers more prone to aggression and violence due to an overstimulation of the limbic system.

“And people like you and me, Seonghwa — what we have is a legacy. It differs from person to person. No two Sirens will have the same extent of ‘powers’, however, I despise calling our abilities that because it sounds childish. We’re all born with our intuition. You’ve felt it before with both Seonghwa and myself, and I know I’ve mentioned it to you. We can sense another Siren’s distress and push out energy to soothe or provide comfort. Similar to Berserkers, a bit, in that we can feel what other Sirens feel. Some history books even claim that the first settlers on Celeste were Berserkers and the gods of Celeste blessed them to create Sirens, though I find it hard to believe. The key difference is that rather than absorbing emotions from fellow Sirens, we possess something of a heightened empathy.”

Wooyoung withdraws his hands completely, quicker than you expect him to, and the haste in his movements bring you to open your eyes and look over at him. His gaze lingers on your hands. Whatever words he was going to share with you are lost as his lips part to let a sigh slip out. Something soft writhes between your palms, fluttering and beating a few times before quiet warbles emit from the space. You part your thumbs, gingerly and ever so carefully, to reveal a round budgerigar so young that its adult feathers have yet to fully come in. It twists its head around, surveying the surroundings with beady black eyes, before stretching its small wings and unveiling the black striped pattern across them.

“You… made a bird.” Wooyoung reaches out to it with his index finger crooked like a perch, and the bird climbs up without hesitation. It remains unphased when Wooyoung brings his face close to it, merely letting out a little warble and tilting its head at him. “Incredible.”

Without another word, Wooyoung lifts his hand up above your heads, and the bird immediately takes flight. You watch it disappear into the trees across the lake with a similar feeling of wonder as before when you created the butterfly. Wooyoung’s gaze lingers longer than yours, seemingly consumed by thoughts you aren’t privy to, and when he turns back to you at last, his expression is more troubled than anything.

“As I was saying — Sirens, we can shift the density of our bodies to go through objects like a wall or a door, though it is more difficult to master as you risk getting stuck inside whatever object you’re trying to phase through. But, well, it’s different for you. Most Sirens cannot go through living things, or rip a man’s heart clean out of his chest.” Wooyoung gives you a sympathetic smile.

“Nothing we don’t already know,” you reply with a shrug.

“Seonghwa mentioned a certain incident that occurred on Dorado.” Wooyoung winces a bit and looks down at the sand. “He was asking me questions, at least. I put two and two together based on what we had talked about that one time and asked the right questions to get the information out of him. Not maliciously! I just needed to be certain about why he was asking, in case — so that I could understand better. I ended up doing some research on a few of the databases Hongjoong has access to, and there are records of Sirens being able to do similar things. Most, unfortunately, were captured by the military or slavers to be used as weapons. Some were test subjects as well, and there are a few detailed studies about being able to phase through living beings. Other records showed that militaries use Sirens as batteries to power other soldiers with their blood, which is horrific. I couldn’t stomach to look into that for long, it was just too gruesome.”

“Then it’s possible that both you and Seonghwa could do so?”

Wooyoung hums, nodding a few times, “Yeah, in theory. I’ve never made any attempt to do so. And Seonghwa never mentioned it before he learned of you doing so. Had you ever done anything similar before then?”

“With a living creature, no. Early on when I first joined the crew, I recall being able to pass through bullets without taking harm on my first mission. Then when I was captured with San, I was able to free myself by phasing through ropes.”

“Both of those instances were likely your natural instincts jumping out as a form of self defense.”

“What of your ability? Daichi mentioned it some time ago, that we were found to be most apt for sacrifice because we were Sirens not meant to exist. He implied that I shouldn’t be able to rip a man’s heart out with my bare hands, just as you should not be able to kill Sirens within the confines of the Dreamscape.”

“If I am able to kill Sirens here in the Dreamscape, then it’s a tad terrifying to think of what forsaken ability you were given. And to be fair, ripping hearts out is a mighty horrifying ability to have, so it might very well be what sets you apart. Though Daichi is limited by the constraints of our knowledge here, as far as I know. Unless there is an unknown entity that resides in the Dreamscape alongside him, then he only shares information which we already know. Hence why he can be so damn dodgy when answering questions. I’d assume that at the time when you told you that, he was gleaning knowledge from the two of us, or potentially Seonghwa. Seonghwa believes that you should not be able to do what you did to that man; that was why he approached me asking for information, because he has some inkling that you and I are not the same as him.”

“He’s inconsistent at best,” you say, drawing a confused glance from Wooyoung before clarifying, “Daichi is. Sometimes it truly does seem like he only knows what we know, but other times, he speaks in riddles and circles as though he knows more than he lets on.”

“Something of an unreliable old man, hm?” Wooyoung jokes through a soft laugh. “I know he dislikes me because he fears me. I have tried and failed to kill him before. But because so much of his identity is an oddity to me, I’m not sure if I can hurt him at all. Regardless though, he loves to remind me that I was supposed to die alongside you and three other children a long time ago. I don’t believe him when he says that we were only meant to die because we were special. We were marked to die as babies. Our abilities did not come until later, until after the cult had conducted all sorts of experiments on us. That cult was the same one who made us a dyad, with the hope that in the future we would have been able to further a stronger bloodline. Why would they have gone through so much effort for children marked to die?”

You recall this somewhat from what Wooyoung has told you in the past.

“We were part of a group of children used by a defunct sect of the main church… an old, defective sector that had broken off a long time in the past and taken their teachings with them…There were thirty children to start, all chosen from birth and offered by their families for the tests, yet each year, more and more children died. By the time the Ritual Year came along, there were only seven children left, and among them, both of us remained…It wasn’t something given at birth, not a gift from the gods — it was a harsh result of cruel and repeated testing and experimentation that kills dozens of children. Except, despite us successfully making it through that ordeal, we were still meant to die in the ritual, as a sacrifice to the gods.”

“Perhaps they wanted to find a way to halt the sacrifices,” you mutter, toying with a bit of loose skin around your pinky nail. “Instead of sacrificing children to be blessed with Siren abilities, maybe their intent was to make it so that Sirens could be self-sufficient without gods. I imagine… any parent doubtful of the church’s teachings would have been eager to find a way out for their child.”

“I suppose that much could be true. I remember next to nothing of my parents, even less of my grandparents, so whatever beliefs they held true to are a mystery to me.” Wooyoung inhales so sharply that he winces a little. “Regardless of any of that, it’s a good sign that you're still able to tap into your abilities. It means more might come back to you as time continues to pass.”

“Sometimes it feels more like I’m regressing rather than moving forward,” you complain, dropping your hand and leaving your cuticle be for now. Wooyoung hums.

“It makes sense, given what you’ve been forced to go through lately,” with his words comes a tone so full of reassurance that it makes your chest ache. “An overload of new information on top of relearning yourself — learning that much of what you thought you knew to be real was a carefully constructed lie. No one would blame you for having those feelings. It could very well be that your own mind is getting in the way of you remembering what it means to be a Siren in an attempt to protect you from further harm. Since your mind may be uncertain what’s real and what isn’t, you could be unintentionally blocking yourself from honing your abilities and can only tap into them in life or death situations.” Wooyoung reaches out across the space between your bodies and sets his hand down on your knee. “I promise I’ll do my best to help you distinguish between what’s real and what isn’t. I can only do so much if your mind subconsciously thinks that whatever memories are still locked behind the wall the serum put up are dangerous. But I do like a challenge. Hell, I made an Elitist fall in love with me, so what’s some pesky military medicine compared to that?”

You purse your lips, letting one of your hands cover Wooyoung’s and give it a small squeeze.

“You’ll have to forgive me if I rely on your optimism too much. It’s hard for me to be as confident as you.”

“That’s okay. I’ll be positive for both of us!” Wooyoung twists his hand in your grasp and pushes it upwards with his own. Your fingers splay out against each other, his extending past yours by several centimeters. “When we were little, my hands were smaller than yours. I thought I’d never hear the end of it with the way you so mercilessly teased me.” His eyes turn glassy as he looks at your palms pressed together. “Before I moved into Yeosang’s room at the castle, when we shared a cot in the broom closet next to the kitchen… we would compare hand sizes every night, and I always insisted that my hands would be bigger than yours one day. After we were separated and you were forced to leave, I would hold my hand up to the ceiling and ask you if it had finally outgrown yours.”

It sends a pang through you knowing that Wooyoung has to relive these memories alone, that you cannot share in the nostalgia the same way he does. You hardly know what to say now, so you intertwine your fingers and cling to him as tightly as you can without causing pain. His hand trembles in your grasp, the same way his smile wobbles.

“How lucky I am to finally see the day where I can say I was right to your face.”

────────────

You’re stirred awake by a gentle nudging against your shoulder, and it isn’t until your consciousness starts processing what’s going on that you hear San’s voice filtering through the haze of sleepiness.

“Hey, star, we gotta go downstairs.”

“Mmhmph?” you grumble, hand grabbing at air a few times before it finds purchase on San’s warm and solid bicep.

“Yunho wants to introduce us to the owner of this hostel. He claims — he says it’s his father.”

genuinely am seriously so thankful and grateful and touched by everyone who has been sending love and messages lately, even if just to say they've been thinking of me/moc or rereading in the long wait it truly truly motivated me to keep pushing onwards and keep going despite everything :')

────────────

a/n: good god where do i even begin TT if not for an apology for the obscene and absurd and stupid amount of time it has taken for me to get this out 😭 genuinely was wanting this to be posted in january but holy heck look at the time it's.... may... kms...

nothing will make up for the long wait but i do hope you enjoyed this chapter nonetheless!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

#ateez x reader #ateez series #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #wooyoung x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #jongho x reader #ateez fanfic #mists of celeste #caly.writes #ateez fic #ateez ff #moc: spoilers

156 notes · View notes

azzibuckets · 3 days

Text

For the Love of the Game [Pazzi | Part 10/10]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: the end 🙏

a/n: decided to combine the last two chapters into one! don’t mind the abrupt ending

word count: 2.1k

masterlist w/ all parts

“You and Paige played together on the U16 and U17 USA Basketball teams, where you guys won a championship at the 2018 FIBA World Cup. Has there been a noticeable difference in your on-court chemistry from USA Baskerball to UConn after the development of your more personal relationship?”

Azzi stared at Leo blankly. “With Paige’s ACL, we haven’t gotten many opportunities to play together yet, so I wouldn’t know.”

Leo raised her eyebrows expectantly. When Azzi crossed her arms and looked away, refusing to speak anymore, she sighed in frustration and clicked her pen. “Okay…” she drawled out. Her eyes scanned her notes for the next question. “Paige was the first freshman to win the AP and Naismith Player of the Year. Although she’s still an underclassman, it would be fair to say she has a lot of valuable experience and natural leadership. What have you personally learned from Paige?”

“That she’s a fuck ass bitch,” Azzi whispered under her breath.

Leo leaned forward. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” Azzi smiled charmingly at the blinking red dot on the camera. “Paige definitely makes her presence known on the court.“ She paused, gathering her thoughts. Leo sent her an encouraging smile, her pen finally scribbling for the first time in the entire interview.

Azzi thought back to the way Paige had used to speak to her, both in their time playing together at USA Basketball and in the months leading up to their agreement. “It’s the fact that you can’t shoot a mid ranger without getting the ball turned over. These are basic foundations of basketball, Fudd. You’re playing college ball now. It’s time to grow up.” Paige had spat, months earlier. Azzi pursed her lips, her anger further fueled from the words they’d thrown at each other in the hospital bathroom the week before. “If she sees a weakness or a flaw in your play, she won’t hesitate to point it out. She likes having her way with things.” Leo’s smile slowly faded. “She has a whole system set up at UConn, and if you dare challenge it, she’ll make you regret it.” By the end of her rant, Azzi was rigid in her seat, the tips of her ears on fire as she riled herself up.

Leo’s pen slowly started moving. She aggressively slammed down her pen and paused the camera. “We can’t use that!”

Azzi looked innocently at her. “Why not?”

“No one is gonna watch this film and think you guys are dating with the way you’re speaking about her,” Leo scowled.

Azzi rolled her eyes. “I doubt Paige said anything positive about me either. Why can’t you just bin the interviews and work with the segments you already have?”

“No, she didn’t,” Leo answered roughly. “Paige gave great answers. You’re the one that’s hard to work with.”

Azzi’s leg stopped jittering. “What do you mean great answers?”

Leo clicked away on her laptop before swiveling it around to face the dark haired girl. “Watch,” she demanded, pressing play.

The video was dark and muted at first, until someone adjusted the camera and it showed Paige, sitting in one of those director’s cameras. A mic was attached to the collar of her jersey, and her hair was pinned up in her signature two braids and ponytail. Azzi’s heart ached. This was her first time seeing Paige since their incident in the bathroom, and she looked good. Better than good. She’d obviously recovered well from her surgery; her skin was glowing and the bags under her eyes were lighter than normal. Her deep blue eyes were sparkling, and she looked in a good mood.

Leo’s voice filtered in from off camera. “What do you like about Azzi?”

Paige smiled uneasily. “Basketball wise or uh,” she shifted in her seat, “girlfriend wise?”

“Both.”

“Well, in terms of basketball, I don’t really have to speak for her,” Paige laughed all nervous, and Azzi could feel her blood pumping faster through her veins. “I mean, everyone knows how good she is. She has a killer pull-up and unlimited range. Her jump shot is perfect, and she’s lethal with her catch and shoot threes.”

At that moment, Leo cut in. “Many people have been saying that with you out, UConn suffers a major drawback. Are you worried about the position of your team without your guidance on the court?”

Paige’s expression changed. “I hear that, and I understand that, but honestly, I’m not as worried as people think I am. Each player on the team is a valuable asset. If we’re talking about Azzi, she’s been putting in extra work to expand her offensive role ever since my injury. I’ve been watching her at practice, and let’s just say, I think that other teams should be even more scared of UConn this upcoming season.”

Azzi felt like someone had just dumped an entire bucket of ice water on her head. What was Paige saying? She’d expected Paige to be condescending, that of course the team was going to suffer badly without her, to laugh at the idea that Azzi would be able to compensate for her loss. But here Paige was, talking about Azzi like she’d hung the damn moon.

Leo’s voice on the video brought her back to attention. “Now, what about personally? You and Azzi have been recently named the ‘it couple’ of women’s baseball, even despite your…” Leo hesitated as she searched for the right word, “tumultuous history. We’d love to learn about what you appreciate about who fans have dubbed as the people’s princess.”

Paige smiled tightly. Azzi noticed her tapping her finger against the side of her leg, a nervous tic that not many people knew she had. “Azzi is a really good person.”

“Can you expand on that?”

Paige’s eyes focused on her lap. “She’s very selfless. Especially in the beginning, I struggled a lot mentally with my injury. Basketball means the world to me, and not being able to play it is devastating. But Azzi, you know, she’s torn her ACL before. She was there for me in the whole process, driving me to rehab sessions and making sure I always ate and doing stupid things with me to get my mind off my knee.” A faint smile flickered on the blonde’s lips as she thought to herself. “I probably wouldn’t have survived it without her.”

Azzi swallowed, trying to dissipate the knot forming in her throat. She’d been so furious at Paige just moments before - for minimizing her struggle to find her sexual identity, for trying to make their situation and her feelings so black and white when everything was a muddled grey for her. And now, Azzi was positively vibrating, like she was a little schoolgirl whose crush had just complimented her.

“You see?” Leo shut her laptop, giving Azzi a pointed look. “This is what we’re aiming for.”

Azzi rubbed her palms together, thinking. Paige had callen her confusing, but right now, Paige was the confusing one. She’d essentially told Azzi to go away and never speak to her again, and then pulled shit like this. How could Azzi stay away from her when Paige was putting her name on a banner and waving it for everyone to see?

———————

Paige studied the notepad of plays in front of her. When the circles and xs and lines started blurring together on the paper from her staring at it so hard, she exhaled, letting her eyes shut for a moment.

“Hey,” Geno said gently from besides her. “Stop stressing. The girls got it.”

Paige nodded, looking up to watch her team as they warmed up for the season opener. Every bone in her body itched to be out there, stretching and warming up her shots with her girls. But she couldn’t, and right now she had to trust her team. Besides, she had an important job out here too. She’d helped draw up half of these plays, going over the strategy and who to place where in order to maximize each player’s individual talents and get as many points as possible.

Her eyes fell on Azzi. She looked nervous for her first official debut of her college career, and Paige wanted to mentally send her a message - to tell her to keep her chin up, to play as hard as possible and show everyone why she was the #1 high school recruit of her class. But Paige knew that talking to Azzi now for the first time in a month would probably heighten the girl’s nerves even more, so she kept her mouth shut, forcing herself to look away.

At half time of the game, Azzi had already scored 10 points, but Paige could tell that she was off. The crowds in the stands were large and loud, even for a season opener, and she could tell it was getting to the younger girl’s head by the way she kept missing shots she normally would’ve aced.

Someone tapped Paige’s shoulder from behind her. She turned around and saw a few guys sitting together who looked like they attended UConn. “Hey,” one of them nodded. “You miss being part of the action?”

Paige liked talking to fans, but right now she wanted to focus on the game, so she only gave a quick nod in response before turning around.

Soon, another tap came. Trying not to roll her eyes, she turned around again. “Yes?”

“It looks like your team needs you,” one of the guys chuckled, his eyes fixed on the court. Paige followed his gaze to the girls playing, and right on cue, Azzi sailed another shot. Paige’s heart lurched as the younger girl bit her lip and sprinted back to defense, a hollow look in her eyes.

“You carry the team, bro. Number 35 just missed again. You might need to give her some pointers.” The guy grinned at her, as if what he’d said was a compliment. Then, as if he couldn’t get any more audacity, he whipped out a Sharpie and dropped it on her lap. “By the way, can you sign my jersey?”

Paige stared in disbelief at the Sharpie before she picked it up and threw it at his face. She felt a sadistic sense of satisfaction as the Sharpie hit the guy right in the eye and he howled, hands going to up to massage the area.

“I’m not signing any of your shit,” she growled. “Number 35 has a name, and Azzi Fudd would drop 20 on your sorry ass any day.” With that, she turned around, fury pulsing through her veins and enlivening her senses. She secretly applauded herself for having the self control not to punch the living daylights out of that guy right then and there.

Thankfully, Azzi seemed to get ahold of her nerves after Geno’s inspiring speech at half, going on to score 10 additional points while barely missing any more shots, an impressive performance for a freshman debut. The game ended with Aaliyah pulling through to hit the game-winning buzzer beater.

Deciding that was cause for celebration, the team decided to go to Tim’s for drinks together after. Paige went straight to the bar as soon as they arrived, ordering a Shirley Temple. When she turned around, she came face to face with the guys from the game earlier.

“Hey,” one of them smirked. “Go tell your lesbo girlfriend good job for me. She looked a little rusty tonight but if you give her my number I can help her with that.” Laughing, he threw a crumpled up piece of paper at Paige, hitting her in the chest, and that’s when everything went red.

Flinging her crutches to the side, Paige moved towards him with a ferocity she’d never felt, grabbing the collar of his shirt. “Listen here, motherfucker,” she hissed. “Clearly your mother didn’t teach you any manners so I guess it’s up to me.” She let go, and the guy stumbled back, fear in his eyes. Then she reared her first back and punched him.

The guy cried out in pain, blood gushing from his nose. Incensed, his friends turned on Paige. “Come on,” she becked her hands at them. “Give me all you’ve got.” The guy she’d hit with the Sharpie earlier lunged towards her, but before he could reach her, hands grabbed Paige’s hips and pulled her back.

“What the fuck are you doing?” A familiar voice growled into her ear, restraining Paige as her other teammates rushed to intervene.

“I was giving them what they deserved,” Paige said bitterly, turning away from the scene. She shook out her hand, her knuckles aching.

“In case you haven’t noticed, there’s three of them and one of you.” Azzi forcefully moved Paige’s hips so that they were facing each other now. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Azzi! Take Paige away before she does any more damage,” Nika demanded as one of the guys she was pushing away started spitting curses at Paige.

Azzi grabbed Paige’s crutches, marching her off to the bathroom. She slammed the door behind them, anger evident in the slanting of her eyebrows and flattening of her mouth. “Are you serious, Paige? Getting into fights at the bar? You could get a suspension for this!”

“It doesn’t matter.” Paige fixed her eyes on the peeling paint on the wall. “I can’t even play anyways.”

“You said you don’t need my help.” Azzi paced back and forth angrily. “But here you are, throwing yourself at the hands of three grown men.”

“I didn’t need your help. I had the situation under control,” Paige said coldly.

Azzi grabbed Paige’s shoulders, shaking them. “You’re in crutches, Paige. You can barely even move. I get that you’re frustrated with your injury but you can’t just ignore it!” Azzi slumped against the sink, her head in her hands. “Why’d you even start attacking them anyways? Nothing is worth putting yourself in danger like that.”

You’re worth it, Paige thought. But she stayed quiet, hoping Azzi’s anger would blow over.

“Are you serious? You’re not even gonna tell me what started this whole thing?” Azzi threw up her hands in exasperation. “Is this what you’re like now? Being all moody and mysterious and hitting people whenever you feel like it? I don’t even know you anymore.”

Paige clenched and unclenched her fist. The soreness was starting to get her. Azzi must’ve noticed, because she took her hand and examined it.

“It’s gonna bruise,” Azzi said, her voice now soft.

Paige shrugged.

Sighing, Azzi gently led Paige’s hand under the faucet. She gently washed away the blood on her knuckles. Paige flinched - not at the pain, but from the all too familiar feeling of Azzi’s fingers touching her.

Azzi managed to find some bandages after rummaging through the cabinets. She slowly wrapped the gauze around Paige’s knuckles, her touch sending electric sparks through Paige’s hand. Neither of them spoke as Azzi patched her up, the tension in the air thick.

Paige swallowed, the silence becoming overbearing. “They were saying things about you.”

Azzi’s eyes shot up, her hand stilling. “What?”

Paige ducked her head, avoiding her stare. “The guys. They were at the game and making stupid comments the entire time, and I mostly ignored them.” She huffed. “But then they came here, and when they said something else, I just lost it.”

Azzi’s jaw clenched. She finished wounding the bandage, but she didn’t let go of Paige’s hand, and Paige didn’t move either. “I don’t need you defending my honor,” Azzi said quietly. Her thumb brushed once against Paige’s knuckles. “People like those guys are always gonna talk. It’s better to just ignore them and not give them what they want.”

Paige grunted, clearly not heeding Azzi’s words.

Azzi’s lips parted. “I miss you.”

Paige grinded her teeth.

“And I know you miss me too.” Azzi put her finger under Paige’s chin, forcing her to make eye contact. “I watched your interview with Leo.”

Paige cursed. “I told her not to show you that.”

“I would’ve seen it eventually, once she published her film.” Azzi studied the blonde’s face, memorizing the features she’d missed so much. Her long eyelashes, the way they fluttered. The wrinkle in the corner of her eyebrow. The turn of her pretty pink lips.

“I know you’re angry that I couldn’t tell you what I wanted. I was still figuring myself out. And these past few weeks, I’ve been working at it. Trying to come to terms with my sexuality.” Azzi took a deep breath, stepping closer. Paige’s hands instinctively went down, brushing the younger girl’s waist as the distance between them grew closer.

“I think I’m bi,” Azzi breathed out. “And if you can’t respect that, then I don’t think we can be together. But I don’t think my sexuality was the issue. I think that you were hurting, and you were impatient, and you wanted an immediate answer, and when I couldn’t give that to you, you ran away.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrowed.

“We’re killing each other, P,” Azzi whispered. “It’s torture not being able to see you and kiss you every day. And you’re obviously not coping with it any better than I am.” She brought her hands to cup Paige’s face, pressing their foreheads together. Paige relaxed, leaning into her touch.

“I need you, Paige,” Azzi begged. “I need us.”

Paige’s heart erupted, and she closed the gap between them, bringing her lips to Azzi’s and pulling her in for a bruising kiss. Azzi gasped, but recovered quickly, tangling her hands into Paige’s hair.

“‘M sorry,” Paige breathed as soon as they broke apart. “I was so awful. I should’ve never made you feel stupid for trying to figure out your sexuality.” She bit her lip, anguish in her eyes. “It’s just always been so easy for me. I’ve always known I liked girls. I was being hot-headed and I didn’t consider how you were feeling.”

Azzi laughed. “Yeah, that was pretty shitty of you. But I did some selfish shit too.” She nudged her nose with Paige’s. “And I think it’d be fair to call us even.”

Paige trailed her hands up Azzi’s sides. “What I told you at my surgery was complete bullshit. You’re always on my mind, driving me fuckin’ insane. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know. Getting into fights and everything. A little part of me is flattered,” Azzi joked. Paige groaned in embarrassment, hiding her face in the crease of Azzi’s neck. Azzi brought her hands up to rub her back in calming circles. “Everything’s over. We went on the Europe trip, where you ignored me the whole time,” she laughed at that. “And Leo’s done with her film. She’s set to submit it tomorrow.”

Paige nodded, drawing back to look Azzi in the eye. “No more of this fake dating shit. I want you to be my girl for real.” She tenderly caressed Azzi’s cheek, not believing how someone as beautiful and kind as Azzi could want someone like her. “I meant everything I said in the interview, ya know? About how talented you are at basketball and how selfless you are in real life.”

“I know,” Azzi whispered, “I know.”

“I’m gonna take you on a date,” Paige rambled. “A good fucking date. The best date you’ve ever had. Gonna make you forget about all the other girls you’ve ever been with.”

“That sounds great, baby,” Azzi giggled softly, her hand playing with the wisps of hair at the base of Pige’s neck.

“Gonna make you fall in love with me,” Paige mumbled, her head dropping on Azzi’s shoulder. Azzi smiled. You already have, she thought silently.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #uconnwbb #wcbb #wbb #enemies to lovers

124 notes · View notes

mistystepmoonbeam · 1 day

Text

Reborn into BG3: Chapter 12

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 12: You take a walk through the cellar in the blighted village. When the others catch up you say something that freaks out Astarion.

Word count: 2.6K

A/N: I was undecided if I wanted to post this >.> But what the hells.

You’re on your own, now. Just for a bit, thanks to Wyll convincing Tav you don’t need to be watched at all times. And with no more goblins between you and camp you’re able to be left alone to sort out…yourself, you guess.

You didn’t throw up again after leaving Ethel’s, but you may have done some crying as you walked in circles around the forest by the village. If it wasn’t for having to face the others you’d have run back to camp, pulled scratch into your tent and bawled your eyes out.

Though you promised to go back to camp you find yourself in the blighted village. You can't read the sign at the entrance but you know it says Moonhaven, and you try to memorise what you think the letters might be.

A little stop can’t hurt, you think. Anything to avoid a conversation about what happened. And you can collect the herbs that are in the cellar, along with anything else that might be useful. You take a small swig of the health potion to get the taste of bile out of your mouth and then stash it into your bag, since it’s now nearly empty after leaving your personal hoard at camp, and head down into the cellar. Whatever objects had been clinking in there remain a mystery–you still haven’t looked inside and won’t even as you add more to the pack.

As much as you had wanted to abandon your staff you took it with you. Necromancy or not, it could bludgeon someone should the need arise. And apparently it can cast light in a small radius around you because it does just that when you make it to the bottom of the ladder.

With a slight purple tint, the staff lets out an eerie glow giving you just enough light to see by. There’s a small buzz of energy through your body that you assume is the Weave. Not wanting to question things anymore, you get to work prying open the barrels and crates and find the herbs you’re there for. You circle around and pick up a couple health potions, a couple mystery potions to be identified later, and find the hidden lever. You hesitate before pushing it down, but curiosity gets the better of you in the end. You watch the shelves move and step into the secret cave.

Now that you’re aware of the phantom limb and what it has been reaching for, you can feel the dead weigh on your mind. You know where they are, kind of in the same way you could navigate your room in the dark. They’re permanent objects stuck in place, and should you so desire, you can reach out and move them.

“I guess I’m a necromancer,” you mutter as you pluck a bone cap out of the ground. “Awesome. Couldn’t be a wizard or a sorcerer or…wait, am I one of those?”

Wyll seemed to make it sound like a necromancer was separate, but it kind of was a subcategory of wizard.

You straighten and keep moving, turning the corner and finding the cavern. You ignore everything there and head for the mirror that waits beyond the wooden planks.

When you step up to it the staff's eyes glow violet again, and the mirror slides open. You sigh. “Necromancer it is, then.”

But…maybe there’s a clue to your identity in this place if you’re powerful or rich enough? You move inside and find the lab on the right, the paperwork scattered about, and logbooks. Or you assume they’re the logbooks—you can’t read, after all. Instead of flipping through them you head to the exit and find the rusty key on the shelves. Soon enough you’re standing before the first trap that lights the braziers, and risk the step. The room is filled with light as the fires blaze to life.

The Necromancy of Thay is just beyond the barred door, and this time you can hear it. It whispers to you, quiet little voices that speak in a language you don’t know. They’re distant, but like with the bodies of the dead you know where the book is.

It takes some strength to push the rusty key into the padlock on the door, and with some force you manage to turn it. The whispers quiet.

“A well hidden laboratory, wonder what it’s doing down here?”

You turn to find Tav, Wyll and Astarion walking into the lab. He still has both eyes, at least. After he outed Astarion you thought he might take the hag’s deal.

“How did you find this place?” you ask.

He only offers you a shrug, eyes darting around the lab in search of loot.

You relent, “I found the hatch and started looking around.”

Tav smiles and rests his hands on the back of his head. Maybe he’s just happy you aren’t ignoring him again, or running away. By the way his tail flicks at the air you think that might be it, and the reason he’s being quieter than usual.

“I followed your tracks,” Wyll reveals. Well, he did hunt down all sorts of beings as the Blade of Frontiers. “What have you found?”

“Creepy book,” you reply. They approach you, surveying the book and everything else in the small cage.

“Trapped, most likely,” Astarion says. He steps forward carefully and does something to the stand the book is on. It’s so quick you don’t have time to peer around him and get a good look at what “disarm trap” really looks like.

Astarion picks up the book, turning it in his hands. They begin to discuss what it could be when you remember the bracers that are down here. You slip away without a thought and find the nearby gilded chest, poking it before opening it. There are traps here, who knows what else could be rigged to explode?

When you open the chest you feel a wave of magic—Weave—come from it. It’s different from the warmth of the healing magic, somehow sharper, more demanding. You pull the bracers out and put them in your bag, nearly overflowing with loot now.

You turn to rejoin the group only to nearly run into Astarion on the level below you. You stumble back and catch yourself. “I think Shadowheart was right about putting a bell on you.”

He gives you a smirk, genuine, your surprise. A thought occurs but rather than ask it you bite the inside of your right cheek.

“You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Astarion asks. You don’t know what he’s referring to, considering the amount of surprises you’ve had lately. He goes on, waving one hand in the air. “Filthy rich, can’t read, enchanted clothing, and now, a necromancer.”

“To be fair, I don’t know anything about all of that.” You try not to sigh too hard thinking of what Auntie Ethel had said.

“I wonder what other secrets that little head holds…” he muses. It’s more to himself than you. “And you killed on my behalf, I’m flattered.”

“I didn’t mean to, though.”

“I know, that’s what makes it all the more entertaining. You, the picture of innocence, murdered a man for a vampire spawn. Ha!”

You furrow your brow, unsure how you could be considered the picture of innocence. But maybe that was only compared to those Astarion knew. It was your first murder…and only murder! Not first. Just the one, and only, murder.

Yes, you are rather innocent in the terms of this world.

Astarion pinches your cheek between two fingers, bringing you back to the conversation. “Don’t think this makes us even.”

“Okay,” you say when he lets go. You rub at where he’d pinched, shocked he touched you so casually. And not just that…his fingers are warm. “Uhm…”

Astarion quirks a brow. “Yes?”

“Can I ask you a question? About being a vampire.”

He leans his weight into one foot, crossing his arms as he eyes you warily. “I suppose.”

“Why are you warm? Shouldn’t you be, like, cold? Or room temperature?”

Astarion, for all his acting, is easy to read. His eyes widen as he steps back, arms uncrossing and held out before him like he’s trying to catch his balance. “What did you say?”

“Sorry, is that rude?” You shift on your heels. “I just thought vampires would be cold, with the…being dead, and all.”

“We are,” Astarion confirms, voice grim.

“But your skin is warm.”

“I assure you, it is not.”

“I literally just had your hand on my cheek. You’re warm.”

“I think I know what temperature my own body is!” Astarion huffs and walks away. You notice the bag that rests on his back has the weight of the book within.

You move down the steps as he paces, annoyed.

“What’s wrong, Astarion?” Tav asks.

You answer, “I asked him why—”

But you don’t get to finish it because Astarion wraps one hand over your mouth and the other on the back of your head, successfully silencing you. He says, “Nothing! Nothing at all. Just discussing what reward I might offer for valiantly saving me from a monster hunter.”

You roll your eyes. But having his skin on yours again confirms his heat. He feels like a living, breathing human. Why did that freak him out? When he releases you he gives you a hard stare that’s easy to understand. Shut. Up.

Wyll and Tav watch you, waiting to see what you say but you just shrug. “It’s not that important.”

Wyll frowns, but lets it go. For now. Tav bites into his bottom lip but keeps silent.

Astarion’s words remind you of something you’d like to forget. The Gur. You can’t even recall his name right now. Maybe you should have tried harder to keep Astarion away, or convinced them to not go there at all. But you didn’t, and there was no reset now.

You watch Tav flit about the basement collecting loot. It does little to help your mood, but at the very least you take comfort in the fact that they didn’t call you a monster for what you did. You promise to keep better watch of those chords in your head, the little phantom strings that connect to the dead around you. Because avoiding the dead is an impossible task, at least as long as you travel with Tav and everyone.

When you return to the surface the others are waiting by the well. You spot your bag of gold on Gale’s shoulder and hurry to take it from him, but he holds up his hands to stop you. “What kind of man would I be if I let an injured person carry so much weight?”

You’re about to argue but think better of it when the world sways a little. You manage to stay still, probably, and thank him instead.

“Oh, right,” you say, pulling the magic bracers from your other pack. “I thought you might want these.”

Gale takes the bracers. It’s then that you notice the bags under his eyes are especially dark—and you realize he hasn’t told anyone about his condition. As far as you know. The little lines that travel up the side of his neck and towards his left eye are darker, too.

Your thumbnail scratches at your staff as you wait for him to say something. Anything. Literally anything would be good right now because it’s been ten whole seconds of him staring at the bracers and that’s long enough of him being silent that the others are now looking.

“Gale?” Tav asks.

It jolts him out of his stupor. “Yes? Oh, yes.” He looks at you. “Thank you. Perhaps there’s something I must admit…”

Gale goes through his first speech about the orb, and then his second. It’s a lot to take in in one go, if you haven’t heard it all before. At the end he says, “I understand if you want to part ways—this orb, for lack of a better word, is immensely dangerous.”

Tav asks, “Why?”

All eyes turn to him, his head tilted with a smile on his face.

“Because I could explode,” Gale says slowly.

“So?” Tav points to each companion as he adds, “Shar worshipper, warlock turned devil, angry githyanki, infernal engine that could explode, vampire, necromancer with memory loss, and I’m sorry Halsin we’ve barely just met, but…uh, old?”

There are worse things to be said, about all of you.

“Plus we’ve all got worms in our heads,” Karlach says. “Oh, well except for…”

Gale lets out a small laugh. “Thank you. All of you. Now, even I’m getting tired of my own voice so shall we get going?”

The group begins their journey back to the goblin camp.

“I am not angry,” Lae’zel says, her voice almost a hiss. “At least not at any of you. The mindflayers, however…”

Halsin walks next to her, asking questions about the tadpoles and their magic, while Astarion and Wyll follow, then Shadowheart, Karlach, and Tav. You and Gale are last to leave the village.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Gale asks.

You hesitate too long before answering. “No.”

“You are a terrible liar.” He keeps his voice low as you walk, putting the bracers on his wrists. “But I consider that a good thing.”

You chew the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to say. They seem to consider your knowledge to be some kind of deadly premonition, so maybe you should lean into that. “I can’t really explain it.”

Gale smiles but it’s weak.

“We’ll find lots of stuff for you to eat,” you assure him. “Or absorb, I mean. Like those!”

You point at the bracers. He holds them closer to where you know the orb is tattooed on his chest, breathing deeply.

“And if we can’t find anything there’s always my boots, or coat.”

“You would offer me those?” Gale looks you up and down like he had when you’d first met.

You shrug. “Of course. Oh, do you need them now? Because I just need to sit down to get them—”

You lift a foot as you walk, nearly stumbling to the ground when Gale stops you. “No, no, I’m fine for now. I am just—very grateful to have such a generous companion.”

“It’s not really generosity if it’s something you need though,” you argue.

Gale smiles gently but moves on. “So what’s this I hear about you being a necromancer?”

Whatever emotion crosses your face makes him pull back and try to change the subject. Regret, maybe, or pain. You can’t focus on controlling your features with so much going on. “I don’t want to be…that. I can feel…I can feel where they are—like something is dragging behind me. It’s heavy, but easy. I don’t want it to be easy.”

“Just because something comes easily to you doesn’t mean you need to do it.”

You look up at him, unaware your gaze has been on the ground this whole time. “But I did it by accident. I can’t—I can’t exactly control it.”

“That’s no problem to learn,” Gale says, as if moving the dead was no harder than riding a bike. “Learn to control it, and don’t use it. Though if you can move a boar in your sleep you must have some considerably…powerful benefactors in Baldur’s Gate to deal with.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t mean to frighten you,” he says, “but if you can use magic without the intent, without the movements or incantations, then you hold a great power. And that is something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the wealthy elite.”

Chosen. Like Gale had once been of Mystra you too could be the preferred mortal of a god.

“Meaning there may be some unhappy people if I don’t use magic.”

“It’s only one possibility of many,” Gale assures you. “And until we know more I am happy to help you control your magic. I’m told I’m an excellent teacher.”

You twirl the staff between your fingers and laugh. “It would be an honour to learn from you.”

Taglist:

@half-poison-and-half-hope @sanscas @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @thequeen-oni @terrenuserinj @straewberrysoda @theomnipotentfox @becksynthetic @quitecontrary-to-mary @furblrwurblr @mega-trash-cringe @fandomsbookclub @dontneedbiologytoadopt @pebble-bb @v3lv3tvampir3 @mrow-kat @jeneralmischief @notsaelty @runaway-17 @aoirohi @tinswhimsy @xxgrimripp3rxx @kemonocat-blog @thetiredtoad0-0 @sleepydang @iwannabealocalcryptid @troutberryspoon @betwixttheweave @the-pale-elfs-love

#reborn into baldur's gate 3 with no memory and plenty of money #reborn into bg3 #astarion x reader #tav x reader ???#I keep forgetting about the staff to be honest #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction

62 notes · View notes

hypnoneghoul · 1 day

Text

Sundown: Chapter 6

WC: 1,1K

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain,Transfeminine Mountain, Angst, Lies, Identity Reveal, Heartbreak, Hurt no Comfort (in this chapter)

“No,” Mounty gasps, finally realizing. He scared her. “Swiss, no, that’s not–it can’t be–”

Read chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 6 under the cut or on AO3.

It took five months for Swiss’ past to catch up to him.

He knew it would—sooner rather than later, knowing his luck—but he really thought he would have more time to…come up with a plan. Anything, he would do anything to avoid more heartbreak, he had promised himself. And yet he failed at a simple task of being honest.

Life just never seems to have any mercy in store for him, so why would he even have hope?

It’s a busy evening in Mounty’s bar; it’s warm—the most important reason—but the word cozy also comes to mind. Even despite the spiderwebs, broken furniture and a distant smell of rotten wood. There are flowers, though, all year long, so very clearly Mounty’s touch. It’s her home and she loves it as it is—which makes Swiss love it, too—and such an atmosphere is inviting.

The cowboy is, as usual, hanging out by the bar, watching his girl work. She’s happy, he’s happy and it’s all good, until he hears a name he has been praying for months not to hear ever again.

“He ain’t so scary anymore!” a man from the other side of the bar laughs, and the people surrounding him follow. “He was a cunt, no idea where he got all that reputation from. The mighty Shadow nearly pissed himself!”

Another wave of booming laughter sounds and it hurts Swiss’ eardrums. He tenses, hands going clammy around the glass he’s holding, and listens in, despite his better judgment.

“He’s been hiding like a coward for months after that one failed heist, from what I’ve heard,” the man continues. “Snatched a chance when he peaked his ugly head out and now the bitch is done!”

Swiss’ blood boils and freezes in his veins at the same time. Mounty doesn’t notice; she’s too busy, and the man is grateful. The stranger in the corner keeps laughing with his companions as he insults the infamous Shadow and gloats about something he most definitely didn’t do.

Of course he didn’t.

Swiss doesn’t know what makes him snap. He only notices that he stood up when he feels the pulse of a man he’s holding against the wall by his neck under his hand.

“Swiss!” he hears Mounty call from behind the bar. The whole place is so quiet all of a sudden. “Let him go!”

The cowboy chokes the stranger slowly for a bit longer, staring into his terrified eyes. If he…if he actually were to finish off the Shadow, he would be the one to piss himself. He is about to prove it.

“You’re the cunt here,” he mutters before letting go.

Swiss storms off without sparing a glance in anyone’s direction again, not even Mounty. He all but runs out of the saloon and behind it, into the cold and dark where he sits on the wet ground and hangs his head. His eyes sting and he wants to just cry, but he can’t. He ran out of tears a long time ago.

He hears the squeak of the saloon’s batwing door and the shuffle of its additional covering that they have put on for the cold nights and he prays to anyone who’s willing to listen that it’s not–

“Swiss, darling,” Mounty whispers and the tone of it the–the fear in it breaks the man’s heart in half. He scared her.

He scared her.

He doesn’t reply, he can’t speak; it’s like there’s something lodged in his throat. Shame, most likely.

Despite her visible apprehension, the barmaid comes closer. She crouches by Swiss and just…waits. She waits for whatever may happen and she looks determined to do so for however long it may take.

He scared her.

Swiss simply breathes for a while before he dares to open his mouth again, “The–the Shadow. What do you know about…him?”

“Just the rumors,” Mounty shrugs, doing her very best to seem unbothered; casual about the whole ordeal, “but I don’t think I’d like to meet him. That won’t be a problem, though, ‘cause apparently he’s dead. Nobody’s seen him or heard of him for months and that man that you just…”

“He’s not dead,” Swiss interrupts—too sharp, too loud. He immediately hates himself for it, even more than he already did.

He scared her.

“How do you know?” she asks, much quieter.

The man swallows audibly against that mysterious something that’s suffocating him, “How many months do you think it’s been since…since he was last seen?”

“Hm…” The barmaid thinks for a moment, counting silently. “Something like five, probably.

Swiss chuckles sadly, locking his eyes on Mounty’s. He doesn’t speak—doesn’t explain—but he doesn’t need to. She’s a smart girl, and the sorrow, regret and shame in Swiss’ eyes are speaking louder and clearer than he ever could.

“No,” Mounty gasps, finally realizing.

He scared her.

“Swiss, no, that’s not–it can’t be–”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” is all he can say. He should have so much more to say, beg for forgiveness, but he can’t. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, that this is simply too big.

He gives up.

Mounty’s thoughts are racing, her breathing picks up, and her eyes widen. She’s an image of pure horror as she connects more and more dots. Swiss feels like throwing up.

“I’ve been…for months I’ve been dating–I’ve been sleeping with the world’s most famous criminal, I’ve–I’ve been…” she rambles, more to herself than the man. His whole body hurts. “I’m–I’m in love with the world’s most famous murderer.”

He scared her.

“Sweetheart, please, just–just hear me out, gimme a chance to explain before…” before he leaves, he wanted to say, because there is nothing else that can be done. He has to get the fuck out and away from her, from the most precious creature on the entire planet. One that he stained with his touch, with his lies. No hands that have so much blood on them should ever be allowed to touch something as pure as Mounty.

Thankfully, she doesn’t let him finish, “Explain what? That you lied to me and put on a whole ass fake personality to just…to just what, exactly?”

“It’s not like that, I just–” Swiss tires, but he’s not sure what it is that he’s trying to do. “I was running away! The Shadow…me, I–it’s not me, Mounty, please, let me–”

He scared her.

“Maybe I will,” she spits. “But certainly not now.”

“Momo, please,” the man falters and he’s about to fall to his knees and grab onto the barmaid’s feet and beg when she moves away. “Please, don’t be scared of me.”

“Too late, Shadow.” Mounty leaves him there, out in the cold darkness.

And Swiss finally cries.

#dont crucify me #pls #hypnone writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #swissalps #swissalps' sundown

78 notes · View notes

anonymousewrites · 11 hours

Text

A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 1) Chapter Twenty-Two

Kusuo Saiki x Reader

Chapter Twenty-Two: Summer Break Days

Summary: Saiki's vacation plans are interrupted by idiots, but at least he gets some time with (Y/N).

(Y/N) sighed and put their head down on their desk. “Finally. Exams are over, and it’s summer break.”

“But they won’t let us out of school early,” said Saiki.

“Any plans outside of relaxing?” said (Y/N).

“We agreed to watch Pride and Prejudice,” said Saiki.

Feeling their cheeks warm, (Y/N) smiled. “You were really being serious?”

“I don’t joke,” said Saiki.

“Awesome! Then how about we do it—”

“Hey, Saiki, (L/N)!” Kaidou and Kuboyasu appeared behind them. “Do you have a minute?”

Saiki nearly scowled as his time to make plans with (Y/N) was interrupted, but he prevented himself from doing so. The sooner we hear them out, the sooner they’ll leave us alone.

“Do you want to get a motorcycle license with us over the summer break?” asked Kaidou.

“Let’s get one together,” said Kuboyasu.

Well, I’m done listening. I have no interest in a vehicle that can only go as fast as my brisk walking speed, thought Saiki. “I don’t have the money for one, so no.”

Kuboyasu nodded in understanding. “It does cost a lot.”

“When is the course?” asked (Y/N).

Kaidou showed them to days, and (Y/N) shook their head.

“I’m doing a course in confection arts those days, so I’m not free,” said (Y/N).

“That’s too bad,” said Kaidou.

He and Kuboysasu walked away.

“I protected my vacation,” said Saiki.

“Are you seriously not going to do anything with anyone other than watch a movie with me?” aid (Y/N), chuckling.

“You’re the only one I want to hang out with,” said Saiki matter-of-factly.

(Y/N) fought back the blush and tried to remain their usual, jovial self in the face of such a statement from Saiki. “That’s sweet, Kusuo.”

“Ignore it,” said Saiki. (Y/N) just laughed.

Mera was the next person to walk up and speak to them. “Do you have a minute?” she asked the pair. “Do you want to work with me over the summer? It’s a bit far, but…”

“No thanks,” said Saiki.

“It depends, what type of job is it?” asked (Y/N).

Curse (Y/N)’s kindness, thought Saiki.

“All you have to do is take suspicious pills given by suspicious researchers at a suspicious laboratory and sleep!” said Mera brightly.

“Oh, sorry, Mera, but I can’t risk messing up my taste buds since I work so often with food, and medicines have a tendency to skew taste if you get sick,” said (Y/N), smiling.

“That was your problem with that idea?”

“Aw, okay, (L/N). What about you, Saiki?” asked Mera.

“It’s too far away.”

Gloomy, Mera left them and went to ask more people. Saiki and (Y/N) decided to get up and head into the halls to wait for the bell to go off to let them leave since exams had finished.

“Oh, Saiki, (L/N), I was just looking for you!” said Hairo, smiling. “Do you want to join our club’s summer training camp?”

“Hairo, we’re not in your club,” pointed out (Y/N).

“Two members canceled, but we don’t want to waste trip money,” explained Hairo. “What do you think?”

“We’re part of the Occult Club, and it’s doing something,” said Saiki, completely lying.

“Oh, that’s too bad. Have fun,” said Hairo, walking away.

“I didn’t know we had something with the Occult Club,” said (Y/N), tilting their head.

“We don’t, and we didn’t even want to be a part of it, so we’re not going if Toritsuka does plan something,” said Saiki.

“Normally, I’d say we should give it a try, but it will be one of Toritsuka’s ideas…” said (Y/N), trailing off.

“Exactly,” said Saiki.

“Saiki! (L/N)!”

“Speak of the devil,” remarked (Y/N).

“We don’t need to listen to him,” said Saiki, taking (Y/N)’s wrist and pulling them away from Toritsuka.

“Hey! Let’s have an Occult Club training camp!” said Toritsuka, trying to catch them.

“Toritsuka, what would the point of a training camp for the Occult Club be?” said (Y/N).

“I need help getting with Arisu!” said Toritsuka.

“You’re already using her first name?” said (Y/N). “That’s familiar.”

“He’s just being weird,” said Saiki.

“Pleeeease?” said Toritsuka. “It’s called Operation Spirits: Love-Struck Arisu and Popular Reita.”

“That’s a terrible name,” said Saiki.

“But you did tell Hairo we were doing something with Toritsuka,” whispered (Y/N).

Unfortunately, (Y/N) was right. Still… “I still won’t go.” Saiki walked off.

“If you’re not going, I’m not,” said (Y/N) brightly, following him.

“Hey!” exclaimed Toritsuka, offended at Saiki and (Y/N)’s lack of enthusiasm to help him.

“You still have a free break!” said (Y/N), grinning.

“Don’t jinx it,” said Saiki.

“Oh, Saiki!” said Teruhashi, running up towards him. “I was hoping to see you before break. Saiki…do you have any plans for summer break?”

I can’t say no to her if she wants to go out, everyone would get angry. Saiki hated social norms.

“I happen to have tickets to the amusement park opening up,” said Teruhashi. “Would you…would you want to go with me?” She glowed and smiled.

Saiki froze, trying to find a way out of it. (Y/N) glanced at the tickets and smiled apologetically at Teruhashi.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Kokomi, but Kusuo and I made plans for that day,” said (Y/N).

“O-Oh? You did? The two of you?” Teruhashi glanced between the two, and Saiki was alarmed by the thoughts going through her head.

“Yep! We’re having a movie night. I’m sorry,” said (Y/N).

“That’s alright. I understand. I, um, yeah.” Teruhashi couldn’t get the courage to ask for Saiki to go with her another day. If she did, it would mean she was interested in spending time with Saiki and not just “happening” to ask him. “Have fun!” She hurried away.

(Y/N) sighed and frowned. “I hope she gets over her crush soon. It would be healthy for her to like someone who could like her back. I hope they aren’t obsessed with her, though. She deserves someone who likes her for her, not her beauty.”

Saiki was amazed that in one swift move (Y/N) had saved him from going on a date and getting attention because it was wish Teruhashi and simultaneously wished for Teruhashi to have a wonderful love-life. They really were too nice.

“Saiki! (L/N)! There you are,” said Toritsuka, catching up to them. “Come on, let’s do a training camp!”

“Enough with the club,” said Saiki.

“Wait, you decided not to go?” said Hairo, appearing out of nowhere.

“Uh-oh,” said (Y/N).

Saiki patted Toritsuka shoulder and gave Hairo a peace-sign.

“Oh, you’re coming? Great!” said Toritsuka excitedly. “It’ll be the first and second of August!”

“I suppose we are,” said (Y/N), shrugging.

“That’s awesome, since our training camp is the third to the ninth,” said Hairo instantly.

“I can’t, sorry,” said (Y/N). “I need time to do my summer homework.”

“Too bad, but I guess you have to be a good student. Saiki, I’ll put you down for going, okay? It’s in Tooi-cho!”

“Wait—”

Hairo ran off.

“Hey, the job I told you about is in Tooi-cho, too!” said Mera, appearing out of nowhere and looking at Saiki happily. “And it starts on the tenth and lasts a week!”

Poor Saiki’s free time was quickly filling up.

“You’re getting a job, Saiki? Then you’ll have money for the course and a motorcycle!” said Kaidou.

“You can get a license with us,” said Kuboyasu, smiling.

Every single day of Saiki’s break was filled up with activities with people. He nearly deflated, and (Y/N) patted his back in consolation.

“If you need the time off, we can move our movie night to a different time,” said (Y/N), not wanting to intrude on Saiki’s need for time alone. They knew that recharging from social interactions was imperative to maintaining mental health.

“No, I want to have the movie night,” said Saiki stubbornly. It was the only thing he’d want to in the first place. He refused to give up that.

(Y/N) smiled. “Then I’ll make sure it’s a relaxing night. No need to stress yourself out. I’ll make some snacks, you just have to show up, okay?”

Saiki really did think (Y/N) was an angel, and he needed to find a way to thank them for their endless generosity and patience.

Summer arrived, and the first day of Saiki’s long, people-filled break began with Toritsuka’s Occult Club shenanigans.

“Welcome to the temple!” said Toritsuka, showing the Occult Club around the temple he lived in. “This isn’t my house, but my dad knows people here, so they are letting me stay.”

“Wow, so cool!” exclaimed Makino and Yumehara.

“I bet his dad kicked him out,” muttered Saiki.

“If not, it’s hard to believe someone so perverted was raised in a temple,” remarked (Y/N).

“This way is my room,” said Toritsuka, leading them into a hall and opening a sliding door. “Come on in.” He grinned, hoping to get a good reaction from the attractive people in the room (mostly Makino, though).

Saiki tuned out of his thoughts, exhausted with the romantic ideas floating within them. Unfortunately, he landed on Yumehara’s thoughts about having a chance to get with Kaidou tonight. Sighing, Saiki tried to block out everyone’s thoughts. Everyone’s romances were so dramatic. He’d prefer something simple, natural, domestic. He hoped that was something (Y/N) would prefer, too, instead of any drama. Maybe the movie night could become something more…

Yare yare, now I’m doing it.

Night arrived, and Toritsuka led the group to the woods, letting the moon rise high over them as midnight arrived.

“Many people go missing in this forest,” he said mysteriously. “In the dead of night, the members of a murder-suicide family appear and drag—ack!”

Saiki had flared the flame of a candle to stop Toritsuka from telling a fake story to scare everyone. The candle sputtered out.

“This is not the place for games,” said Makino, trembling. “I can feel many dreadful spirits.”

“Hey, don’t worry. I was born in a temple,” said Toritsuka, winking. “Now, let’s begin the test of courage!” He gestured to the dark path behind them. “We will take this path in pairs.” He grinned and patted Makino’s shoulder. “Lets just go with the flow and make our own pairs.”

“Sounds good!” said Yumehara, grinning and grabbing Kaidou’s shoulders. “It would be a waste of our time not to!”

“It’s almost like they planned it with one another,” whispered (Y/N).

“They might have,” said Saiki in agreement.

“Hold on, I want to be with Saiki or (L/N),” said Makino.

“I want to be with them, too,” said Kaidou.

“What? Why Saiki and (L/N)?” cried Toritsuka.

“Kaidou is kind of helpless, and you’re a little weird,” said Makino. “So it was a process of elimination.”

I was hoping to go with Kusuo, thought (Y/N), a little disappointed. Was it the exact same tactic as Toritsuka and Yumehara to get closer to their crush? Absolutely. Did they still like the idea? Of course.

“(Y/N) and I are going together,” said Saiki firmly, and (Y/N) perked up.

“If we can’t decide, let’s draw lots,” said Toritsuka, breaking a few sticks and putting them in his hand. “Those who get the sticks of the same length will pair up. Saiki, you can go first.”

Saiki and (Y/N) exchanged a look. Saiki would definitely be using his powers to make sure they were a pair together (because they were friends. Best friends. Not because he had a crush and wanted to be closer. That would mean lowering himself to Toritsuka’s standards).

“Saiki got a short one. Arisu, you’re next,” said Toritsuka. Makino pulled out a stick. “You got a medium-length one. Next is (L/N).”

(Y/N) pulled out the other short one and smiled. “It’s you and me, Kusuo.”

“Next is Chiyo,” said Toritsuka. He looked urgently at the middle one, and Chiyo pulled it out.

“I got a long one,” said Yumehara, smiling.

“My turn,” said Toritsuka. He knew which one to choose to get to walk with Makino and eagerly pulled it out. His eyes widened. It was another long one. “Wha—” Toritsuka looked at Saiki.

“You were getting on my nerves, so I switched them,” said Saiki directly to Toritsuka’s mind.

“That was you, wasn’t it?” said (Y/N).

“I think he deserved it,” said Saiki.

(Y/N) chuckled, and Saiki found any flitting bit of remorse or pity he had go out the window at the lovely sound of their laugh.

“Alright, Chiyo and I will go in first…” said Toritsuka, depressed.

“Yeah…” Chiyo was equally gloomy.

Makino began to chant for their safety while they walked into the woods, and Kaidou cowered near a tree nervously. (Y/N) and Saiki just watched.

“So, what’s going on?” asked (Y/N).

“They’ve abandoned their crushes and decided to like one another,” said Saiki.

“That’s sudden,” said (Y/N), blinking.

“Is it so easy for people’s feelings to change?” Saiki didn’t think so since his own were so steadily pointed towards (Y/N), never straying. But he was different, and although he didn’t care about what Toritsuka and Yumehara did, he wanted to understand if (Y/N) was also changeable (even if he didn’t know what their feelings towards him were).

“When it’s not a really strong attachment and surface-level, yeah,” said (Y/N). They smiled at him. “But if it’s a deep affection, then no. Real love is constant.”

Love. (Y/N) and Saiki both fell silent as soon as that word settled in the air.

(Y/N) had never said that word or even thought it, but now that it was there, it felt true. It felt right. Their feelings for Saiki were constant and deep. They never faltered, and even through his flaws, they still cared. They accepted Saiki for who he was completely, and they never had their feelings waver. (Y/N) loved Saiki.

Saiki blinked as he thought over the word. He knew what love felt like. He felt it for his mom and dad, for his grandma and grandma, and even, occasionally, for his brother. But that was familial. What (Y/N) spoke of was romantic. And he had to admit, it made sense. It felt…correct. He wanted to be around (Y/N). Their company was calming, never a hassle or a hindrance. He sought them out. He loved every quality they displayed, never ceasing to be amazed by their kindness whether it was aimed at him or others. He was thankful for their patience and understanding when he was rough and cold to others and hid his powers. He never wanted to lose what he had with them. But he also felt that his own feelings wouldn’t be lost. Saiki loved (Y/N).

Pausing outside of (Y/N)’s house, Saiki took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure why, this was just hanging out with (Y/N), he did it all the time. However, this felt…different. He supposed it had to do with his realization—he loved (Y/N). Still, Saiki refused to let the intimidating grandness of that word scare him away from being friends with (Y/N). Besides, he had suffered his entire summer with idiots, he wanted to enjoy himself with (Y/N).

He rang the doorbell, and a few moments later, (Y/N) opened the door. They wore a pink apron—dusted with flour and sugar from years of baking—and a wide smile.

“Hi, Kusuo! Welcome!” said (Y/N), letting him in. “I’m almost finishing preparing everything, but the movie’s set up if you want to wait on the couch.”

Saiki nodded and held up the cardboard in his hand. “I brought chocolate-covered strawberries.”

(Y/N)’s face lit up. “I love strawberries! Thanks, Kusuo.” They laughed and closed the door as they walked farther in. “But I am surprised you didn’t buy coffee jelly.”

“I know you like strawberries,” said Saiki. He’d chosen it for them.

“It’s sweet of you to think of me,” said (Y/N), ducking their head and turning away so Saiki wouldn’t see their blush. “And if you had gotten coffee jelly—” they turned back around with a tray in their hands “—we would’ve had too much.”

Saiki stared with joy in his eyes at the tray of coffee jelly, and (Y/N) laughed at his excitement. “We both thought of each other,” they said, putting the tray down on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“We did,” said Saiki, simultaneously honored by the care with which (Y/N) had put together the coffee jelly and ashamed he hadn’t put more work into his gift for (Y/N).

But then they sat down, apron off, eagerly opened the box of strawberries, and bit into one. Humming in delight, (Y/N) smiled with sparkles around them. All of Saiki’s doubts went out the window. He had made them happy. That was what mattered. (But he wanted to do better, make them happier, acknowledge he cared for them).

“Delicious,” said (Y/N), grinning.

Saiki could only stare at their smile before nodding and taking a bite of their coffee jelly. His slight smile as he ate it was all the compliment to their talents (Y/N) needed.

“Do you want to start the movie?” asked (Y/N).

Saiki nodded.

“Get ready, this is important education for you,” said (Y/N), settling back in their seat beside Saiki and pressing play on Pride and Prejudice. “And if you like this, we’re watching the BBC series.” They smiled at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll bribe you with more sweets.” (Y/N) just wanted to spend time with Saiki, peaceful and quiet. Domestic. Loving.

Saiki didn’t say it out loud, but he had to admit that he didn’t need sweets to keep him around (Y/N). His love was that deep.

“I love that movie,” sighed (Y/N) as the film ended. They popped the last strawberry into their mouth. “What did you think?”

“It was nice,” said Saiki. Since he couldn’t read (Y/N)’s mind, he hadn’t gotten spoiled. “I liked Lizzie and Mr. Darcy. They made a good couple.” Much less silly than my parents for sure.

(Y/N) grinned. “That’s what I think! What was your favorite part?’

Saiki paused and considered. “I liked when Lizzie spoke to Wickham after finding out the truth. She was clever and made her point.”

“I thought you’d like her wit since you’re so sarcastic,” chuckled (Y/N).

“What did you like?” asked Saiki.

“I like the whole thing, but my favorite part is that they change for the better.” They beamed. “Lizzie and Darcy acknowledge their faults and become better people. I think that’s great and super healthy. I try to do that as much as possible, too.”

“You are a good person,” said Saiki, completely honest. “You’re nicer than me and everyone else.”

“That’s sweet, Kusuo, but that doesn’t mean I can’t improve. Everyone has flaws, but that’s okay. We’re supposed to grow,” said (Y/N), smiling.

“…What a nice notion,” said Saiki, mulling the idea over. Changing for the better, growing as a person… “How do you do that?”

(Y/N) patted his shoulder. “You don’t need to worry. For all your grumpiness, you’re a really good person. You help out your friends, keep them in line when they’re about to do something stupid, and are always looking out for others even when you claim they’re just annoyances.”

“They are,” said Saiki.

“Sure, but you could be way meaner. But you choose not to be,” said (Y/N). “Because you’re a good person.” They laughed. “And I know that for a fact because I wouldn’t hang out with anyone who was mean to others.”

Saiki’s gaze softened as he looked at them. They thought so highly of him…His heart warmed at the care and affection in their voice. Saiki reached up and touched the hand on his shoulder.

(Y/N) looked at him and blinked. Their laughter died away as they saw the look in his eyes they couldn’t quite read. “Kusuo?”

“You’re too kind to me. I don’t tell you that I’m glad to have you as my friend, I barely do anything for you, but you’re still kind. To me. To everyone. I think that makes you the best person I know,” said Saiki.

Shocked and flustered by the speech, (Y/N) turned pink. “I—uh—wow.” They looked at him a little shyly. “Thank you. But really, Kusuo, you don’t need to say all that. I know you’re my friend, and I know you like being my friend, too. I don’t doubt that. You don’t need to force yourself to be so vocal if that’s not your way of showing your friendship.” They leaned into his touch slightly, their fingers twining with his.

“I’m speaking because it’s true,” said Saiki. “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t.” His hand settled around theirs and lifted it. He held it, not letting go, and looked at them. “You’re…You’re someone I care about. Someone that makes my days better. I don’t show it as much as you deserve, but—"

Beep! Beep!

The alarm of the oven went off, and (Y/N) and Saiki jolted apart in shock. Their hands fell apart.

“Oh, crap, the cookies I put in!” cried (Y/N), jumping up and running over before smoke tried to escape and set off the fire alarm.

Saiki stared at the hand that had been holding theirs and then looked back up at them. Something had almost happened. Something was about to be said. They had gotten so close to something changing between them.

And sweets, of all things, had betrayed Saiki.

Taglist:

@elaemae

@painstakingly-juno

@characterreaderwriter

@melovepurple

@sleep-7372

@w0mank1sser

@geminigengar

@noodleryworld

@leonardo-dabitchy

@janezee12751275

@xenop0p

@ex160-blog1

@boogiemansbitch

@dmitrytherat

@yuriisclumsy

@sixxze

@constellationguy

@k03ume

@sweatyinternettrash

@paastaboi

@unorthodox-gob

@girlswhopanic

@h-i-g-h-w-a-y-t-o-h-e-l-l-l

@drowningfishy

@rinwho

@izzieg3987

@candylp

@jmclouds

@ittomain1

@justamina-blog

@newtscreatures347269

@digital-dumbass

@chronovala

@yappydoo

#a not so disastrous romance #x reader #gn reader #nb reader #x gn reader #x nb reader #the disaster of psi kusuo saiki #saiki kusou no psi nan #saiki x reader #saiki k #kusuo saiki #saiki #saiki kusuo #saiki no psi nan #saiki kusuo x reader #kusuo x reader #the disastrous life of saiki k #the disastrous life of saiki k.#tdlosk

53 notes · View notes

quinnyundertow · 3 days

Note

Your writing has made me absolutely fall head over heels in love with Yuta! You write him so well that I look at him in a completely different light now in the manga/anime. Also, I'm very excited for the Toji sequences upcoming in WICYG! xoxo

This made me so damn happy you have no idea! I adore him to know it made you love him more just- BE STILL MY HEART!

I’ve always wanted to write out my Yuta!head-canons and this made me go all in hahaha (Sorry bestie but I hope you enjoy them)

If you forced me to pick a fav from JJK it would 100000% be Yuta. He’s so complex and yet simple as a character. He experienced so much abuse/neglect (from parents, classmates, teachers, even Rika) as a young child due to seeing/having Rika in a non sorcerer environment. Gege said Yuta doesn’t have a close relationship with his parents but is close with a little sister. That’s so easy for me to imagine.

Yuta! Head-canon: His parents are both working full time when the tragedy with Rika happens. They feel so guilty but relieved that their son survived. As time goes on however Yuta won’t stop crying at night about this monster version of his dead best friend haunting him. At first they would pour everything into trying to get him medical help but as the years go by and psychiatrists say he’s seeking attention the care turns to frustration. Probably culminating in a, “Get over it! I don’t want to hear about her ever again!” Type of argument.

Yuta!Head-canon: His little sister would have been a safe person to him. Maybe five years younger than him so they really never talked about that girl Rika who “moved away” when they were little. Rika wouldn’t feel as threatened as she’s his sister and a younger child so I could see her allowing him to form a relationship with him. At least at first. Deep down Rika is kind but she’s still a curse jealousy would crop up or a normal sibling fight could have ended with Rika hurting his little sister only for Yuta to further isolate.

Yuta!head-canon: He is hyper aware of others emotions and if there are changes to someone’s regular personality. He remembers tiny details of everything because that’s how he had to survive growing up. He had to monitor Rika constantly for little changes that could indicate she may explode or cause issues. This aspect also causes him to empathize deeply even with those who may not deserve it. He doesn’t want Rika to kill his bullies because he’s seen the kid menacing him is getting bullied by upperclassmen and understands what that means. That said if they fuck with someone he cares about all that empathy goes out the window and he’s going to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

Yuta!Head-canon: Yuta has a circle of people very close to him and once you’re in that circle he is a true ride or die. Ask him for anything and trust that shit is getting done no matter how sketchy it sounds. He is the true definition of unconditional love (We all saw how Rika got and he still deeply loved her. ) and would support and trust you totally once you have proved worthy of it by actions.

Yuta!Headcanon: He is quick to fall in love and quick to let them go. If you give him even the littlest bit of praise or extra attention he’s going to get a crush on you. He can’t help it. He’s always held everyone so far away from him so any sort of domestic or doting affection would make him melt. That said he has always had to create firm boundaries around himself and others to protect people so if you told him you’re not interested or not to text you he would abide by that completely.

Yuta!headcanon his personality is that of self sacrifice. He could never be a yandere. He understands and thinks that your life would be better without him in it. How could he try and force someone to be with him? He accidentally did that to Rika and it plagued his mind constantly and was willing to die to let her rest in peace.

I had so much fun writing these out and sorry I hijacked your post!!! I’m so happy you enjoy the story and Toji’s entry should be fun!!!! Thank you for the ask love!!!

#Yuta!headcanon #okkotsu yuta #yuta okkotsu #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta headcanons #Yuta in a relationship #Quinny speaks #quinnyspeaks

53 notes · View notes

gracie-rosee · 2 days

Text

Early morning 5AM thoughts and (a LOT of) questions about Azriel’s powers. Longer post, I’m just having fun with theories.

First of all, I was inspired by @violetasteracademic and @nikachansstuff. Not by any particular post, but because they are just so cool and have very smart thoughts that got the gears turning in my head.

So I often wonder about Azriel’s shadows. We learn that his powers started to show when he was locked up by his father as a child. But did they come to him, or are they a real part of him that he was born with?

It’s just something that I’ve never been able to fully wrap my mind around. If he was born with this immense power—enough for seven siphons—why did they suddenly show up after what, 11 years?

The thing is, the power he was born with, the one that requires seven siphons, that’s the Illyrian power he got from his father. Right? That power requires seven siphons. So… his shadows have to be separate, and had to have come to him afterwards. (For now I won’t be talking about the possibility that he inherited shadowsinging powers from some long ago ancestor. This post will not be going in that direction, and instead focuses more on the powers themselves.)

So it begs the question(s) then: if they came to him, are they like, their own entity? Or are they literally just shadows and nothing more? Though the idea that they CAME to him implies that they are more than just shadow. Do they speak to him? If they came to him, could they potentially leave? Does Azriel even control them at all or do they just like… work alongside him? Do they have… thoughts? Do they have a personality? Why did they choose him?

But there’s also the elephant in the room: Elain.

Did she wield his shadows? Did Azriel send them to her? Or did the shadows find her and help her on their own?? SJM told us Elain stepped out of a shadow, when winnowing is described as a literal blink to/from a place. So she 100% came from his shadows. (Side note: this whole stepping out of shadows, and not to mention her being the only one to use TT thing, just solidifies that Elain is, and always will be intertwined with Azriel, regardless of who they end up with.)

So either 1. Elain can wield them, 2. Azriel sent them to teleport her, or 3. His shadows left him and sought Elain out, meaning she would also have to communicate with them so she knows where they’re going.

But ALSO!!!!! OF ALL PEOPLE WHY ELAIN? IF HIS SHADOWS LEFT HIM OR AZ SENT THEM TO FIND SOMEONE TO GO UP TO HYBERN AND KILL HIM? WHY ELAIN?????!!!!!!! WHY NOT AN ACTUAL SOLDIER??!

Okay but I NEEEEED an Elain POV of this more than anything. More than I want the next book. I need to know how it went down, because it would answer a lot of questions I have.

Here’s how I’ve envisioned it happening:

Option 1: Elain anxiously pacing with Truth Teller when suddenly a familiar shadow flies toward her, tells her that her sisters are in danger and whisks her away to help after she doesn’t even hesitate.

Option 2: Elain receiving a vision of Nesta and Cassian dying, then calling out to Azriel’s shadows to take her to them.

Option 3: Azriel seeing Nesta and Cassian dying, so he sends his shadows to fetch Elain so she can help.

I find option 3 VERY hard to believe, because why on earth would Azriel send Elain, with no combat experience whatsoever, to walk right into the middle of a literal killing field. He would never voluntarily put her in that danger. So it had to have been a variation of options 1 or 2. Meaning Elain and the shadows communicated in some way.

His shadows sought her out on their own. To which I ask, WHY?!

Or Elain sought the shadows out herself, to which I ask HOW?!

I’m so mad everyone just glosses over this. Do you know how many fucking times the death of Hybern was brought up? Like every damn chapter. And yet no one talks about Elain and how she suddenly wielded shadows.

Like hello? How did Nesta not even question it at all? I guess maybe she didn’t see how Elain arrived in shadows, but she still didn’t question how she arrived period. Nor did Feyre. Feyre who was narrating. And I’m assuming she showed Rhys as well as everyone else how the Hybern died afterwards. And yet. No. One. Freaking. Cared. HELOOOO??!!! I smell an intentional diversion.

Ugh. So many thoughts. So many questions. I have more questions that I’d like to pose to anyone reading this far about Azriel’s shadows themselves, but this is pretty long already. If anyone wants to know my thoughts on shadowsingers and shadow magic itself, let me know.

#I have so many thoughts all the time #acotar #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #elain archeron #kinda an elriel post but not really but also really because canon points at elriel and I’m only talking ab canon here #acotar thoughts #acotar thought exercise

51 notes · View notes

vixstarria · 1 day

Text

Bloodbang Chronicles - Chapter 4

Series summary:

Five years have passed since the confrontation with the Netherbrain. Astarion and his warlock lover, Asmodea, are living it up in Baldur’s Gate, running a cabaret. Their life of decadence and debauchery seems idyllic, until Asmodea’s patron disrupts it with a proposal. One that seems too good to be true. One they cannot refuse.

Series masterlist | AO3 | Overall masterlist

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character

Genre: Humor / adventure / smut (not all in this chapter), with all the usual Astarion-related elements along the way, without getting too heavy

Rating: Explicit

Chapter word count: 4,100

Chapter summary: How in the hells are they managing to run a theatre, anyway? Also, we slowly begin the descent into smut.

Sometime in the past five years

“It’s perfect!” Asmodea burst into the bedroom above their tavern.

Astarion had been lying, corpse-like, in bed in the darkness of drawn curtains and shuttered windows, staring off into space, as he was wont to do of late.

He knew he could have gone downstairs - everything was arranged in a way that made it perfectly safe for him during daytime, but he simply could not bring himself to play the amiable host role just then. It wasn’t necessary, anyway - someone else was down there looking after things. He wasn’t necessary.

“It’s in a heavily impacted area and most of the buildings around it are damaged - must be why no one has snatched it up yet - but it’s completely intact.”

Her arrival was a sudden explosion of noise and activity, drawing him out of his lethargy. Candles throughout the room lit up with a flick of her wrist and a murmured incantation. He sat up as she continued.

“A little bird told me that the area around it is going to be cleared for other entertainment venues. Restaurants, taverns. A brothel or two. Just what we want nearby. No temples. No solitary manors.”

She threw her jacket onto a nearby chair, kicked her shoes off and hopped onto the bed next to him.

“I can’t wait to show you - we can sneak back in once it gets dark.”

“As much as I enjoy skulking around abandoned buildings with you, I’m starting to feel like I’m a pet you take out for walks,” said Astarion, his tone sour.

“You’re not-” Asmodea began with a sigh.

“Shh, I’ve already heard everything you’re about to say,” Astarion cut her off, shaking his head. “Just tell me about this new place you’ve found.”

Asmodea gave him a concerned look, but continued.

“What the seller’s asking for is already reasonable, but I’m sure I can get them to knock it down further. It’s huge, more than what we need - but that’s hardly a problem. We can tear down some walls, erect others…” She went on, describing the building she’d located as a potential site for the theatre she wanted to open.

The expression on Astarion’s face thawed at her excitement, before growing sombre again.

“I suppose you have an answer for how we are going to pay for all that as well..?”

“We’ll get a loan,” she answered, with the intonation of one explaining something to a child.

“And what bank is going to give us a loan big enough to cover all that..?” he asked, copying her tone.

“Any bank, with Duke Ravengard as the guarantor,” she answered.

“Is His Grace aware of his role in this enterprise..?” Astarion asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We’ll have dinner with him later this tenday and inform him,” she said, leaning in to give him a peck on the lips before getting up again.

“You’re so sure of all this..?” Astarion sighed, laying back on the bed with his hands under his head, to look up at the ceiling.

“You know Wyll’s got a soft spot for us,” she said.

“A hard spot, you mean,” Astarion snickered despite himself.

“Probably best not to bring that up over dinner,” Asmodea cautioned. “We’ll promise to donate part of our proceeds to an orphanage or a hospital or some other cause he’d approve - he won’t say no.”

“If you say so,” he assented. “Have you made any other devious plans I ought to be aware of..?”

“Well…” she drawled, “there is one more thing.” She disappeared in the adjacent room. It sounded like she was rummaging for something - for what, he had no clue. “I need your name,” she called out, offhandedly.

Astarion gave pause, frowning.

“My name is Astarion.”

“I need your surname,” she said, appearing in the doorway.

“What’s wrong with yours?” he asked, genuinely dumbfounded.

“I can’t. Use it. Due to my pact,” she gritted through her teeth. “You know this. And buying that building and all the construction work required would be a big undertaking - much bigger than just unofficially renting some dingy tavern space - and I can’t sign legal documents as simply ‘Asmodea’.”

“So why would your dear patron allow you to use mine, if it prohibits your own..?” he blinked.

“Fuckface said that marriage would fall under exceptional circumstances, and they would allow it,” she said.

“Mar-!?” he cut himself off mid-word. “Now… Hold on. Wait a minute,” Astarion started to grin. “Let me get this straight.” He sat up again, looking at her. She had coloured, he noticed. “Although I applaud you for your guile, using your patron as a means of trapping me into marriage… Did you just propose to me..?”

“I would never!” She disappeared back in the other room, making a ruckus with gods know what again. “You can do that yourself. Like a gentleman.”

“What?!” Astarion let out an involuntary giggle.

“And make it romantic!” she shouted. “I’m thinking midnight, someplace nice outside. Moonlight reflecting on water, that kind of thing. Maybe swans. I like swans.”

“Swans?! Is there anything else I should arrange - perhaps some jugglers and mimes..?” he tittered.

“Absolutely not! But a nice ring would be in order. One that no lady is going to grab my hand for, saying she’s recently had one gone missing that looked just like it.” Asmodea reappeared in the doorway. “And make it all a surprise, will you? I don’t want to see it from a league away.” She continued as Astarion got up and off the bed, making monumental efforts to keep his face straight. “If you manage all that within the next few days Wyll might even be compelled to provide us with a nice engagement gift when we see him.”

She made to disappear again, but Astarion reached out and grabbed her, drawing her against him by her waist before she could get away.

“Will you stay still for two seconds..?” He gently tilted her face up to make her look him in the eyes. “You sweet, ridiculous fool… So that’s what you want, is it..?” he murmured, tenderly stroking her face.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He kissed her, unable to contain a smile. His teeth clacked against hers mid-kiss, clumsily, as she also couldn’t keep from spilling into a wide grin. They both dissolved into giddy laughter as he pulled her after him, stumbling backwards to the bed.

Present day

Asmodea made her way to one of the stairwells leading down into the theatre.

The entire top floor of the building consisted of private apartments. A large section was used by her and Astarion, their rooms being connected to a private terrace. The rest were offered to visiting artists and other guests. It was much easier to secure an act whilst an entertainer was in the city, if your offer included lodgings.

A downside to this was that there was always a high likelihood of bumping into someone within what they considered to be their home. There was always someone around, whether in the guest rooms upstairs, in the theatre or in the kitchens, no matter the time of day or night. The Dancing Siren never slept.

After descending, she passed by the dressing room, pausing to greet the performers who had begun arriving.

Asmodea usually carried out her own preparations upstairs, but Astarion had an honorary vanity at the far end of the room. Lacking a mirror, instead it sported a multitude of drawings pinned to the wall, ranging from an impressive charcoal portrait of Astarion - its depiction of his semi-profile uncanny in its realism - to a doodle of a stick figure with fluffy white hair, fangs and red eyes.

She moved on towards the auditorium.

The audience section of the theatre was filled with plush, red velvet couches arranged in clusters around small tables, in tiers. Raunchy art lined the walls. The lighting in this area was perpetually dimmed. It was vulgar and decadent, but intentionally, even brazenly so. There was no room for subtle, alluring sensuality - the raucous bawdiness slapped the attendees in their faces. Their guests immediately knew what they were stepping into.

Astarion had been sceptical about this venture at first, having about as much enthusiasm about taking part in anything as he did back when Asmodea unwittingly forced him onstage with Dribbles the Clown’s doppelganger.

He did not have a single creative bone in his body, he said. He had no idea what he was doing. And, above all, he had had enough of being on display - he did not want or need any more eyes on him.

Blatant lies, all of it, it turned out.

It took some time for him to let go of his apprehension and inhibitions, but he eventually found himself diving headfirst into this new endeavour. Apparently attention was addicting when it was on his own terms, as was receiving genuine appreciation for his craft. Swaying an audience to laugh with him was gratifying and empowering. …As was having the authority to direct others and actually having them listen. Having recognition and respect.

Seeing him thrive was a joy - Asmodea only wished that most of the day to day minutiae of running the Siren hadn’t fallen on her shoulders, especially at the beginning. She’d spent her days organising advertisements, luring in performers, or crunching numbers with their accountant until she dreamt of requisitions, whilst Astarion spent his time planning choreography or getting costumes just right. Oh well, she thought. They had hired help for most of the mundane details now.

Asmodea found Astarion lounging on one of the couches, in the company of their stage manager and assistant director.

A rendition of a classical play was being portrayed on stage. Unrequited love between a maiden and her pining lover, cruel fate disallowing them from being together; the story concluded with a tragic suicide pact that somehow culminated in half a dozen dead bodies - everyone in Faerun was familiar with and sick of the story - that didn’t matter, as it wasn’t the focal point of the performance.

Instead, everyone’s attention was intended to be drawn to the shadows projected onto a screen behind the actors. As the actors performed their sorrowful dialogue, their shadows - in reality silhouettes of other actors behind the screen - displayed them doing anything but talking.

“How did you get the shadows to be so sharp?” Asmodea asked, impressed.

“Matrim devised some trick with mirrors,” Astarion answered.

Matrim was, quite possibly, the worst wizard they had ever met. The man was hopeless in everything but illusion magic, which incidentally made him highly sought after for high end spectacles and performances. He provided lighting and visual effects for the theatre, and in turn he was provided with a living and working space in the Siren’s basement, on top of his wages. His lack of proficiency in other schools of magic did not prevent him from stubbornly pursuing them, often with near-catastrophic results. Still, between spending much of his time in the company of scantily clad dancers, and Asmodea and Astarion ignoring the occasional explosions that shook the building, he was likely the most self-satisfied wizard in Baldur’s Gate, despite his professional shortcomings.

As it happened, it was Matrim who managed to conjure a perfect mirror image of Astarion (much to Astarion’s shock), absentmindedly, almost as an afterthought, just as Gale was informing Astarion that he had exhausted all avenues and deemed it impossible.

Gale politely commended the achievement which had eluded him, but ultimately dismissed Matrim as a one trick pony. Regardless, as far as Asmodea and Astarion were concerned, the man was worth his (rather abundant) weight in gold.

As the actor portraying the male hero onstage performed a heartfelt monologue, professing his undying love for the heroine, his shadow was shown to grow an enormous but otherwise anatomically correct phallus.

Asmodea’s patron hummed in approval.

“If Fuckface’s reaction is any indicator for how our audience will respond - this is great,” said Asmodea.

“It still baffles me, some of the things it finds to be funny,” Astarion murmured.

“I’m still under the impression that the concept of gender is alien to them, but they can appreciate a dick joke as well as anyone.”

Fuckface made no comment.

As the scene went on, the shadows began ravaging one another in progressively creative and obscene ways, performing acrobatic feats of increasing complexity.

“It’s good! And now no one will be able to say we don’t pay tribute to the ‘great works’,” Asmodea went on as the female’s shadow was picked up and flipped upside down by the male. “The only thing that concerns me is- OH! By Shar’s tits!” Asmodea gasped as the female suddenly opened and held her legs in a perfect spread eagle split, her crotch level with the man’s head.

“Indeed…” murmured Astarion. “Can you do that?” He glanced at her with curiosity.

“If I ever feel like dislocating a hip I’ll give it a try,” she muttered. “Who’s behind there?”

“The new girl,” Astarion answered. “Elora.”

“Hmm. I hope she sticks around. …Anyway, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but this might actually be too crass,” winced Asmodea. “Aren’t they teenagers in the original work?”

“We could give them both beards,” offered Astarion. “Or add a line at the beginning about them struggling to pay their taxes - it will make their state of distress all the more plausible.”

Astarion stood idly swirling a glass of red wine spiked with blood, observing the crowd from behind a curtain off the side of the stage, concealed by darkness. He had been very pleased to learn that drinking wine this way was still enjoyable for him, even without the tadpole.

“See anything you like at the buffet tonight?” Asmodea purred in Astarion’s ear, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.

He wore a corset beneath a bedazzled suit jacket, together with an obscene amount of jewellery. He preferred to keep his scarred back concealed, when he could. And apparently it was a pants day. Some nights he felt more conservative than others.

He made or altered everything he wore himself, just as he did many of the more outlandish costumes worn by their performers.

Asmodea herself wore her usual rendition of the evening attire she kept to when she wasn’t appearing onstage - a relatively simple red dress tailored to her figure, complete with a high thigh slit. A balance of sophistication and practicality - she made it a life principle to never wear anything that might be too constraining for her to be able to deliver a swift kick to anyone’s groin, should the need arise - all whilst keeping with the theme of the Siren.

“There are a few tempting options…” Astarion responded. “But why don’t you choose tonight?”

“What about the new bard? Devyn. He’s not performing tonight, just watching.”

“You always go for the men,” commented Astarion. “Should I be worried?” he teased.

“They’re more likely to follow through, and less prone to suddenly catching feelings and expectations in the morning,” shrugged Asmodea. “And I like watching you make them squirm,” she whispered in his ear, as he smirked. “But if you’re not up for that, what about that new dancer? Elora?”

“I thought we decided to avoid regular employees after the last fiasco?” Astarion lifted an eyebrow, glancing back at her.

“I’ve noticed she’s been making doe eyes at both of us - I think the other girls have been gossiping to her. Wouldn’t want her to feel left out.”

“Hmm,” hummed Astarion. “Maybe next time. The bard does look appetising.” He downed what was left of his wine. “I’m up.”

The way it started was unintentional. A wood elf ranger visiting their tavern, years back. Warm, guileless, companionable. Perhaps he reminded them of a younger, unburdened Halsin. They were drawn into a conversation with him late into the night. He had recognised Astarion for what he was, and was not frightened by it. Rather, he was curious. Unlike the blood merchant at Moonrise, there was something genuine and almost naive about his curiosity. He wanted to experience being bitten.

They’d explained to him the way it would affect him – the aphrodisiac-like element of being bit by a vampire. It only further sparked his curiosity. Of course that thought wouldn’t deter a wood elf, Astarion would roll his eyes later. They explained the way it would most likely affect Astarion, for that matter – thinking creature blood still tended to go straight to his dick, no matter the source. ‘You can’t argue with your nature’, was all the ranger said. ‘No, but sometimes nature needs to be ignored, replied Astarion.

He brought the ranger’s wrist to his lips, holding his gaze, and bit into it. It was meant to be an arrogant, snarky gesture. An “I told you so. Happy now?”. Instead, the moment the blood hit his tongue, something passed between them. Astarion found his eyes locked with the other elf’s, unable to look away and break the unspoken sultry exchange. No, this could not so easily be ignored.

An indeterminate amount of time passed. It couldn’t have been long, but each moment seemed to hold the significance of a lifetime. ‘Shit,’ thought Astarion, breaking away at last and glancing back at Asmodea, hoping she would write off any change she might have noticed in his demeanour as irrelevant and beyond his control.

Instead, she palmed his cock through his trousers, encouragingly, spellbound by the sight of them. He rutted against her hand, involuntarily. No, it could not be ignored at all.

‘Do you want to continue this upstairs?’ the wood elf breathed, shakily, taking in both of them.

They did.

Words of re-affirmation would follow between Astarion and Asmodea the next day. Was what had occurred fine? Yes, it was. Should it happen again? They didn’t see why not. Ground rules would be set out. Only together. Only with each other’s unwavering consent. Any hesitation meant no. Astarion would drink from their ‘guest’. If they did not want him to – they would not bother at all. Procuring sufficient blood for him to be able to dull the eternal gnawing hunger was still problematic back then. After, it had simply become part of the custom.

The new bard lounged between them in their booth, happily chattering away about his recent travels. He wasn’t scheduled to perform until the following evening, and was spending the night enjoying the evening’s show, at the invitation of his hosts.

Asmodea laughed and talked with the bard, as Astarion mostly kept his eye on the stage, interjecting at appropriate moments. This didn’t require his full attention.

The young man seemed fine. Jovial. Unpretentious. Slightly awkward. Suggestible. Undeniably attractive. He was tipsy, but not sloppily so. In other words, perfect.

Astarion shifted his attention to Asmodea, catching her eye over the bard’s head, as he babbled something about his recent time in Waterdeep. Asmodea held his eye, as he raised an eyebrow at her. She tilted her head slightly and smiled. He had her approval.

The rest was a game consisting of a multitude of little probes, trials and tests, one of several they’d worked out for themselves.

‘Doesn’t this remind you of… ‘before’,’ she’d asked him when they first started getting into this routine.

Of course it did. That was the point. Finding his own ‘prey’ for himself, by his own volition, without pressure, without anyone’s death, without pain or fear of punishment, knowing he could stop any time he wanted, and all of it with her every step of the way. It wouldn’t erase centuries of horrible memories, but having sufficient pleasant experiences might just throw a veil over them, eventually, or so he hoped.

Asmodea reached for a bottle of wine on their table, placing her hand on Devyn’s thigh, as though for balance, and kept it there.

The bard stammered mid-sentence and looked up at her, surprised but clearly pleasantly so. The hand stayed, as she smiled back at him, gazing at him through lidded eyes. He was attracted to her - that much was obvious. One of the little boxes ticked. He went on talking, until he suddenly froze, a touch of panic writ on his face, and turned towards Astarion - as though suddenly remembering that his hosts were a couple.

At that point Astarion had half turned towards him, his arm thrown over the back of the booth’s seat, above Devyn’s shoulders.

Devyn found Astarion’s carmine eyes inches from his own, when he turned. All he could do was look into them, hypnotised like a mouse before a cobra.

Astarion ran a single finger up the back of Devyn’s neck, making the bard’s breath hitch and the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end. He briefly toyed with the idea of further petrifying him, perhaps by insinuating that the bard had the audacity to flirt with his wife in his plain sight, but decided against it.

At that point Asmodea had inched her hand further up the young man’s thigh. He let her, and had even spread his legs further, all while continuing to look at Astarion with a mixture of trepidation and a growing excitement. Bold. Promising.

Astarion learned further in, slowly, to gage Devyn’s reaction. The bard stayed entranced and did not shrink away, although Astarion heard his pulse quicken.

It was all as good as sealed.

Astarion finally leaned in for a kiss, which Devyn returned eagerly. The little tease actually got cocksure enough to cover Asmodea’s hand with his own, encouraging her to go higher along his leg.

This left just one little detail.

Astarion slid his lips along the bard’s jaw and up to his ear.

“Do you know what I am..?” he whispered against the shell of his ear.

Devyn let out a shaky breath.

“I’ve heard many rumours… I don’t know which might be true,” he managed, voice thick with desire.

“Many rumours..?” Astarion smiled. “Seems I’m gaining notoriety. But I’ll give you a hint.”

His lips dipped lower, trailing along his neck, nibbling on it softly as Devyn gasped and threw his head back, to give him just the slightest nick with a single fang. He drew only the tiniest drop of blood - only enough to make Devyn crave more, and just enough for Astarion to determine that the blood was appropriate and untainted. He had learned to identify disease - he’s had plenty of test subjects over the past few years after all. Not to the point of determining what was wrong with his target, but enough to be able to tell when to stay away.

Devyn let out a low moan as Astarion continued to lick and lightly suck on his neck, no longer breaking the skin.

Astarion reached out to place his hand on Asmodea’s knee. She covered his hand with hers. They had developed little silent, basic tactile signals for each other. Sharp staccato taps - caution. Intertwined fingers - stay, more. Nails digging into skin - stop immediately. But she only caresses his hand back, reassuring and encouraging him. Everything was fine. She would take it from there.

“Would you like to join us after the show..?” she purred into Devyn’s opposite ear.

“I’ve never done this before,” he stuttered.

“What?!” she teased. “And you say you completed bardic college - I thought lewd indecency was a prerequisite for graduating.”

“No, I mean with-” his eyes darted between Asmodea and Astarion.

Astarion never learned whether he meant vampires, men, women or a combination thereof, as at that point he had to excuse himself and get back onstage. He got up with the strongest feeling of deja vu taking him back to their time with Wyll.

He left as Asmodea was cooing at the flustered bard, promising to teach him whatever skills he was lacking. She found this type particularly entertaining, for whatever reason. It didn’t matter: if she was happy, he was happy.

His new little snack and entertainment for the night was secured, and would eagerly await him.

Asmodea was interrupted by Ban, one of the bouncers, who looked uncharacteristically apprehensive.

“Madam, there is a man at the door asking to see you or the Master. He said he’s a friend of yours.”

“Did he give his name?” Asmodea asked distractedly.

“He refused to, but he is very persistent about seeing you.”

“Can you describe him?” Asmodea frowned.

“Human male, somewhere in his 30’s. Long brown hair. Not your archmage friend. And he has a small child with him.”

Asmodea racked her brain trying to remember anyone they knew that fit that description, who happened to have a child and might act this way. She shook her head.

“Ask him to come in, I’ll attend to him soon.”

Ban leaned in closer to whisper to her.

“He said he won’t enter without the express permission from the lord or lady of the house.”

Fuck.

Asmodea got up, smiling apologetically at Devyn.

“Another time.” She turned back to Ban. “Thank you. I’ll get Astarion myself and will see him.”

~~~~~

Thank you for reading. PS. If you’re wondering whether anything mentioned about the theatre or play is a reference to something that exists irl - the answer is most likely ‘yes’.

Thank you @elora-the-slutty-songstress and @brabblesblog for the OC cameos. 😁

Tags:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tragedybunny @spunky-89

@lariatbunny @whiskeyskin @asterordinary @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @spacebarbarianweird

@brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @ayselluna

@mj-bites @bardic-inspo

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #astarion x asmodea #astarion x oc #astarion x female tav #bloodbang chronicles #asmodea

38 notes · View notes

battlemaiden13 · 3 days

Note

Since HND part two have been going on for a little while now. I am curious on the HND skeletons relationship wise with reader as it's been a little while since it was last asked about. The latest update to this being at chapter 135. How do they feel about the MC romantically and such up to the most recent chapter 171?

HND Feelings chapter 172 since I just posted that one XD

Sans -His crush is still going strong but he also still has no idea what he should be doing about it. He’s not great when it comes to these sorts of feelings and they always leave him feeling sick with nerves. When you came back into the skeletons' lives he realized just how strong his feelings were and seeing Papyrus also be in love with you was killing him, that was until the two of them talked. He still feels horrible about ruining your date by confessing to his brother but he doesn’t want to push down his feelings for you anymore either.

Papyrus -So his brother threw a bit of a wrench in the works and being apart from you for so long made him feel odd about just asking you out right away as more than a friend but he still plans to. He still needs to find the perfect moment though and he now wants to make sure he doesn’t hurt his brother's feelings in the process. It’s a very complicated thing but he is working up a plan.

Red -So he doesn’t think you hate him anymore but he is still convinced that he's not good enough for you. He ended his casual thing with Casey over guilt and he couldn’t bang someone else knowing the love of his life is right there. He’d seriously do anything for you but has convinced himself that you would never like him as anything more than a friend.

Edge -He actually feels much better about himself and feels ready to ask you out, if only he could find the words and a way to do it without dusting his brother by accident (From breaking Red’s heart accidentally). Seeing you again and you being so excited about him made him feel like all of his hard work payed off. He’s still unsure about whether or not he could actually protect you but he wants to be with you. You just make him feel safe and seen.

Blue -He’s working on it. Honestly the Interview boosted his ego on this a lot. If people thought you were dating already perhaps that idea could begin to sprout in your head. He already knows you're attracted to him but he doesn’t want just attraction. He wants love. So he’s being patient and building that up first.

Orange -Has it bad. He gets so jealous over every interaction you have with the others it’s driving him insane but he feels like you wouldn’t date him if he asked. He feels as if he has been nothing but bad luck to you and that he always ruins or makes things worse. This of course won’t stop him from getting jealous when you flirt or mention being interested in someone else. Like Kal. He hates Kal for no other reason than he thinks you were going to sleep with him

Berry -Still in love with you and very much working up the nerve to kiss you and propose a poly relationship where he can share you with his brother. He has been working a lot since you came back into the skeletons' lives so he’s missed seeing you but his feelings for you haven’t changed in the slightest.

Syrup - If he hadn't of made that deal with his brother he would have asked you out the moment that you admitted that you loved him. He still can’t think straight whenever your around and knows he’s going to go back to making an absolute fool of himself if you spend time together. If it wasn’t for Charm telling him he’s an idiot and that he would scare you away he would be in full stalking mode.

Axe -Still doesn’t remember your real name but he knows he likes you. He can’t say how much he likes he just knows it’s strong. He can’t remember the last time he felt so strongly about anyone. He wants to protect you and keep you safe. The others have noticed Axe will often ask about you even if he hasn’t seen you in weeks proving just how much you are on his ever slipping mind

Crooks -He still has a crush on you and still doesn’t have a name for it. If asked he says that he likes you a lot and will gush about you but he believes this is just a strong admiration. He doesn’t understand why he feels bad hearing your hanging out with other people or why when you tell him he’s hot it’s the first time in a long time he actually believes you. Even if he can’t name his feelings as a crush he knows he wants to be around you as much as he can.

Error -Is still trying his hardest not to fall in love with you. And he doesn’t. You're annoying and an earworm. His only saving grace really is that you were hardly around but now your back and he finds himself wanting to see you and also wanting to stay as far away from you at the same time. When he heard about your trip to the hospital it really got to him and now he keeps checking in on you which is just pissing him off. He’s probably going to be annoyed the next time he sees you purely because of the happy feeling that will spread through his chest when he does.

Ink -He still is conflicted about you. He doesn’t feel a rush of love or anything for you but he is still very curious. Surely there is more to you than what you are showing him. More than anything he misses the version of you he knew. He was probably one of the only skeletons unaffected by your absence and sudden return into the skeletons' lives.

Nightmare -Still in love with you and still is trying to not get involved. He doesn’t want you to get hurt, he couldn’t do that again. After checking in on you at the house and seeing your face again it’s all he could think about. He wants to spend more time with you but his scared. What if you aren’t what he thinks? What if you get hurt again? Or what if he loves you more than he did when you were his sacrifice?

Dream -Still likes you and has no idea what to do about it. As such he's in a sort of waiting period where he won’t do anything, not even seek out your company but whenever you are around he gets all giddy and happiness floods over him. He has never actually acted on his own feelings before in the ways of love so he’s not even sure what his supposed to do.

Killer -Fuck he missed you. He didn’t realize how much he missed you until he saw your face, until you snapped him out of spiral with a simple touch and how you had grounded him so easily. Killer also knows as much as you ground him you also make him insane. He wants to be near you but couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt. Whatever he chooses though doesn’t stop the fact that he is very much in love with you.

Daydream -He thought he would be ok. He thought he could just be friends with you but after that kiss the memories of his wife flooded back. He is still madly in love with you but being near you hurts too. He knows he could get you to fall in love with him again but feels greedy for wanting that. He is going to avoid you as much as he can until he can get his thoughts straight.

Mint -Still hates you purely based on the fact that you are a human although there is something itching at him. You don’t disgust him as much as some other humans in fact he finds himself being comfortably numb in your presents. He’s always numb but you seem to make him falter and he’s not sure how to act near you.

Mango -He might have a small crush. He hardly knows it's there though he’s just happy to have another human friend. He’s so excited that you seem to want to talk to him more that he’s going to send you a million messages and then get embarrassed that he sent you that many. His crush will only get bigger the more the two of you talk and the nicer you are to him.

Roulette -He is no longer concerned for your safety, well, he is to a point but he’s no longer concerned about you getting involved in his job. It's obvious you can take care of yourself but he still thinks you should avoid getting dragged into their family business as much as possible. His crush has grown the more he spends time with you and he’d be happy to date you but would actually feel more comfortable if you were dating some others as well. That way there's more people looking out for you and you wouldn’t be lonely when he’s away at work.

Sniper -He’s completely and utterly embarrassed. He now knows he loves you, he wasn’t sure until he tried to apologize to you at dinner again and you shot him down but even though he knows you can take care of yourself now he still doesn’t want you to have to put yourself on the line and if you were dating he knows you’d have a strange obligation to do so. He’s trying to come to terms with the fact that the two of you won’t ever be together but it’s hard to get over someone you are madly in love with.

Colt - Next time he sees you he is going to ask you out. The only thing that will stop him is if any of the others get in the way but he’s made up his mind. He was in love with you long before he knew it was you and ever since meeting you that love has only grown stronger ever since meeting the skulls. Seeing you in action just gave him the push he needed. He wants to be with you.

Musket -You telling him off for saying he needs to be stronger for you really made him fall harder, which he didn’t think was possible. He likes that you told him how you felt about the gang and actually enjoyed being a part of it part time. He wants to ask you out too but is planning his moves very carefully.

Carbine -Is still convinced himself that this is just a little crush and nothing more. You are literally the only being who can make him put his work down but that doesn’t mean you're special or anything. Of course if you asked him out he’d say yes but you have so many skeletons to choose from he is doubtful that you would even pick him.

Rifle -Fuck he has it hard for you. He will still go out of his way to listen in to any conversation that might be about you and will full on fanboy about you when he has a moment. He snuck away from work to visit you in the city and even almost got a kiss. Now the two of you are planning a beach trip. Even if it won’t happen for a while he’s excited to spend time with you. He won’t ask you out though, convinced you’ll say no and just see him as a friend.

Lust -He’s interested to say the least. He thinks you're very attractive and would like to do many things to you but there are moments when his attraction feels like more. He’s not reading too much into it though. Love doesn’t really exist after all and even if it did he would be far to horny for a single partner. He would very much like to kiss you.

Charm -Is still very attracted to you physically. Personality wise he thinks your lovely and he can see why the others hold you in such a high regard. He would still love to explore that physical attraction but with Syrup being his best friend it feels wrong to ask so he’s content to stay on the sideline and help his friend make better decisions to win you over.

Wine -So that kiss may have fucked him over. He wasn’t expecting it to be as good as it was nor turn him on as much to put you in your place. He wouldn’t call it love or anything though. Just an attraction that he would very much like to see more of. He’s more shocked at how fast you have gained his attention more than anything else. No one has been able to catch his eye as quickly or efficiently. That slap you gave him must have knocked out some brain cells.

Coffee -He was in love the moment he laid eyes on you. He never really believed in love at first sight until then. Because of this he also had no idea how he was supposed to act around you. What is he supposed to do with his hands? He gets so embarrassed around you he just doesn’t know how to act. He’s never been in love like this before

Black -He’s so very annoyed that he likes you. Mainly because he hates you at the same time. He’s also very much still convinced you hate him. Sure you called him a friend but the two of you argue so much that there’s no way you actually like him as anything more than an annoyance, which is making him even madder about his feelings. After all you never actually said you didn’t hate him, you were clearly putting on some sort of act for the other monsters.

Mutt -He liked you from the moment on the train. Now he’s just trying not to make a complete ass of himself. Him and Coffee often talk together about you as neither know what the fuck to do. Mutt may come across like he has a lot of experience in dating but he has very little. Either way he fell quickly for the human and now he’s stuck with these feelings.

Vi -There might be something there but he hasn’t registered it yet. Sure he panicked when he saw you having a panic attack and his soul feels lighter when he sees he’s scheduled to work with you for the day but that’s purely just because your nice and nothing more. Probably.

Money -He likes teasing you and thinks you're cute with how obvious your crush for him is. He doesn’t have feelings beyond friend for you though and is convinced he won’t develop any more as it’d be too much work with the amount of other skeletons trying to get with you.

30 notes · View notes

jessicaloons · 2 days

Text

Chapter 43:

What if your eyes looked up and met mine, one more time?

Masterlist - Previous - Next

"Is it true? Is Sainz senior talking with the team about a seat for Carlos?" I blurted out as soon as I walked into our hospitality, where Felix was talking to John, our head engineer.

"Come with me." he said and lead me to his office.

"He‘s available next season. My contract only runs 'till the end of this season! Valtteri’s until next… so which seat are we talking about?"

Felix ran his hand through his hair, sighing, and my stomach clenched.

"There is not a certain seat in their mind… but yes, there are talks, his father is putting the Audi board under enormous pressure." Felix confirmed.

"We both know for whose seat he’s coming." I said bitterly.

"I think so… he’s out of Ferrari at the end of this season… your contract runs out this season?"

"Does the board want to replace me with him?" I asked, although I was afraid of the answer "I know I didn’t deliver the best results last season, but I still thought we’d continue…"

"No! No, Lizzie! As long as I’m team principal, you’re my driver! I say it how it is, I want you to extend your contract with us. For at least another two years. Our first season together was brilliant. Last season was okay, but it was more on our side than on yours, I have no doubt that this season will be better and I want you to stay with us."

"Yeah but if the board doesn’t want that? If the board is rooting for Sainz?" I said defeated but Felix shook his head.

"If they kick you out for him? After the horrific amount of money he cost us last season? After he endangered you? No. If Sainz is coming, I’m going. And I won’t be the only one…"

"Are you crazy? You can’t do that!" I looked at him shocked but he smiled at me.

"We started this project together, little one, and if we have to, then we‘ll finish it on a high together and that’s final." he smiled and I had to swallow hard, blinking away the tears.

"Okay…" I said quietly and Felix hugged me.

"We all believe in you. You and Valtteri are our drivers! And just because the father of another driver thinks he can tell us what to do? No. Not on my watch."

"Thank you Felix, really." I whispered and he patted my back.

"Not for that. But you know what that means?" Felix asked and I nodded "We have a lot of work to do then…"

"Let’s kick this season off the best way possible!"

P5. Decent. Not too good. But also not too bad. We could work with that. I was happy. But I knew Charles wasn’t. Having this big of an issue in the first race of the season? After being the one driver Ferrari wanted to keep and build a future with? After all the criticism that Ferrari might’ve kept the wrong driver? After his teammate made it onto to podium and he didn’t. I knew he would’ve been devastated, so I waited at the employee parking lot, looking at the gate. When Charles walked out my heart clenched. His head down, shoulders slumped, RayBans hiding his eyes.

"Hey…" I cupped his cheek, making him look at me.

"Let’s just go, please." he sighed and I nodded, unlocking the car.

I started the engine and drove off the parking lot, speeded past the awaiting fans on the main parking lot.

"I already can see the headlines tomorrow… they got rid of the wrong driver…" Charles gritted out after a while and I groaned.

"It’s the first race of the season for fucks sake! You had problems with your brakes and still made it onto P4…" I began.

"No one cares about my brakes! Carlos was on the podium! In a car that was supposed to be harder for him to drive! He made up one position! I lost two! That’s what people will care about!" he interrupted me.

"Since when do we care what fucking other people think and say? First race of the season, Charles! 23 more to go. Stop this nonsense!"

"This year is our year my ass…" Charles grumbled after a while and I rolled my eyes.

"I was honestly hoping that you didn’t win…" I said and he looked at me, taking his RayBans off.

"What?" he sounded hurt.

"Bahrain curse…" I began and he groaned.

"Are you kidding me? I don’t believe in curses!" he said, looking out the window "Besides, Max won Bahrain last year and still won the title…"

"Yeah but he’s Max… no curse out there can stop him… not Bahrain. Not Monza. He’s immune against any curse out there… you on the other hand…"

"Well thanks for believing in me…" he whispered and I grabbed his thigh.

"I believe in you. More than anyone else. That’s why I know that the only one who can stop Max is you. And other than you I believe that this year is your year… YOURS. Not Sainz…" I said and he sighed.

"We’ll see."

"We will and you’ll see that I’m right!"

The media day in Saudi Arabia was the worst and I could see the tension in Charles shoulders, his strained smile. I tried to calm him down as much as I could but when we left the paddock at the evening the exhaustion of the day was still visible.

"How about we let off some steam?" I asked when we arrived at the hotel.

"Yes! I need that." Charles sighed.

"Paddle?"

"You know me all too well…" he chuckled as we got out of the car.

Twenty minutes later we sat down our bags on the bench and stretched a little.

"You know what’s the worst?" Charles said, taking the ball "It was the first race of the season and it already started like this…"

"Come on, it’s better than last year!"

"Maybe, but it’s not good enough… I need to get it out of my head." he shrugged.

"Okay, you listen to me now, Leclerc… you said it yourself, first race of the season. Your brakes were shit. With your car, you shouldn’t even be able to finish the race but you did. In P fucking 4. Get that in your head, okay?" I groaned but he only shook his head and got into position.

"More playing. Less talking." he said and threw the ball up in the air.

It took a while until we both found our rhythm but as soon as we both got it the battles were relentless. I hit the ball as hard as I could, unreachable for Charles, another win for me. The second for tonight.

"Do you like being tortured?" I asked out of breath, lifting my shirt to wipe away the sweat off my forehead.

"You should know the answer to that… I just extended my contract with Ferrari. For multiple years." he chuckled bitterly and took a sip out of his water bottle.

"Ouch?" I laughed putting the paddle down, grabbing his bottle to take a few sips myself.

"Now come one. I want a return match." he took the bottle out of my hand and threw it on his bag "Let’s go!"

"Oh come on… aren’t you exhausted?" I groaned but he shook his head.

"One last match…" he pleaded.

"You just want to make it a draw… you can’t lose…" I smirked and he rolled his eyes.

"Then make me lose… come on…" he was ready for my move and I laughed.

"Alright… let’s settle this."

Thirty minutes later we stood under the hot shower, washing the day away.

"We could’ve let off some steam in a different way…" Charles whispered, kissing up my neck, pulling me closer, my back flush against his chest.

"Yeah? How?" I replied, biting my lips as his hands wandered over my hips, down to my thighs.

"I don’t know… you. Me. Our bed…" he mumbled, littering my shoulder with hot kisses "Or you. Me. The shower…" he whispered in my ear, his hot breath fanning over my skin making me shudder.

His hand slipped between my thighs and I let out a breathy moan, pressing my heat against his hand.

"Shower sounds good!" I breathed out, feeling him press against my back.

"Yeah? I think so too…" Charles hand explored my heat and I moaned, leaning back into him right as he spun me around, pressing my back into the cold tiled wall. His lips crashed down on mine, sealing our mouths shut with an eager kiss full of lust and need. I threw my arms around his neck, my hands carding through his hair, pulling him closer, while our tongues fought for dominance, me on the losing side. But this was a battle I loved to lose.

"There is still some tension in my back… I swear we’re working now for months at it but it’s not getting better!" I groaned and JK stood behind me, putting pressure on my lower back.

"Honestly, it shouldn’t be like this Lizzie… not after the intense training and exercises we made specifically for your back…" he said and I hissed in pain when he applied some pressure on my spine at a certain angle.

"Maybe I have to work out even more. Need to strengthen my spine, my core more?" I gritted out but I heard him sigh.

"Yeah maybe, but honestly? I’d like you to see a doctor, when we’re back in Europe…"

"Oh come on! It’s a little sore back! It will be good in no time!" I smiled at him and bent down, stretching said sore back before I took the resistance band JK held out for me.

"I’m not saying anything else, I just want to make sure! I don’t want to see you out of the car like Sainz today…" he said.

"What do you mean? He’s not racing? He’s out? Like completely?" I leaned back, pulling at the resistance band and JK nodded.

"Bearman will drive his car today and tomorrow."

"Ollie? Are you kidding me?" I stopped, looking up.

"Nope." JK put the band away and grabbed the tennis balls "Come on, focus now."

"He will only have FP3? Damn!" I mumbled, catching the tennis ball.

"I mean, it won’t be easy…"

"Definitely not, but Ollie is a damn good driver, I’m sure he will be able to adapt fast!"

"That’s what I said as well…" Charles hugged me from behind, kissing my cheek.

"Hey! Go away! You’re trying to distract my driver!" Felix joked when he walked by.

"Oh, don’t worry Felix, nothing can distract me, not even this handsome little fella…" I laughed and Charles pinched my side.

"Who are you calling little?" he whispered in my ear.

"Oh come on love birds! Get a room." JK laughed.

"Nope." Charles spun me around and kissed me.

"What’s gotten into you?" I breathed against his lips, feeling the heat rising up my face.

"I just love you? Can’t I show that?" he pouted, looking adorably.

"Yeah but not like in public. Not like that?" I whispered and he sighed.

"Cara mia, no one cares? Why do you?" Charles cupped my cheeks and I shrugged my shoulders.

"I don’t know…" I replied and he pecked my lips.

"Exactly, there is no reason for that. So let me give you one last kiss and then I’ll see you on track." he kissed me gently and I melted into his body "Bye gorgeous girl…"

I looked after him, the sweltering heat of Saudi Arabia burning me up.

"Earth to Lizzie?" JK threw a ball at me and I blinked, rubbing my arm "We’re not done yet."

"Huh?" I looked at him confused and he threw the next ball, this time I caught it though.

"Good reaction… now come on!"

I climbed out of the car when an F1 official walked up to me.

"Lizzie, you’re P3." he smiled and I took off my helmet and balaclava.

"What do you mean?" I was confused.

"Checo got a 5 second penalty, so you’re in P3!"

"Are you kidding me?" I laughed when someone engulfed me from behind.

"First podium of the season, let’s fucking go!" Danny Ric chanted and I squealed a little "Let me take you to your man!"

"Put me down you doofus!" I chuckled but Daniel carried me all the way to the top 3 cars.

"And here we have our third place, Lizzie Doetterer! Lizzie, congrats! P3. First podium of the season. How was the race for you?" Crofty asked and I took the microphone that someone held out to me.

"Umm right now, I’m a little speechless to be honest. We had a good weekend? I mean yeah it could’ve been better in terms of the quali pace, but in the race we were there and yeah now I’m in P3." I answered, smiling at him and waving at the crowd, some Germany flags in the sea of people.

"Well, you were close to Checo the whole race, switching positions every other week, last lap then and it seemed he pushed you wide?"

"We battled hard and then in turn 7 or 8 he might’ve turned a little into me and I had to go wide, but I didn’t think it would result in a penalty." I said honestly.

"Yeah, we didn’t hear you complain on the radio?" Crofty looked at me and I nodded.

"Because I honestly didn’t think it was that bad? Yeah sure, I had to leave the track but I don’t know… I mean I’m happy, I take it. But yeah… it’s like that." I shrugged a little.

"It sure is. Thank you Lizzie! Enjoy your podium!" Crofty nodded and I handed the guy next to him the microphone, jumping into Charles awaiting arms.

"First podium of the season, cara mia." he kissed my cheek and I smiled.

"Same for you! Well done!"

I wanted to say something when we were ushered away, into the cool down room and then onto the podium.

When we were finally done with the media, the press conference long over as well as our team meetings we drove back to our hotel.

"See! Today was a good day! Overall you had an amazing weekend! You just need to believe in yourself. Today P3 and in 2 weeks then P1!" I smiled at him and he took my hand in his, kissing the back of it.

"For me it would be enough to be in front of Carlos…" he sighed and I nodded.

"You will be. I believe in you!"

I sighed and put the phone down, right when it rang again.

"Hi Julie."

"So I guess Netflix called already…" she asked.

"Yeah. They want to film a little private stuff, then they want to be in Australia, Miami, Monaco and they also want to come to Hockenheim, my home race is something they definitely want to film."

"Lizzie, I say it how it is, they wanted to release the show last summer. They postponed it to fall, then to winter. We need to deliver now, you need to deliver now. Or they will release what they have but take away your right of review… just let them film you. Let them come home, maybe how you prepare for a race weekend or something, just give them something… and then let’s move forward." she sighed and I nodded.

"I know, I’ll think about what they could film here and yeah… we’ll see. Let them come to Australia, Miami, Monaco and Hockenheim. The rest I’ll deal with." I replied.

"Alright, I leave you to it. See you in Australia."

"Yup, see you in Australia." I hung up and plopped back down into the pillows, groaning. I switched the TV on and decided shuffled through Netflix until I found what I’ve been looking for. I pressed play and watched a very special episode of DTS.

"There he is… the worst actor the world has seen." I laughed when Charles walked through the door, sitting up.

"What do you mean?" he asked confused and I nodded towards the TV.

" 'Yeah, maybe that was a little bit over-the-top' … I wasn’t aware I was watching an episode of Keeping up with Ferrari…"

"Oh shut it…" Charles rolled his eyes, plopping down next to me "They told me to say it, what was I supposed to do?"

"Is DTS now a scripted show or what?" I said, pressing play again.

"Don’t watch that, please! It’s so cringe…" he sighed and I chuckled.

"Cringe? That’s way above cringe! I can’t believe they made you do this…"

"Me neither but it’s like t-…" he stopped abruptly, smiling sheepishly.

"No it’s like this at home!" I slapped his side and he laughed.

"That’s why I stopped!"

"Good!" I kissed his cheek and snuggled into him "Now let me finish this episode."

"God no…" he groaned but I laughed.

"Just kidding… what do you want to watch?" I asked him and he leaned down, pecking my lips.

"Nothing on the TV…" he wiggled his eyebrows and I laughed.

"I like that…"

"Yeah? Me too…" he got up and pulled me with him down into the kitchen, where he pushed me slightly against the island, grabbing my thighs "Up, pretty girl."

"Not again on there… it was cold and so not comfy!" I grumbled but he just laughed.

"Oh cara mia, you’re a naughty girl? What do you think what I’m about to do?"

"I don’t know… I just thought-…" I began but he interrupted me, putting his finger on my lips.

"Shhh… just trust me…" he grinned and I swallowed hard.

I knew that smirk. All too well. He grabbed my thighs again and I jumped a little, sitting down on the island.

"I trust you, just not that little devil inside of you." I chuckled and he pulled something out of his pocket.

"Close your eyes for me." The grin only getting bigger "Come on."

I closed my eyes and as soon as they were closed I felt how Charles put something over my eyes. Covering them.

"A blindfold? Charles! I told you, not on here!" I pouted, but he pecked my lips, chuckling.

"Don't be so impatient!" he walked away and I heard him rummaging through the drawers "Alright..." he stood in front of me and I felt his hot breath ghosting over my lips "Be a good girl and open that pretty, little mouth of yours for me."

"What? I swear if you start now some kinky shit I'm go-..." I began but he pushed a cold spoon into my mouth, cutting me off. A rich flavour of vanilla engulfed my taste buds, and I swallowed the spoonful of ice cream down.

"And?" Charles asked and I licked my lips.

"Vanilla ice cream?" I said hesitantly.

"Was it good?" he sounded excited and I was confused "You look adorable when you're confused. But come on, did you like it?"

"It's vanilla ice cream? It tastes good. Rich." I said and he kissed my sticky lips.

"Here..." he put a glass against my lips and I drank a sip of water "Open up again!"

The next spoon was chocolate ice cream, silky, chocolatey with the right amount of sweetness and some chocolate chips for some extra crunch. As soon as I swallowed down Charles pecked my lips again.

"And?"

"Very silky. The right amount of sweetness and chocolaty..." I replied before I felt the glass against my lips and I took another sip.

"Open up..." he said as the next spoon was fed to me.

Peanut ice cream. Caramel sauce and something crunchy.

"That's good! I love the peanut flavour! And the caramel sauce and the crispy bits? I love it! But Charles..." I began when he pecked my lips yet again before the glass returned and the next spoon full of ice-cold goodness engulfed my taste buds.

"Salted caramel? And chocolate chips?" I licked my lips before Charles pressed his again against mine.

"Yeah, you like it?" he asked, and I nodded slightly, drinking some water "Alright, next one..."

I opened my mouth and the moment I had the first taste of the spoonful of ice creamed I moaned a little.

"Mhhh Pistachi-ohhhh my god that's good! More!" I said and he chuckled.

"Why did I know that... here." another spoonful of the creamy and delicious ice cream wandered into my mouth "Okay stop making these noises, or it is the kitchen island 2.0!" he lifted the blindfold, and I blinked a few times "Hey pretty girl."

He smiled at me, brushing my hair out of my face when I looked down on the countertop, where he put a white container down. Right next to 4 other similar looking containers.

"Why did you feed me ice cream blindfolded? And why did you feed me ice cream, blindfolded in the middle of the season? I want to eat that whole container of the pistachio and peanut one! Unfair!" I pouted a little and he laughed.

"Go ahead." He held up another spoon of the pistachio ice cream and I groaned "Come on, I know you want it!"

"Of course I want it! It's pistachi-ohhhh..." he shoved the spoon in my mouth, cutting me off "Damn that's good."

"It gets even better... that whole tub? Less then 400 calories." Charles said proudly and I cocked an eyebrow.

"Yeah sure. That creamy and rich ice cream? Less then 400 calories the whole tub? You mean one spoon maybe." I sighed but he scooped up another spoonful.

"Nope. This is Lec ice cream. My own brand, I've been working the past few months on it and it's finally ready. I only need to find names and decide what designs and it's good to go. Each tub has less than 400 calories."

"Are you kidding me? When-... how-... what? When did you do that? And why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh stop pouting! I wanted to surprise you! I know how much you love a good ice cream but we have to resist this craving because of our job! So I wanted to create an ice cream we can enjoy without the guilt!" he cupped my cheeks and I smiled.

"This creamy, rich flavour for this little calories? Seriously? I mean… why resist?" I laughed, scooping up another dollop of the pistachio ice cream, indulging in the flavour.

Charles laughed and kissed me, nipping at my lower lip.

"Mhh... why resist? Sounds like a good slogan... now you just need to help me name them! Although I already have an idea for the pistachio ice cream."

"Yeah? What is it?" I looked at him excitedly.

"Pistachi-OH! the OH in capital letters with an exclamation mark! Because whenever I see a tub of that ice cream I will think of the look on your face, the little sound you made when you tasted it for the very first time."

"Swirly Pistachi-OH! Sounds even better!" I said and he nodded "And you should call the vanilla ice cream vanillalove or something, because its your favourite!" I grabbed the container and fed Charles a big scoop of the vanilla ice cream.

"Vanillove. Even shorter." he smiled.

"Sounds good. The peanut and caramel one? It was almost like the different flavours were dancing on my tongue... Peanut Caramel Tango!" I suggested and Charles nodded.

"Chocolate crunch. Nothing fancy. Just straight what it is?"

"Perfect. And now the salted caramel one." I said and tried the ice dream again.

"Salty carmel- carmamel-... why is this word so difficult?" he groaned and I laughed "Salty caram-mmel!"

"That's it! Salty carammmel with at least 3 m's!"

"Salty carammmel? So everyone knows that I can't speak English properly?" now Charles was the one pouting.

"It's cute! Vanillove. Peanut Caramel Tango. Chocolate Crunch. Salty Carammmel and Swirly Pistachi-OH! The 5 flavours of Lec ice cream. Less than 400 calories per tub. But still tasty as fuck." I concluded and he kissed me, his lips tasting like Vanillove.

"Because, why resist?"

„Nicholas said everything is prepared. We'll start the Instagram account nect Tuesday. And the lauch of the ice cream in Milan will be on the 11" Charles said as he opened the hotel door.

"Already? You guys are fast." I plopped down on the sofa, leaning back

"Not we, Nicolas, Guido and Federico are fast." he chuckled and handed me a cold water out of the fridge, right when my phone rang.

"Ewww that's Elijah... I kinda regret agreeing to Netflix." I groaned and silenced my phone "I know it was a good idea at first... but with everything that happened? He asked me if I would consider talking about the whole Diaz incident... after last year there were so many rumours and he asked me if I wanted to clear things up."

"Just let him film a little bit of our weekend and they'll be happy. I know its tough and you don't want it anymore, but jus think about all the interviews they had? Your whole team, Lewis, Seb, Fred, Toto, his wife, Max, some of the most well-known F1 journalists... it's so amazing what they all have to say about you! How they support you! And then seeing how hard you train? But also see where you come from. That it wasn't as easy as anyone said it was? It will be great! Let them film Hockenheim and then they have enough. They can release their show. It will be great. Everyone is happy. Focus on that, okay? And if you don't want to talk about Diaz? Then don't...

I've seen the rumours, and believe me, I want to say a few words myself, but it's not my place." Charles sat down and I leaned against him.

"I know, I know... right now there is already enough going on with the Sainz dilemma... people still talk about it and now he's after my seat as well... and then Susie asking me to be a little more present in the F1 Academy and I really want to, I told her last year that she can count on my support but here I am, not even doing a single thing for it..."

"Because you're a F1 driver! Lizzie, Susie understands that you would be more present if it would be possible, okay? Just stop for a moment to think about what everyone else wants from you and focus what you want, okay?" Charles squeezed my shoulder and l sighed

"Food. I want food. And a shower. Then a nice little walk at the beach, soaking in the sun and then focus on the weekend ahead."

"Let's take a shower, then head down to the beach and have a nice little treat." He kissed my nose and then got up, pulling me with him "Come on. Today is for us. Tomorrow we think about the rest. One step at the time."

"I should still call Elijah..." I grabbed my phone but Charles took it out of my hand.

"Today is for us. Tomorrow we'll figure out the rest. Can you, for once, listen to me?" he chuckled and I nodded "Good. Thank you. Now come on."

I walked out of the press conference back to the Audi hospitality when a little crowd close to the hospitality caught my attention.

"So it’s true, that you’re talking to the Audi board about a seat for Carlos for next season?" a reporter whose back was turned to me, asked and I stopped dead in my tracks

"I’m convinced that Carlos can bring the team to the next level. They lack a bit of consistency, Valtteri is doing a good job in providing feedback about the car, Carlos could bring some of his consistency and experience to the team. He’s fast. Faster than his teammate over a long course of the last season. I have a good relationship with the Audi board and of course they know how good Carlos is." Sainz Senior smiled into the cameras.

"In theory it sounds all good, but Audi still has two drivers. You’re talking about Valtteri and Carlos. So Lizzie Doetterer would lose her seat to Carlos?"

"Look, I’m not saying she’s not a good driver. But it’s her third season now and she didn’t convince me as the big talent everyone said she is… maybe she can find a seat in the F1 Academy. But I don’t see a future in F1 for her. She also lacks of discipline, I guess you all know what I’m referring to, she’s too emotional, too impulsive. That are not good characteristics for a F1 driver." he smirked, looking directly at me and the reporter followed his look spotting me. Will Buxton.

"Lizzie, do you want to join us?" he asked and I swallowed hard.

"No, thanks. I’m good Will. Seems like Señor Sainz has a lot to say." I grit out and walked away, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Lizzie, we have some-… what happened?" Julie looked at me and I felt how my mouth went dry. Words leaving me. "Lizzie?" she pushed me down into an armchair, handing me a glass of water and I gulped it down in one go.

"Sainz… he talks to the media…" I pressed out and she patted my arm.

"No one here wants Sainz in our team Lizzie! I hope you know that?" she tried to calm me down.

"What does it matter? If the board says he’s your new driver, you can’t change it…" I said, leaning back "I have to do the talking on track. I need to be better than him."

"And you will be. You show him what you’re made of! Kick his ass!" Julie fired me up and I nodded.

"I’m not backing down that easily. He wants my seat? Then he has to come and pry it out of my dead fingers grasp." I said determined and Julie chuckled.

"Dark, but I like the fighter mentality."

"He will regret ever talking bullshit about me."

"Hell yeah!"

Sainz wasn’t backing down that easily as well. He was ruining my laps at all times, he was always in front, being clever enough to not fully impede me, but at least disturb me that much that I had to abort my laps or had to go wide which costed time. It all peaked in qualifying when Sainz drove in front of me to warm his tyres on his out lap. Too slow for my liking especially considering that I had a real shot at starting on pole tomorrow.

"Charles, Norris, Max all on their flying lap. Max currently P1. Sainz P2. You P4." Pete radioed.

"Last chance now?"

"Last chance."

"Sainz is so fucking slow!"

"Copy."

"He’s in my way!" I was frustrated, seeing Sainz warming his tyres in front of me, not intending going faster at any given moment. Fuck it. I accelerated and pushed the throttle full through, overtaking him, right as I passed him, he accelerated as well leaving me behind him.

"Is he fucking serious?" I was seething, but I had no time to be too pissed, I had to give it one last shot.

"Abort your lap Lizzie."

"What? Why?"

"Your tyres are overheated. You probably wont even make it over the line… come back to the pits. That’s currently P4. Charles P5. Only Norris behind who could snatch away P4."

"Okay…"

I sat in the car. Taking a few deep breaths before I climbed out. Disappointed when I saw Norris lap time on the screen. P5 tomorrow. All because of Sainz.

"I’m sorry, Lizzie." Pete patted my back and I only shook my head.

"No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have overtaken him. I ruined my tyres…" I said quietly, putting my helmet away, taking the bottle from JK "He did his best to fuck up my laps and he succeeded."

"Calm down a bit and then go to the interviews." Felix said, as he came up to us and I nodded, walking in the back.

He got in my head. First his father. Now he himself. I threw my helmet on the table and sat down, head in my hands. Right when I had to be on top of my game, I caved in.

"Lizzie?" Julie asked carefully and I sat up, wiping my face "Do you want to wait for a little while or just go now?"

"Let’s get it over with."

"Li-... woah..." Charles let out when I pulled him into the corner and ducked down "What are we doing?" he whispered but I shushed him.

"Elijah... I need a moment for myself. I feel like the only time there isn't a camera in my face is when I have to go to the bathroom or at night... they even were there when I talked to Susie yesterday." | rolled my eyes.

"So you're hiding now how long exactly? Until the race?"

"No idiot. Until the anthem... we'll go and come back and then they have to back off anyways." | whispered and Charles chuckled.

"Okay, I'll hide with you." He kissed my cheek "You could've found a nicer hiding spot tho... just saying."

"You'll survive..."

We waited until it was time for the anthems and I successfully dodged Elijah and his camera crew and when it was time for me to get into the car he just sighed and retreated. I checked my radio and everything and waited for the go from Pete, preparing for the formation lap.

"Radio check."

"Loud and clear. Let's go, Lizzie."

When I stopped the car in my grid spot I focused on the lights. Taking a deep breath and accelerating as the last light got out. At the start I was overtaking Norris right in the first corner and pushed hard to create a little gap. He gave up chasing me, and I focused already on Perez in front. The next two laps I got closer and closer and finally managed to overtake him, right when the yellow flag was waved.

"Watch out. Max is having trouble. You'll pass him at the next turn." Pete radioed.

"Pass him?" I asked right when Max appeared in front of me not fighting me at all.

"We believe he will be retiring his car."

Lap 4 and Max was out. Only Sainz in front of me and Charles, who had overtaken Perez in the meantime.

"Gap Sainz?"

"4.3 seconds."

Damn. The Ferraris were fast. And Charles was coming closer and closer.

"Charles is really fast." I radioed when I had to let him overtake me, he had too much pace and the way he was chasing me wasn’t good for my tyres.

"He is. 0.5 faster." Pete replied and I sighed.

Ferrari build a fast car this season. Too fast for us for now.

"Sainz?" I asked, curious on his pace.

"0.1 slower."

So it would only be a short matter of time until Charles would knock on Sainz door. Ferrari would swap the cars to let Charles take over the lead, not just in the race, also in the drivers ranking. It was Sainz I would have to battle against for P2.

"Manage your tyres for now. Battling Sainz will cost you…"

"I know."

The gap to Charles got bigger and bigger for the next laps and I knew I had to be quicker to be in a good position. But then I got closer to Charles again and I checked my steering wheel.

"Am I pushing too hard or is Charles getting slower?"

"He was asked to hold position."

"What? Can you repeat that?"

I must’ve heard Pete wrong.

"Charles was asked to hold position. Manage his tyres. Not attacking."

"You’re kidding?"

"Lizzie…"

"No fucking way, why would they do that?" I couldn’t believe my ears. Why would they want Charles to hold positions? He was fast. Faster than Sainz?

"Focus on your race."

Race 3 and it already started again like last season.

"And that’s P3. Good race Lizzie." Pete said and I sighed.

"Thanks guys. Good job from everyone!" I said.

"Sainz P1. Charles P2. Norris P4. Oscar P5…."

"Ferrari doing Ferrari things…"

"Lizzie!" Pete said.

"What? He can’t win a race on his own. He needs his teammate to secure his position." the words were out before I could even react. Oh well. Here we go again.

"Off the radio. Now!" Pete reprimanded, but in his voice I could hear that he thought exactly the same.

"Just stating the truth."

"You’re exhausting." he chuckled.

"I love you too."

I parked my car and got out, hugging Charles. He only shook his head and then pushed me towards my team and I celebrated our second podium of the season, although I still didn’t understand why Ferrari didn’t let Charles overtake Sainz. After the interviews it was time for the obligated photo and I stood next to Charles, Sainz on his right.

"No you have to stand on the right." the FIA photographer said and I rolled my eyes.

"Just take the damn picture." I grumbled. Standing next to Sainz, a gap between us.

"Come on, be the better person." Charles said in French when we walked off towards the cool down room but I shook my head.

"I’ll start being the better person when your team starts making better calls." I replied loudly. In English. In front of said team while the camera was panned on me.

"Cara mia…" Charles sighed but I just shrugged my shoulders walking inside. I wiped my face. Almost emptying a bottle when Sainz walked in, followed by Charles. Again he only shook his head slightly and I sighed, sitting down. There was silence in the room. Only the race highlights that were played in the background could be heard. On the podium I only sprayed Charles a little before I left, not waiting for the picture. I felt Charles gaze on me but I didn’t care.

"Alright. Lizzie, you’re next. Your thoughts?" Clarkson looked at me and I picked up the microphone.

"Good race." was all I said and then I put the microphone down again.

"Maybe a little more detailed?"

"We had a good weekend. Our pit stops weren’t the best, unfortunately for Valtteri, but overall we were good."

"Okay. We open up the floor for some questions…"

"Mike Harris. CBS Sports. Question for Lizzie. You said on the radio that 'He can’t win a race on his own. He needs his teammate to secure his position'. Care to elaborate?"

"What’s there to elaborate? It’s pretty self-explanatory. I said what I said." I answered tight lipped, feeling the gaze of Charles and also Sainz on me.

"Mila Janic. motorsport.com. Carlos, after hearing what Lizzie has said, what do you think about her words?"

"Some people have their emotions clearly better in check than others and so some drivers let out their opinions on the radio and complain. She has her opinion, I have mine. I know which one is right." Sainz answered and I had to fake a cough to cover up my snorting.

"There’s a difference between an opinion and facts." I whispered under my breath.

"What did you say?" Sainz looked at me and I looked up "I didn’t understand it? But you said something."

"I just said that there’s a difference between an opinion and facts." I shrugged my shoulders, looking at him. He was mad, but I didn’t care. Not anymore.

"Alright, do we have another question?" Clarkson said quickly and I put the microphone down again.

"Herbert Stein, BLICK. Charles, what is your opinion on what Lizzie said? You’re the teammate she’s talking about? Do you think you deserved the win today?"

"I’m not commenting on what Lizzie said because I understand where she’s coming from. As for if I deserved the win, no, I didn’t. Carlos was overall better this weekend. I have to push to be better the next." Charles answered and I had to roll my eyes.

"You don’t agree with Charles?" the reporter asked me and Charles looked at me.

I contemplated whether to answer or not.

"No, I don’t agree."

"Why?"

"It doesn’t matter who’s better the whole weekend. The race is what matters. Points are earned in the race. So it doesn’t matter if you were the best the whole weekend, if you don’t deliver on Sunday, you won’t make points. Also the other way around. So no, I think when one driver is faster, has more pace and especially when he would be taking the lead in the championship, I’d say I let this driver give it a go and not tell him to hold position. If he’s not faster then, you can still swap back, but just telling the driver off, for no apparent reason? Yeah no." I answered and there was a murmur going around.

"Alright, thank you everyone. That’s it for today, see you all in Suzuka."

I jumped up and walked back, Julie already waiting for me. The way she looked at me, I knew she wasn’t happy with what I said.

"I told you I won’t lie. Never. When they ask something, I answer honestly." I said and she sighed shaking her head.

"Yeah yeah whatever, let’s go."

"Lizzie! Wait." I heard Charles behind me "Julie, can you give us a moment? Thanks." he grabbed my hand and pulled me with him.

"I’m not apologising and I’m not backing down or stop-…" I began but he silenced me with a kiss.

"I love you." he whispered against my lips and then pulled me with him, following Julie "Here she’s yours again. I’ll pick you up later on." he kissed my cheek, then winked at Julie and walked off.

"Almost two years together and you still blush like on day one." she chuckled and I looked away, my face getting only hotter.

"Let’s go." I just said and we walked back in silence.

Charles POV:

"Charles?" I heard Lizzie walking up the stairs.

"Marianne, I’ll call you later. Lizzie just came home. Au revoir." I hung up right als Lizzie walked around the corner "Hi pretty girl."

"As if…" she snorted, plopping down next to me, taking a deep breath "I swear, I don’t even feel my legs anymore. JK was torturing me today..."

"Oh, my poor girl, you want a massage?" I asked her and she mumbled something inaudible.

"I'm taking a shower first and then I want that massage." she kissed my cheek and then got up, sauntering off when the doorbell rang "It's Joris."

"Alright, you go showering I'll see what he's up to." I followed her downstairs and heard the bedroom door close, wandering off into the kitchen.

"Lizzie? Charles?" Joris called out and I opened the fridge.

"Kitchen." I shouted and a moment later he put a big box on the kitchen island "Is that..." I made big eyes, looking at the box.

"Yeah. They called that it's ready so I said I'll pick it up." Joris replied and I nodded slowly.

"I cant believe it... 10 years already.." I breathed out and he took the water that I handed him.

"You know, he would be so proud of you, would he be here? Seeing how far you've made it?"

"How far I've made it? Some race wins, a vice championship and a ton of mistakes... that's how far I've made it..." I huffed.

"Charles..." Joris began but I shook my head.

"I know, I know." I said and he sighed "Now come on. Show it to me..."

"Alright." he opened the box, pulling the helmet in its bag out and sat it down on the counter, then put the box on the floor and undid the string of the bag "Ready?"

I nodded and Joris pulled the helmet out. It was beautiful. The perfect tribute. I was at a loss of words for a moment and picked the helmet up, looked over the details.

"They did an amazing job. It's perfect." I whispered and he nodded.

"It really is..." he replied, and I sat the helmet down "Are you okay?"

"Yeah... it's just a little overwhelming.." I sat down on a stool, eyes still on the helmet "I want to win this race. For him."

"I'm sure you'll do you your best to honour him!" Joris patted my back "And now I have to leave you, you're little secret with Marianne needs some more preparations."

"Thanks Jo, really." I got up and hugged him "See you tomorrow."

I was so lost in my thoughts that I flinched when Lizzie caressed my cheek gently.

"Hey you." she whispered, sitting down next to me, taking my hand, interlacing our fingers "What's going on in there." she kissed my temple gently.

"It's 10 years this year..." I whispered, nodding to the helmet.

"Its beautiful. Jules would be so proud of you. The man you've become, the driver..." she said quietly and I pulled her into my lap, holding her close.

"I just wish that by now he could be proud of me because I had won a title..." I breathed into the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and conditioner.

"Charles... it wasn't that you weren't made to be a champion, it was more that you're team wasn't... but this year will be your year. I just know it. I know it didn't start the way you wanted it to. And I also know that with the way your team is handling you and Sainz at the moment it doesn't look like it's going to happen, but I have faith in you. I believe in you. In your abilities. This year is your year. I can feel it... and it will start in Japan. Where you will show everyone why Ferrari kept you. You will wear that helmet and you will honour Jules. You'll continue his legacy." she said softly but determined.

"I'll try my best."

"I know you will. You always do."

"God I love you…" I whispered and she giggled.

"I love you too. And now I want my massage!"

"Charles? We will film some C2 challenges today..." Sylvia said and I rolled my eyes.

"Is that really necessary?" l asked and she glared at me.

"I don't care whatever your problem is all of a sudden with Carlos, but here at Ferrari we are a unit. One family. And he is part of the family until the end of the year, so yes, it's necessary." her voice like venom.

"All of a sudden..." I chuckled bitterly and she cocked an eyebrow, right as Carlos walked in.

"Carlos, here, sit down. We have 3 challenges planned..." Sylvia began but I didn't listen.

I hardly participated and by the end of the second challenge she seemingly had enough

"Charles! Can you at least try to look like you're happy to be here?"

"I'm not a good actor..." I just shrugged and she sighed.

"This is for the sake of Ferrari! Can't you just swallow down whatever it is that gives you this attitude?"

"Nope. That's too much to swallow... Ferrari needs us to be good drivers. They need us to win races. Nothing more."

"Yeah? Then do your part!" she spat out and I looked at her "Win races."

She slammed her clipboard on the table, making everyone flinch, then stormed off and I sighed. Drama queen. The rest of the team looked at each other and then decided to leave and look for Sylvia, leaving only Carlos and me alone in the room.

"You could at least pretend like its all fun and games for the cameras..." Carlos said and looked at me.

"What?"

"It's our last year, we should end it on a high. Together. For the sake of Ferrari." He said and I laughed.

"Are you serious? After everything you pulled over the last season?" I asked and he rolled his eyes.

"Look. I don't care about who you're dating. But it shouldn't interfere with your job.

You're a Ferrari driver. Ferrari is important. Not Audi."

"Oh yeah? Audi is only important if they have a seat for you, no?"

"I don't care for next season. I care for this season. So, get your shit together. And do your job. Which is winning races... something you haven't done for a while... me on the other hand..." he got up and walked towards the door "2 wins in the last 11 races..."

"Singapore wasn't your win." my voice was trembling.

"See? That's what I mean. It was a Ferrari win... that should be your main priority. But no. it's because of your little girlfriend crashing out you're still sour an-..."

"And why was she crashing out?" I interrupted him, almost shouting.

"It was a racing accident, she could've backed down, but didn't so she crashed out... it wasn't even a bad crash, nothing happened..." he left and as soon as the door shut close, I slammed my fist on the table. Nothing happened. Nothing happened? I had to win this race. I had to wipe the grin out of his face. Winning was now more than essential. Not just for Jules. But also for Lizzie. I took a deep breath, calming myself down and then got up, searching for Mia, who didn't look too happy when I spotted her.

"I know, I know... I'll apologise to Sylvia later."

"Thank you. And now come. The media pen is waiting." she replied and I sighed.

"I can't wait."

"You're less grumpy when Lizzie is there as well." Mia chuckled and I pushed her a little

"It's cute so shut it."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." I rolled my eyes playfully and followed her to the first interview, watching the press conference on the screen behind the reporter. Lizzie was chatting with Logan and Oscar, Pierre next to her was joking around with Carlos. His words still in the back of my mind. He sat there. Joking with Pierre, they even took a selfie together. He was talking about the seat in Audi next season like it was already his. I saw how tense Lizzie was, the unsettled look on her face. And as soon as I was done with my interviews, I wanted to pick Lizzie up, reassure her, but I saw Logan and Oscar leaving, then Pierre and Carlos, still talking eagerly, but no Lizzie, she must've left immediately when they were done. I saw how Pierre looked my way and walked off, I had to find Lizzie.

"Charles! Charles? Mate!" Pierre almost shouted but I kept walking "Hey! Didn’t you hear me?" he put his hand on my shoulder, making me stop "Charles?"

"Where’s your new bestie?" I spat out and he made big eyes. I didn’t want to sound this agitated. But the smirk on Carlos look when he talked about the seat in Audi. Lizzie’s seat. What he said earlier. It was all too much.

"What do you mean?" he looked at me confused.

"Didn’t know you and Sainz were this close… laughing together, making jokes, hanging out together, taking selfies…" I said coldly.

"Are you serious? Mate, he’s just a buddy we’re racing with? Come one?" Pierre asked taken aback.

"No. He’s not. He’s not just a buddy we’re racing with! And you know it! He’s… he did things… no. He’s no buddy of mine. Not since…" I began but he rolled his eyes.

"Yes. Singapore was fucked up. He knows it. He even said that after reviewing the videos he knows he was a little too aggressive! It’s water under the bridge! That’s racing, Charles. You know it. Lizzie knows it and also she’s fine. She’s alive and well. You should draw a line and let it got…" Pierre sighed.

"Let it go? Let it go? You have no idea what he did… you no. You don’t know. You know nothing. Just let it-… no fuck this." I was getting beyond mad. The look on Lizzie’s face in the hospital bed in my mind. Her tears. Broken voice. How she sat on the sofa earlier. All tense. I balled my hands into fists.

"Charles? Come on mate. The season is still long, you shouldn’t hold a grudge over nothing."

Nothing? Again that word.

"Fuck you, Gasly." I spat out, walking away.

"Oh hell no, what the fuck is your problem?" he grabbed my arm, pulling me back.

"LIZZIE LOST OUR BABY THAT NIGHT!" I full on screamed. Shocked about the words myself.

Pierre dropped his hand off my arm and looked at me with wide eyes.

"Because of your racing buddies little too aggressive stunt Lizzie lost our baby. That’s what the fuck my problem is… so no. It’s not nothing. It’s not water under the bridge. Because of him I had to hold my girlfriend in my arms, trembling, crying, blaming herself for something that was entirely his fault."

"Charles…" Pierre began, voice almost a whisper.

"No. I don’t want to hear it. I thought we were your friends. Lizzie and I. Just… forget it." I walked away, leaving Pierre behind, not looking back once. Around the next corner I leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath and wiping away the stray tears that had escaped. Focus. I had to find Lizzie.

"He’s a slimy, stupid, hairy, idiot." she punched into the pads on JKs hands and I had to chuckle "He wants my seat? My seat? The fuck he gets my seat. I’m going to destroy him."

"That’s my girl." I said, and she flinched a little "I thought I had to look after you, because you might be down or something… oh how wrong I was."

"Down? Because of that hairy Neanderthal? Fuck no. I’m furious and I want to see him in my mirrors whenever I cross the finish line from now on."

I hugged her and felt immediately relieved. Calm.

"We’ll start this Sunday." I said and she nodded determined.

The practices all went by in a fast blur. But when I prepared for my final attempt of setting the fastest time in Q3 a sense of calm washed over me. I blocked everything else out. Just focused on the task at hand. My car. The track. I took a deep breath and send it. Nothing else in my mind besides the sheer will to start the race tomorrow from the best position possible.

The lap felt like an eternity but also just a short moment at the same time when I crossed the finish line.

"And that's P1. You've done it! Good job!" Xavi said and I began to cheer.

"YEEEEEEES! Come on now! Let's go!" I shouted in the radio. I did it. Pole position "Where's Lizzie?"

"P2 Verstappen. P3 Lizzie. P4 Sainz..." he replied and I cheered even louder.

"Awesome job, Lizzie!" I screamed and I didn't give a single fuck how people would react over the fact that I was cheering on Lizzie, rather than Carlos.

When I parked my car at the P1 spot and got out I waited for Lizzie, hugging her tight as soon as she was out of her car.

"What a lap, mate!" Max said next to us, patting my back and I let out a relieved laugh.

"I'm just glad it all came together and worked out in the end." I said and he hugged Lizzie.

After a short celebration with the team, I took a big swig out of my bottle when I was waved over for the interview wit Martin.

"Now that's a podium I would sign." Martin Brundle said and I nodded "That last lap of yours looked spectacular. We know you're one of the best qualifiers on the grid, almost always flawless. But that today? Wow!"

"Thank you! I honestly just had a tunnel vision the whole lap. My mind was trained on nothing else. I think I was never this focused."

"The Ferrari's do have a lot of pace this season? They are closer to the Red Bulls then they would like, it seems?"

"We have a lot of pace, that's true, but the Red Bulls are still ahead of us." I replied and he nodded.

"Do you think a win is possible?"

"I will try my best."

"Tell us Charles, how does it feel starting this race from pole position, 10 years after that fatal accident of Jules, who you honour with your helmet this weekend." Martin asked and I swallowed hard

"It means a lot. I honestly don't even have the right words for it. But it's special. Now I just have to win tomorrow to make him proud." I said, feeling Lizzie's look on me. I turned a little and she smiled reassuringly at me.

"I'm sure he would be proud anyway." Martin patted my back and I smiled, walking towards Lizzie who hugged me again.

"He's right, it doesn't matter if you win or not, Jules would be proud anyway, just like your dad..." she whispered in my ear and I kissed the side of her head

"Thanks for always reminding me."

I stood next to my car. Looked up in the sky, closing my eyes. Took one last deep breath. I could do it. I had to do it. I felt a warm hand on my arm and looked down. Lizzie.

"Show everyone who you are today, mon cœur. Show them that you are one of the best. If not the best. I believe in you. We all do." she hugged me close, kissing my cheek "I love you, my winner." before I could say anything she sauntered away and I felt my cheek prickling.

"Charles?" Andrea said and I turned a little, a big smile on his face he handed me my balaclava and the my helmet "You’ll win this today." he patted my arm and I nodded, climbing into my car.

After the radio check, the formation lap, I closed my eyes for a moment. It was now or never. Lights out. Full focus. Full throttle. Nothing else mattered anymore. Just me. My car. The track. It was a tough start. I had to battle hard with Max and unfortunately lost. But I stayed at his rear. Attacked all the time, waited for my chance and finally, I overtook him and pushed the throttle harder than ever before. Like in a tunnel I raced through the corners. Only focus point the top step of the podium.

"Last lap, Charles. Bring it home." Xavi radioed and I pushed with everything that I had. The last few metres felt like the longest ride, I could feel Max at my rear wing at all times. But I kept the throttle fully pushed through. My leg began to cramp. My hands trembling. And then I saw it. The checkered flag.

"You’ve done it! That’s P1!" Xavi in my ear but I ignored him for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"This one’s for you, Jules!" I said, feeling the tears soaking my balaclava.

It was like slow motion, the cool down lap, parking the car, taking a moment before I got out. On shaky legs I stood next to the car. Feeling the emotions overcoming me. I kneeled down. Patted the sticker for Jules on my car, taking a deep breath, when I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned a little to see Lizzie standing next to me, the light of one of the headlights illuminating her. Her eyes sparkling. Her most beautiful smile adorning her gorgeous face.

"You did it Charles. For Jules. He’s so proud of you." I heard her faint voice as she was pulling me up into her arms "You proved them all wrong. I’m so proud of you. So, so proud."

"I won…" I mumbled and heard her soft giggling.

"You did. You won." she pulled away, kissing my helmet and gently pushed me toward my team "Go. Celebrate. This is your moment."

I nodded slightly and when I walked to my team I saw Pierre, looking at me, tapping his feet as if he was contemplating what to do. Lizzie nudged his shoulder and he pulled her in a tight hug out of nowhere and she just shook her head, wiping what looked like a tear from his cheek before she pushed him towards me. I turned my back on him for a moment, celebrated with my team, all smiling and chanting. Then I turned back around and Pierre stood in front of me.

"I’m sorry. I had no idea… I swear would I know what happened… I would never-…" he began, his voice trembling. Lizzie behind him nodded at me and I sighed, pulling Pierre into a hug "I’m so, so sorry!"

"It’s okay… you didn’t know and it wasn’t okay from me to react like this…" I said, hearing his sigh of relief.

"No you had all rights! I can’t believe what happened…"

"We’re good. Lizzie is good. But I’ll never forget what he did…" I said and Pierre nodded.

"No. No you shouldn’t…" we went silent for a moment, but then he patted my back "You won. Suzuka. Jules would be so freaking proud of you."

"Yeah… I hope so."

"Go. Celebrate. You deserve it." he pushed me towards Lizzie again and then walked off.

The next moments felt amazing. During the interviews, the podium, Lizzie was smiling at me the whole time. I felt almost invincible when I lifted the trophy up into the sky. On top of the world. And when we walked down the stairs from the podium, trophy in hand, it all overwhelmed me.

"Hey? Come with me…" Lizzie whispered pulling me away from it all "Take a deep breath for me."

I slowly did, closing my eyes for a moment. Feeling my eyes tear up.

"It’s okay. Let it all out."

"I won." I whispered and she smiled, nodding.

"You won." she replied pulling me into her arms "You did it. You drove brilliantly today. You won against Max…"

"I can’t believe it, I swear…"

"I can. I never had any doubt. This year is your year. My world champion to be." she kissed my cheek and pulled away slowly "I know that this year, you’re going to win the title."

"I hope you’re right."

"I am. I believe in it."

The euphoria of the win in Japan carried me over the next days. It was hectic, simulator work in Maranello, marketing shoots for LEC and then finally the launch party for LEC, where everyone from friends to family showed up to support me.

"And as much as I’m a huge vanilla ice cream lover, the Swirly Pistachi-OH! grew on me, as it’s Lizzie’s favourite." I answered one of the many questions, smiling at Lizzie, who talked with Nicholas.

"How did you come up with the names?"

"Lizzie and I named them. It was a very fun process. She also chose the designs with me. I had this whole idea because of her in the first place. When we were in Maranello last season, we were on a run with our coaches and then we saw some kids eating huge ice cream bowls and Lizzie, and me as well, were a little jealous that they could eat ice cream at any time and as much as they want while we… well we can’t. And born was the idea of LEC."

"Thank you Charles. Enjoy the rest of the night."

And we sure did. After the launch we threw a little after party, which was also a surprise birthday party for Joris who was smiling like crazy.

"To Joris, best friend, assistant and personal photographer you could wish for!" I raised my glass and everyone else did the same.

"To Joris!" Lizzie hugged him, kissing his cheek "Thank you for always dealing with not just Charles craziness but also mine."

"Oh stop." Joris blushed a little but Lizzie shook her head.

"No. Without you we would’ve been a lot of times in real trouble." she chuckled and I nodded, agreeing.

"Yeah, on so many occasions you were our voice of reason." I added and he laughed.

"Then let me be your voice of reason today as well… we should call it a day… or rather a night. Your flight is tomorrow quite early." Joris said and Lizzie laughed.

"See!"

We left shortly after, because Joris was right, our flight to China was quiet early on Sunday morning and since it was quite a long time since we raced in Shanghai, we should be fit and well rested. So when it was time to board the plane we felt fresh and ready for our journey ahead.

"What are you thinking?" I asked Lizzie a few hours into our flight, when she looked up from her notebook.

"I never raced in China… I’m a little nervous to be honest." she whispered and I pulled her to my side.

"Let’s do the track walk together and I tell you everything I can remember about the track, how does that sound?" I suggested and she smiled at me.

"Sounds good…" she still sounded worried and I kissed her temple.

"Don’t worry, okay? It will be fine. You’ll manage to adapt, like always." I reassured her and she nodded slowly, looking out of the window.

I knew how nervous she was, how the articles about her future or rather Carlos future at Audi were nagging at her, although she tried to hide it. Didn’t want to show how it all was affecting her. But I could see it. The next days she was tense, the questions about her future were taking their toll on her and it showed in her performance on Friday.

"P14… 14!" Lizzie was pacing back and forth, shoulders tense, head hung low "How am I supposed to make it into the points from there?"

"It’s just the sprint. You’ll be better in the quali tomorrow." I calmed her down but she shook her head.

"Charles, I can’t make any mistakes! I can’t be this bad. The Audi board will monitor every little mistake that I make. I have to make as many points as possible."

I got up from the bed and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her close.

"You didn’t make a mistake! Lance was impeding you. There was nothing you could do!" I put my forehead on her’s and she took a deep breath.

"Yeah but I still need the points…" she sighed and I nodded, making her head move with mine.

"You will make up some positions, okay? And on the real race on Sunday you’ll show what you’ve got, okay?" I kissed her forehead and she nodded slowly.

"Okay…"

"Good. And now, let’s eat and then go to bed."

"Okay…" she said again and I still saw the doubt in her eyes. How unsure she was.

And by the end of Saturday, nothing really changed.

"I don’t know how you kept your cool against Sainz today." she said, cracking her knuckles looking exhausted.

"I mean, what could I have done, you know?" I said and she nodded slightly.

"I want to go home. I swear I hate this track…" she leaned back, closing her eyes.

"It’s okay. You’ll do fine in the race tomorrow! P8 isn’t that bad! You can still make it into the top 5!" I threw my arm around her shoulder, pulling her into my side "Heads up, okay?"

"I don’t know. I feel like our car is just not working around here…" Lizzie groaned and I kissed the side of her head.

"Tomorrow will be a better day. You’ll see. You’ll do good. I’ll do good. It will be fine."

"I hope you’re right."

I got out of my car, shaking my head in disappointment but also a churning in my stomach. A weekend to forget. For me and Lizzie. I congratulated Max, Lando and Checo and went quickly to my weighing. I took my receipt and made my way to the Audi garage.

"She’s not here." Felix said when he saw me approaching and I looked at him "She’s in her room and she’s…"

"How is she?" I asked.

"She’s okay. All clear. Apart from that? Mad? Frustrated? Sad? Furious?"

"Okay… I just saw the replay on the screens… didn’t look too good."

"It looked worse than it was. She said it herself." he replied and I nodded.

"I’m sorry, Felix. Lizzie looked strong out there."

"What do you guys like to say? It’s like this?" he shrugged his shoulders and I chuckled a little.

"Yeah. When you see her, tell her I’ll pick her up after my debrief."

"Sure."

I waved my goodbyes and went to our garage. Trying to be as calm as possible. Another race weekend, another Carlos shit show. Fred patted my back nodding towards Mia and I smiled at her, thanking my mechanics on my way to her. The interviews were done faster as usual. I wasn’t saying anything about Carlos, trying to stay as neutral as possible. I came back to the hospitality and changed out of my racing suit, getting ready for our team debrief. Grabbing my bag and made it back to the garage, waiting for the debrief to start. I sat alone for a while, then Andrea joined me, handing me my water bottle, right as Fred came in with Jock and Enrico.

"You’re here early." Jock said and I nodded.

"I want to leave as fast as I can…"

"Is she okay?"

"I haven’t seen her. But Felix said yes."

"I don’t understand what Norris did there…" Enrico said and I nodded.

"Me neither but what can I say, he’s not the only one who made questionable decisions today, no?" I shrugged my shoulders.

"Charles…" Fred warned but I only held my hands up in defeat.

I leaned back and watched the interviews of the day playing on the tv in the corner, right when Carlos interview started to play. With every second I watched my mood got worse. He was blaming me for his bad result. I was in his way? What the actual fuck.

"Is he for real? It was my fault? My fault?" I looked at Fred.

"We‘ll debrief it…" he began.

"He pushed me off in the sprint yesterday and then what the fuck was he doing at the start today? And now he’s blaming me for it?" I was fuming and Fred tried to calm me down.

"Charles, please.." he began but I sighed when I saw Carlos entering the room "Calm down, okay?"

I scoffed and looked at Fred, waiting for the room to fill up.

"Alright, some positive things, some negative things. First off, we managed to take home as many points as possible this weekend.." Fred began but I didn't even listen, waiting for the moment I could finally leave and check on Lizzie.

"Charles?" Fred looked at me and I blinked.

"What?"

"I said I wanted your opinion on the race start."

"I already gave my opinion on the radio..." was the only thing I said.

"And I gave mine. The racing line you were going in turn 1, turn 2 was weird and…" Carlos began.

"I was in my racing line as I was ahead of you, if you squabble into my racing line, don't blame me. Russell and Hulkenberg only went by because you were in my line, and I had to go wide. Again." I interrupted him.

"Whatever." Carlos rolled his eyes and I scoffed.

"Exactly... whatever when it’s something you did. Let's discuss and put the blame on me every other time. Yeah, yeah I get it." I said and the room fell silent.

"Alright. Umm- let's move forward, Miami. As you might know, we have a special livery and racing suit for Miami..." Fred began but I wasn't listening again.

I wanted to leave. Now. I wanted to go to Lizzie.

"Charles?" Andrea nudged my shoulder and I looked up

"We're ready, we can leave."

"Alright..." I got up and followed him outside, taking my phone out "I'm going to Lizzie..." Andrea patted my back and I left, walking to the Audi hospitality. I watched her get up from the armchair, flinching a little when she walked towards me.

"Hey you..." she said gently, kissing my cheek.

"Hey, are you okay?" I replied, cupping her cheeks ans looking her once over.

"It looked worse than it was… I’m fine."

"I’m sorry that he ruined your race…"

"Yeah, what can I say… it’s like this. We can’t change it now." she sighed and I took her hand, walking outside and thankfully almost no fans were waiting for us.

I had enough of this day, Lizzie looked exhausted and tired and I just wanted to go back to the hotel, make her eat something, go to bed and then go back home.

"You're awfully quiet..." Lizzie said after a while and I sighed "Oh, that bad? What happened?"

"The same shit as always..." I said, stopping at a red light.

"Okay?"

"Carlos does what he wants, blames me, I say my word, no one cares…" I shrugged and Lizzie sighed.

"I had high hopes that it would change, once Fred takes over..." she mumbled and I chuckled bitterly "They signed you. Not him. You're their future, they should listen to you..."

"Yeah maybe, but apparently it’s not like that." I mumbled and she caressed my cheek, turning to look at me.

"Maybe you need to talk to Fred?" she suggested and I nodded.

"Yeah. Maybe. But for now I just want to go home." I smiled a little, thinking about our upcoming anniversary and the little surprise I had planned for Lizzie.

"Me too. Netflix will bother us for a hot minute tho..." she sighed and I grabbed her thigh, squeezing it, I already took care of that as well "I had a talk with Elijah and we will film a little something…"

"It will be fine, don't worry."

"If you say so." she chuckled.

Oh I knew so. I just didn't say anything. Not raising any suspicions. But it was all well thought through. And the moment we arrived back at home, I started to make the final preparations for the big surprise.

"And Lizzie has no idea?" Elijah asked, while the film crew captured everything I was doing.

"Nope. Not a single clue. For once I was able to keep a secret to myself." I laughed as we walked through the garden gate, Marianne already awaiting.

"Salut Charles! Come on in!" she greeted me, and I felt the giddiness overcoming me. Sure, it was a surprise for Lizzie, and I knew how excited she would be, but it was also for me. Something I've always dreamed of myself.

"Ready to bring him home?" Marianne asked when we stepped in the back, three little puppies playing in the play pen, one of them jumped excited up the fence as soon as he spotted me "Seems like he is ready."

"Hey Arlo." I bent down, picking him up and he began licking my face immediately "Ready, little one?" I turned to Elijah and the film crew "Meet Arlo Doetterer-Leclerc, our newest family member."

"Oh my god, he's adorable." Sarah, the sound lady said and I stepped closer to her, so she could pet Arlo.

"You have everything you need?" Marianne asked me and I nodded.

"I bought everything from the list you gave me, I set up his crate and bed. Now it's only him who's missing." I said and she chuckled.

"I guess you are really ready to go then!" she said and I smiled.

"Let's say goodbye to your siblings and mum..." I sat him back down in the play pen, watching how he tolled around with his brother and sister. Marianne then brought out Arlo's mum and I picked him up and sat him down in front of her "Don't' worry, little one, we will come and visit your mum from time to time."

"You can always come by, maybe we can set up some playdates when his siblings are coming over." Marianne bent down, scratching Arlos's head.

"Definitely..." I agreed and Marianne picked him up and handing him over.

"We stay in touch then!" she smiled and I nodded.

"We will. Bye Marianne." I said and Eijah and the rest of the crew waved goodbye.

"Let's go, we have to hurry a little if we want to be at home before Lizzie gets back." I opened the passenger door and sat Arlo down, putting his harness on and then sat him into the transport box, clipping the harness into the security hook

"Alright. Tomorrow then?"

"Yes, just text us when you're ready and we're coming over." Elijah said and I nodded "See you tomorrow."

"See you guys tomorrow then." I got in the car and drove back to Monaco, Arlo next to me barking "We almost made it Arlo. Soon you'll see your new home, you'll gonna love it." I parked the car, glad to see that Lizzie's car wasn't here, and got Arlo out of the transport box when Lizzie called.

"Hey cara mia." I said, hoping Arlo would be quiet.

"Chicken and salmon for tomorrow and Friday?" she asked and I chuckled.

"Yep sounds good, for tonight I reserved a table at Antonios." I lied. I ordered food because I knew Lizzie wouldn’t want to leave once she saw Arlo.

"Sounds good. I'm almost home, you need anything else?"

"Nope just you.." I stepped out of the elevator, unlocking the door.

"Alright, half an hour and you have me." she laughed.

"Perfect. Love you. Bye." I hung up right in time for Arlo to let out a bark for ignoring him too long "Sorry buddy. Your mum is almost home come on now, I have to get you ready!"

I walked upstairs with him and sat him down, getting the bow I had prepared. I sat down and Arlo immediately jumped between my legs, happily barking and huffing. Tying the bow around him was harder than expected and I soon realised it might not go that easy.

"Oh come on, little one! Hold still! No! No! Stop! Arlo!" how could a small fur ball like him exhaust me after not even 30 minutes! I tried again tying the bow around him, but he just jumped out of my lap, following the reflection of my watch, barking his adorable little barks "Okay, come on now! Good boy! Good boy! Yes, come here." I cooed and he looked at me tilting his head a little, looking adorable "Please, you little nugget! Your mum will be here any minute! Pleeeeaseee!" He jumped back in my lap, starting to lick my face "No! Stop! Stay! Arlo, stay! Good boy! Now just let me… no stay! Arrrghh! Arlo!" I gave up. It wasn’t working. I plopped down and Arlo jumped on my chest "Yeah, we definitely need to go to the puppy school with you, you little rascal!" he laid down on my chest, looking at me with his big puppy eyes "You’re the cutest, little, good boy! Your mum is going to freak out! She’s crazy for dogs! You’ll be spoiled and cuddled and kissed and loved all the time!" he barked a little and then attacked my face with more licks and dog kisses. A notification on my phone let me know that Lizzie just entered our home and I scooped the little rascal up, going out on the terrace, waiting for Lizzie to come up.

"Shhh… just a few more minutes little one! Come on! Don’t bark!" I pleaded and Arlo stumbled over his own feet and let out a little bark "Shhh!"

"Charles? I'm home?" I heard Lizzie coming up the stairs "Are you even here?"

I opened the screen door fully and sat Arlo down.

"Go..." I whispered to him right when Lizzie rounded the corner and as if he understood his assignment he trotted towards her, tilting his head adorably, stopping in front of her.

"Cha-…" she began but then stopped abruptly, staring at Arlo "Wha-... who-... Charles? There is a puppy... a beautiful, gorgeous, cute and adorable puppy... in our flat..." she whispered, and I stepped behind Arlo.

"Lizzie, meet Arlo Doetterer-Leclerc, our new fur baby." I smiled and Lizzie had tears in her eyes, falling down on her knees and scooping up Arlo who happily jumped into her arms, licking her face "Happy second anniversary, cara mia."

"He's really ours? Our fur baby?" Lizzie looked at me and I nodded "Our baby boy?"

"Our baby boy." I chuckled and Lizzie got up, Arlo pressed to her chest, storming right into my arms "I mean initially your's as a gif-..." I began but she pressed her lips on mine, and I was melting into her touch.

"I love you, Charles. So much. This... he's the best gift I could ever receive. Our little fur baby." she whispered against my lips, sniffeling "He's so perfect!" she cooed, kissing Arlos head over and over again "My two perfect boys."

I chuckled and pulled her towards the sofa, sitting down with Lizzie snuggled into my side, Arlo in her arms, littering him with kisses. His big eyes on her. I was right, he immediately fell in love with her, like everyone who meets her does.

Chapter 43 - Welcome to the family, Arlo Doetterer-Leclerc, when I started this story last July I wrote so many little blurbs and created Insta posts and was so excited for when I finally could use them! That Charles now has a puppy in real life is just another one of these funny coincidences 🙈 that THE Lewis Hamilton comments and says he’s happy for Roscoe to have a friend in the hospitality (I actually meant paddock but hey) is also and added bonus 🙈👀 and ALSO CONGRATS CHARLES ON P3 TODAY!

Please leave a comment/ like/ reblog/ message and tell me how you liked it! I'm dying to hear your thoughts!

If you want to be added to the taglist, drop a comment!

Last but not least, English is not my first language and although I tried my best: please excuse any mistakes I made!

Taglist:

@silkenthusiasts @eugene-emt-roe @sunny44 @itsjustkhaos @glitterquadricorn @aundercover @kakorrhaphiphobia @alittlebitofbooksandmagic @ru-kru @shimmermotorsport @janeh22 @kahhorri @18754389 @chiliwhore @hellowgoodbye @queensassybitchsworld @harrysdimple05 @skynel09

All the images I’m using are from Google, Pinterest and Instagram (or self made).

29 notes · View notes

tgmsunmontue · 3 days

Text

Saga of Solitude 5/?

Nepo!Baby Bradley and his life at USNA and afterwards. DADT fully in force. Hangster AU. (Begun prior to 'It's not who you know' - the non-angsty version).

PROLOGUE (He remembers)

HANGSTER FIRST MEETING (Lonely Nights - set 2009)

Updating ~weekly (longer chapters).

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

ONE (2000) TWO (2001) THREE (2002) FOUR (2003)

CHAPTER FIVE – 2004

He spends three weeks in a submarine and it helps cement his decision to attend flight school, if they accept his application. There is of course the natural competition between everyone, it’s simply how they function, each striving to be better, make those around them better, but also support them and drag them through it if they have to. His third year at USNA wraps up and he’s facing his summer break. The entire year has gone well, no terrorist attacks, although there is definite heightened security since.

The routine is easy now, he’s an upperclassman, has Natasha and then a smaller circle of people he considers friends, if nothing close to what he has with Natasha. He’s aware that a significant chunk of upperclassmen think that he and Natasha are together, and the one time he checks in with her about whether she’s okay with that she’d just shrugged and said it had stopped the guys expecting her to pay any of them attention. No one asks, and they never correct anyone. When they head out to have leave together no one bats an eye. When they mention having spent some of the previous summer together it’s the same.

He finds out why Natasha doesn’t talk to her family. Teenage pregnancy. She’d refused to get married to the guy, someone she won’t even tall Bradley the name of, and the shame of either the pregnancy, or their daughter not obeying them, they’d kicked her out. Her application with USNA had already been accepted, her place guaranteed and Bradley doesn’t need to ask to realize what her decision must have been. He briefly feels awful about introducing Tamsin and Petra to her, but she seems to take great joy in chatting to them on the phone and drawing and sending them pictures, so he lets that guilt melt away.

They’ve both been asked to return to USNA and assist as upperclassmen for Plebe Summer, something he feels immense pride in, glad to have made a good enough impression that he’s being held up as a role model to the new recruits. Of course it makes their leave almost non-existent and they decide to spend it together, which he knows will only fuel rumors that they’re a couple. They go to San Francisco for five days at the start of their leave, and he finally gets to meet Natasha’s sole family member that has anything to do with her, and the way his eyes travel up Bradley’s body leave him blushing furiously. That he’s hot doesn’t help at all.

“Oh, it is nice to meet you,” Christopher says, shaking his hand and Bradley looks to Natasha with a raised eyebrow and she’s just shaking her head.

“Nice to meet you too. Bradley.”

“Mmm. I have heard a lot about you. She didn’t ever mention just how delightful you looked.”

“Because to me, he isn’t very delightful to look at. There are nicer views.”

“Hey!” Bradley objects, out of principle more than anything, and Natasha is already cackling and pushing past Christopher with her bags but Christopher is looking at him seriously, completely different to the over-the-top flirtation of a moment ago.

“Oh my god. You’re…” Christopher makes a limp-wrist gesture which sends Bradley’s eyebrows up in surprise.

“Uh. Don’t ask don’t tell…” he says, throat tight, wondering where the fuck Natasha has gone.

“Oh honey, I am not part of your weird cultish military shit. And I wasn’t asking, I was confirming. Holy shit. No wonder Tadpole likes you so much.”

“Tadpole?”

“Shut up!” Natasha calls out and Bradley grins.

“I’ll tell you the story later,” Christopher says, voice low and conspiratory and Bradley nods, hitching his bag over his shoulder. Christopher jerks his head toward where Natasha can be heard grumbling. “Sorry, only got the one guest room. She’s already claimed the bed probably, so you’re on an air mattress.”

“That’s fine, not the worst place I’ve slept by far.”

“You’re my guest, I’d like to hope not. I’ll let you guys get settled then we can head out and find some food.”

He leaves Bradley at the door and Natasha is smirking at him.

“You couldn’t have told me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“Sorry, his sexuality isn’t exactly something I drop into casual conversation. We’re at USNA remember. Repression is being ingrained into us.”

“Okay, would you hate me if I asked him out?”

“No. But his boyfriend might.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay.”

“They can take you clubbing. I’m sure you’ll find ways of enjoying yourself here.”

She’s right, and she’s smug about it. During the days they do touristy things and just spend time relaxing, occasionally working out. In the evenings Christopher and his boyfriend Patrick take them dancing or clubbing. Natasha comes along once, but then tells them she doesn’t want to sit around getting hit on by anyone so instead either goes to the movies or stays at Christopher’s apartment.

He’s spent previous weeks on leave in New York, having sex with strangers, but this is a completely different experience. One he’s not going to forget in a hurry. For a start he has never had so much sex in such a short period of time, and it’s good sex, the guys that Christopher sends his way clearly more experienced and keen to give him good experiences or teach him how to give better blow jobs. It’s like each of the guys has undergone a screening process, and when one slips that he’s an ex of Patrick’s he realizes that maybe they have been. He can’t bring himself to care, not when he’ benefitting and enjoying it all.

… … …

They get to Ice’s house and there’s a welcome home party and he can’t believe how big Tamsin and Petra have grown. It’s a vastly different experience to their brief time in San Fransisco but he’s glad they have two weeks and Natasha seems to take her role as surrogate big sister seriously, the four of them watching movies, or lying around with slices of cucumber over their eyes. Sarah snaps a picture of them like that, gets it printed and gives copies to both him and Natasha, along with a pile of other photos she’s taken while they’ve been staying.

Of course, his birthday comes and he’s twenty-one. Maverick hands over an envelope and a key and he looks at it blankly.

“What’s this?”

“The deed to the house. It’s to go to you on your twenty-first birthday.”

“But… what am I going to do with a house?”

“Live in it?”

“But… I’ll be deployed or away…”

“Bradley, it’s the house your parents bought. What you do with it is up to you. I’d like to still live there of course…”

“Of course! I mean, if you’re not moving in with Ice, then of course you can stay there. It’s just… nothing has to change right? It’s just a piece of paper?”

“It’s just a piece of paper. And we’ll help navigate any legal stuff. And we won’t be moving in together any time soon,” Ice states, voice soft, but his expression is sad and Bradley wishes things were different.

… … …

Tom wants to wrap himself around Maverick and never let him go. The amount he’s been away on deployment makes every moment they have together even more precious, and he’s starting to second guess his own rules, even if they’ve kept them both safe. He has two kids and an ex-wife which is a damned good cover, even if his best friend comes and stays frequently. He isn’t telling anyone that doesn’t already know, and no one is asking him, even if they have their suspicions.

He hates the fact that Pete is now effectively homeless, not that Bradley would ever kick him out of the house, but Tom wants him to have somewhere that is his, and maybe not his alone, but something that would just light Pete up from the inside. The way flying does. He pauses mid-thought and thinks back to a couple of years ago, the Beechcraft and the airstrip, Mav taking Bradley up in the air. Huh. Not a plane, not yet, but there were hangars out there. And a hangar beside an airstrip is probably somewhere Pete would consider living if he thought it was a legitimate option. Not that he himself would want to live beside an airstrip, but this isn’t about him.

He makes a few calls. Then a few more calls. He’s got to consider leases, and taxes and whether it might just make more sense to rent. He doesn’t want to rent though, wants to make some sort of large gesture and present it as a fait accompli that gives Maverick no wiggle-room to turn it down. He feels pretty confident it wouldn’t be turned away regardless, unless Mav was feeling particularly difficult on the day. Then he gets a call, someone had heard he was looking, and it’s an old Navy hangar, located at the very same airstrip and it feels serendipitous and he agrees to come out and have a look.

… … …

Of course, with how much mentoring he’s doing with the Plebes come the questions, and he remembers his conversation with Ice, a couple of years ago now. When they ask him questions about his parents he simply pulls a face and shakes his head, ignores his own peers, fellow Firsts, who he can see from the corner of his eye who were shaking their heads at the Plebes, trying to stop them from simply asking.

“My dad was a naval aviator who died in a Top Gun training incident in eighty-six and my mom died of cancer in ninety-four. I was raised by my step-father after that. Any other awkward questions you want answers to?”

It’s probably why they never ask him or Natasha anything, and another First slaps the Plebe on the back, mutters I tried to warn you off asking but he doesn’t feel upset about it at all. It’s not at all a lie, even if his step-father would be here in a heartbeat if Bradley needed him to be. He knows that both Ice and Mav intend to attend his graduation in formal roles, and while they might night get to acknowledge their roles with each other in such a formal setting he doesn’t care. They want to be there and they’re planning to be there, special leave already requested and granted long ago, considering they’ll be in uniform.

He and Natasha both work hard, both at their studies and also on their physical fitness. Their applications for flight school were submitted months ago, he really wants to go with her, can’t imagine not going without her. They’re both consistently in the top two or five percent, which he knows bodes well for them. Knows that their involvement with extra curriculars and being friendly with pretty much everyone has them well liked and respected. He just has to be patient and wait.

… … …

They both look at the envelopes, slapping them on empty palms. They look identical, but unlike his USNA acceptance letter, this is a single piece of paper and it could be flight school acceptance, or a decline.

“On the count of three?” Natasha asks and Bradley admires her courage.

“Yeah. Three.”

They rip them open.

… … …

“I knew it!” Maverick screams, his joy palpable through the phone for their Saturday afternoon call. “Ice! Ice! He got in! Hold on, let me put you on speaker…”

“Of course he did… well done Bradley. Congratulations.”

He blows out a long breath, because he’s glad they have seemingly unshakeable confidence in his abilities. God, he never wants to disappoint them.

“Thanks. Natasha got in as well.”

“She’s a very capable young woman. Proud of you both. Please pass that on to her.”

“Yeah, thanks. I will.”

“Yeah, we’re both very proud. You can go back to work now. I’m going to go outside and talk to my godson…”

He hears Ice mutter something in the background, not clear enough to make out, but then Mav is telling him off for rolling his eyes and he can just imagine what he said, the gentle laughter between them and he can’t help but smile.

“So. did Ice tell you he bought me a hangar?”

“He did what?” Bradley asks, because such a move seems like something Mav would make, rather than Ice.

“He bought me a hangar. Said that I was obviously always welcome wherever he was, but that he knew I needed my own place and that I now had a space for the plane I’ve been eyeing up.”

“You’ve been eying up a plane? Wait. A hangar. For you to live in? What about the house? You aren’t moving out are you?”

“No. Of course not. But I’m going to be there as often as you are, probably less considering Ice has become a lot more, uh, relaxed about his stupid sleepover rules. The hangar isn’t currently habitable anyway. But there’s this P-51 Mustang I’ve been looking at. It’s beautiful.”

“He proposed to you with an aircraft hangar. Oh my god, that’s so… romantic and practical of him.”

“He didn’t propose.”

“Mav. If a guy bought me an aircraft hangar what would you think about the guy?”

“That he was crazy in love with you, and utterly committed… oh shit. I’ll call you back.”

He is not surprised when he doesn’t get called back.

… … …

He hadn’t expected it.

They hadn’t warned him.

The emotions of the day, coupled with the fact that they’d asked every single member of the 1986 Top Gun class there, along with a few other friends of both his parents. He clearly has the biggest cheering section and he feels like a mess inside, although outwardly he’s all smiles and calm togetherness. Four years of training helps with that at least. Ice and Mav are both up on the stage, part of the VIP section, along with several others who are still serving, and he recognizes them from his birthday a couple of years ago.

“Did you know they were all going to be here?” Natasha asks, and he shakes his head, throat working against the tightness of his collar.

There are photos, Ice agreeing to so many photos with newly minted graduates and Bradley lets them all go, fights his way through the crowds to find Mav. He and Ice can stage photos later, there will always be times when they’re in uniform. Just the fact that they’re here is more than enough and he’s so happy that he has had them supporting him every step of the way.

“Captain Mitchell.”

“Midshipman Bradshaw. Congratulations. Your father would be very proud. I flew with him you know?”

Bradley blinks.

Blinks again.

Hopes his internal dialogue somehow is being telepathically beamed into Mav’s head.

You are such a dick. Hopefully his expression does enough to convey his exasperation.

“Really? I didn’t know that sir.”

Mav gives him a shit-eating grin and Bradley wishes Ice were there to hit him around the head. Not that he would, not in this setting, but damn he sees why he’s always so tempted.

“I’m going to have a photo with all the graduates who are going to be heading off to Corpus Christi for flight school. I think they want us over there.”

It’s chaos. Positive and energetic happiness with everyone feeling the sense that they’re about to begin their careers, that they’ve made it through what is meant to be the hardest part, even if Bradley secretly thinks flight school might be even more challenging, it’s only for eighteen months. He manages to get photos with Maverick, Natasha and Ice and nearly every available combination. Then there are photos with the 1986 class, and he ignores the fact that several of the other men seem to shed a tear.

Then it’s dispersing, the crowd thinning and families are gathering, taking more photos and he can see Sarah pushing through, the hands of Tamsin and Petra clasped and he grins, starts heading toward them, already thinking that Tamsin has grown a couple of inches, can see both his sisters pulling Sarah toward them before she decides to let them go.

“Natasha! Natasha!” Petra screams, and she’s running across the quad, hair streaming behind her with gold and navy ribbons mixed in, running past him and Natasha is grinning broadly, bending down to swoop Petra up in a hug. Bradley stands back up from where he’d been just about to scoop her up himself before she’d breezed past him.

“Wow,” he says to Sarah as she comes to a stop to stand beside him.

“Hurts doesn’t it?” Sarah says, not really asking and Bradley nods, murmuring a quiet yeah under his breath. He doesn’t begrudge Natasha the joy and love of his sisters, love isn’t in finite supply, it’s just a little hurtful to not even warrant a hello. He has to remind himself that Petra is only seven.

“I love you Bradley,” Tamsin says, arms coming around his waist to give him a hug, as if she can tell how he’s feeling and he hugs her back.

“Love you too Tam.”

“You’re dressed up all fancy like Daddy and Papa.”

“Yeah. You look pretty fancy in your dress too. Is that new?”

“Yep. Mom bought is especially for today!”

“We can look fancy together.”

“Congratulations Bradley, we’re all very proud of you.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you proud of me? I go to school too,” Tamsin says, and Sarah looks heavenward and Bradley wonders if she’s been fielding questions like this for a while.

“I’m proud of you, going to school can be really hard work somedays,” Bradley says.

“Daddy!” Tamsin says, and then Ice is there, pressing his cheek against Sarah’s in greeting and nodding at Bradley again.

“Bradley! Up!” Petra demands, appearing at his side and Natasha is grinning.

“Hello to you too Miss Petra, happy to be of service.”

There are a few people doing a double take as they see who he is standing with, who he is clearly family with, but he cares less now. He’s finished here, no one can claim he played any favoritism card. He knows flight school will be different, wants to be in the air as soon as possible.

He can’t wait.

#Saga of Solitude #IceMav #Hangster #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction

37 notes · View notes

pedroscurls · 3 days

Text

chance encounters | pt. 4

character(s): we got all the Triple Frontier boys in this chapter (obvi except Tom). Benny Miller, Will “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Frankie “Catfish” Morales, fem!Reader summary: You've won the last four of your fights and now you're undefeated. With Benny and the rest of the guys helping you through your grief, you start to believe that things are getting better... you start to feel like you can live your life. Until one day brings you back to square one and you demand a title fight that you're not ready for. word count: 3.1k a/n: Grief isn't linear... I feel like every chapter is a special one to me, but this one... It hits close to home more so than the other chapters. Hope y'all enjoy. warnings: grief series masterlist | ultimate masterlist

Since Frankie and the guys surprised you at the beach, things seemed to be getting better. You feel hopeful that you’re able to move forward and continue to live your life, even with the absence of your best friend. Sure, there are still days where your grief cripples you, but you’re able to pull yourself out of it much more quickly. It helps that you’re now able to allow people in to help you.

It’s been a couple of months since that day on the beach and you’re much lighter. You don’t feel a heaviness that sits on your chest at every waking moment of the day. Even when you go to train with Benny, you allow yourself to actually have fun, to smile and laugh. It’s been such a long time since you felt like this and you weren’t sure that you ever would.

You and Frankie talk almost every day. If it’s not over the phone or through text, he arrives at the gym with the rest of the guys at the tail end of your training session with Benny. It’s almost like you settle into a routine with him and you would be lying to yourself if you said that his presence provided a calmness that you haven’t felt in so long and a calmness that you didn’t realize you were yearning for since losing your best friend.

He sometimes gives you a kiss on the cheek when he greets you, hand on your lower back. Frankie will usually pull away slowly and look at you through the tops of his eyelashes, nose brushing against yours. You know there’s a mutual attraction, but you’re not there yet. You aren’t sure if you can ever get there, but he doesn’t ever pressure you. Frankie silently acknowledges it, acknowledges the fact that you aren’t ready for more than just friends, and instead, he just gives you a small smile and a single nod as if to say, I know. I’ll be here when you are ready.

And truthfully, you’re thankful. You’re thankful for Frankie, you’re thankful for Benny, for Will, for Santiago. When you found out that your best friend died about nine months ago, you didn’t think that moving on with your life was possible. Though, part of you is still afraid. You do your best to be open, to rely on Frankie and the rest of the guys, but if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re afraid to get too close to any of them even though it feels like you can’t even imagine life without any of them anymore. The possibility of losing any of them sits uneasily in the pit of your stomach. You know it’s highly unlikely that anything bad would happen, but at the same time, you’ve gotten used to being on edge after losing your best friend. You never thought that you would ever lose him this early; you always imagined that he would be right there next to you as you both grow old, your own families just as close as you were with him.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

You were going to grow old. Without him. And it still hurts. To know that when you get married and walk down the aisle, he won’t be there. To know that when you may become a mother, he won’t be there.

And it seems like all of those things seem so out of reach, like it isn’t what you want anymore.

Even getting close to Frankie as you are now, it’s scary. You know that you have feelings for him and you’re aware that he has feelings for you, but you can’t bring yourself to get there… To lean in to kiss him, to have him spend the night because that means opening up your heart again and allowing him to settle into it with the possibility of losing him.

And you aren’t sure if you can handle that kind of pain again.

—

“Undefeated,” Benny grins proudly. “Four fights in and you’ve won every single one of them.”

“Helps to have a good coach,” you smile, leaning back against the cage. Your training session just ended, always a dripping mess of sweat at the end of it. Benny pushes you to your limit every time you train with him, never allowing you to ease up even if it is only training. And you’re grateful because it transcends into every fight you’ve had so far. Even when you get rocked, even when you want to give up, Benny always reminds you that you’re just not wired like that. Your fighter name is The Warrior for a reason.

“You know I love compliments,” Benny winks. “Keep ‘em coming.”

You roll your eyes and lie back on the mat, staring up at the ceiling as you continue to cool down and catch your breath. “You and the guys heading out tonight?”

“I think they’re actually gonna bring dinner here. Wanna stay?”

“Sure, that’d be nice.”

Benny smiles. “I’m proud of you,” he says softly. “I know losing someone isn’t ever easy, but–”

“Frankie told me you guys were all former military,” you interrupt.

“We’ve lost people,” Benny nods. “Lost someone very close to us. There used to actually be five of us.”

“Frankie mentioned that, yeah.”

“You and Frankie talk a lot, hm?”

You look over at Benny and see him grinning in your direction. You know where his mind went and you reach over to gently slap his leg. “It’s nothing like that.”

Benny scoffs. “I have eyes. We have eyes. Plus, he talks a lot about you.”

“He does?” you ask, brow arching. “I just like being around him.”

“Well, good. He’s a good guy. Been through a lot. We all have, but him especially.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to open myself up to him,” you admit quietly. “I’m scared, Benny.”

He sighs and hears the front door open, followed by quiet chatter and laughter from Will, Santiago, and Frankie. Then, Benny looks over at you and helps you to your feet. “Don’t force it. Frankie’s a patient man. And I know he likes you a lot.”

“What if he waits around and I just never get there? I don’t want him waiting around for me.” you whisper.

Benny shrugs, hearing his name being called. “You’ll get there.”

“But how do you know?”

“I just do.” He smiles, leading you out of the cage. “Just take it day by day.”

When you get closer to the rest of the guys, Frankie’s the first one to pull you in for a hug. He doesn’t even mind that you’re sweaty; he just loves feeling your body against him, feeling your arms wrap around him. “Hey,” he whispers, pulling away and pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“Hi,” you look up at him, letting the corner of your lips lift slightly. “I’m all sweaty and you just hugged me.”

Frankie chuckles, putting his hands into his pockets. “Doesn’t bother me.”

You blush slightly and then turn your attention to greet Santiago and Will, who also pull you into a hug. “Okay, I’m gonna take a quick shower since being sweaty is only bothering me.”

You grab your duffle bag and head to the locker room and showers in the back of the gym, faintly hearing the rest of the guys begin to talk. It takes only fifteen minutes before you walk back out to see the rest of the guys sitting on the mats. Your hair is damp and you’re now dressed in shorts and an oversized crewneck. You move to sit next to Frankie, who leans his body closer to yours.

“You hungry?” he asks.

“Starving,” you grin, taking a slice of pizza and lifting it to your lips. You subconsciously lean against Frankie, head resting on his shoulder and you’re so focused on eating that you don’t realize that the rest of the guys are staring at the both of you with a grin on their faces.

You’re so calm, so at ease with Frankie next to you and the rest of the guys nearby. When you look up, you furrow a brow and finish eating your slice of pizza. “What?” you ask, grabbing a napkin and quickly wiping your lips. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” Santiago chuckles. “It’s nothing.”

“Right,” you say slowly, realizing that you were so close to Frankie that you pull away and clear your throat. “So, Benny, when’s my next fight?”

Benny chuckles. “You’ve been pretty active these last six months. We should take it easy for a bit, at least until the end of the year.”

“But I want to fight.”

“I know you do, but if your goal is to get the belt, you also gotta take some rest.”

“I have good momentum. I’m undefeated. If I take a break now, I might–”

“It’s not up for discussion,” Benny sighs.

“Okay,” you say. You trust Benny and you know that he has your best interests in mind, so you don’t push it any further. “Okay, Benny,” you repeat. “But we can still train, right?”

Will smiles. “You’re probably the most dedicated person I know,” he says.

“I made a commitment,” you reply. “And I promised Benny I’d work my ass off. No matter what.”

“Maybe we should all take a break,” Santiago says with a grin. “Maybe we should take a week-long trip or something.”

“You know, that doesn’t actually sound too bad.” Frankie says, gently nudging you with his shoulder. “What do you think, hermosa?”

“Where would we go?” you ask.

“Anywhere,” Santiago shrugs.

“Maybe,” you whisper. “Maybe.”

—

The following day, you take a break from training. Benny’s actually surprised, especially since he was going to give you a call that morning to tell you that he wouldn't be able to come in due to some errands he needed to run.

You’re sitting in your car, waiting to go into the grocery store when something - no, someone - catches your eye. It’s a side profile of a stranger, but it makes your breath catch in your throat. It’s such a similar walk, such a similar profile of your best friend. Even the way this man dresses reminds you of him. You’re gripping the steering wheel, unable to move as your eyes never leave this man who’s walking across the parking lot. You whisper your best friend’s name and when the man turns around, your world comes crashing down.

For a brief moment, the reality of losing your best friend didn’t seem real. This man, this stranger, resembled your best friend so much that you were sure this was your best friend. But when he turns around and you manage to get a full view of his face, you realize that he isn’t your best friend.

Your best friend is gone.

Even the way this man smiles and talks animatedly to his friend reminds you of the best friend you lost. Your best friend who is no longer in this world. Your best friend who promised to always be there for you, but is no longer here. And when his eye catches yours, he gives you a nod with a furrowed brow before he climbs into his car.

You’re back to square one. You can’t move. Your mind is filled with thoughts of your best friend. You’re reliving the moment when you found out about his death, experiencing the same dreadful feeling that settles into the pit of your stomach. And just like before, you’re filled with so much anger and so much guilt and regret.

The last couple of months were just a distraction. It gave you a glimpse that things could get better, but you were naive in thinking that it was possible. There is just no way that you can move forward with your life, not without your best friend here.

Your mind briefly drifts to Frankie, to Benny, Will, and Santiago. You know you should call them, know you should tell them that you’re stuck and you can’t seem to bring yourself out of it, but you don’t. It isn’t their problem. You are not their problem.

So, instead, you send a text to Benny. Simple. Short. And straight to the point.

Get me a title fight. I’m ready.

Benny responds almost immediately. You’re not ready. We already talked about you taking a break. End of discussion.

Your jaw tightens. You want to scream. You want to hit something. If you’re not gonna get me a title fight, then I’m going to go to someone else that will.

You signed a contract. What’s going on? Are you okay? Benny replies.

I’m fine. Get me my title fight, Benny.

Get to the gym. We can talk more about it then.

Without replying, you peel out of the grocery store and make your way to Benny’s gym. You had plans to make dinner, to invite Frankie over, but that is no longer the priority. You’re pulling away and you realize that it’s best for everyone if you keep your distance from all of them.

You park your car and walk into Benny’s gym, seeing Frankie, Will, and Santiago on the mats drenched in sweat. You know they had just finished their workout. They all stand to greet you, but notice the look on your face. You don’t even spare another glance in their direction before you’re walking towards Benny’s office in the back.

You don’t even knock. You open the door and see him sitting at his desk.

“You aren’t ready,” Benny begins. “You’re going to get hurt.”

“I don’t give a fuck, Benny. Get me my fucking title fight.”

“You are not ready!” he yells. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Nothing. I don’t want to take a break. I want to fight.”

“I know you do,” he sighs. “But you’re going to get burnt out and you’re going to be more prone to injury. Please, I’m only looking out for y–”

“No, you’re not!” you interrupt, voice raising and hands clenched into fists at your sides. “Like I said, if you can’t get me a title fight, I’ll find someone else who can. Fuck our contract.”

Benny stands abruptly, chair screeching on the floor as he does. He can tell you’re fuming, can tell that you’re on the verge of tears and whatever happened from last night to today, he’s sure it’s the reason why you’re in his office, threatening him.

“Talk to me,” he says quietly. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” you yell. “Get me my fight, Benny.” You’re walking out of his office with your fists still clenched so tightly at your sides. Benny’s calling your name, walking after you, but you don’t listen. You ignore him and ultimately ignore the rest of the guys’ pleas to get you to stop walking.

It isn’t until you hear Frankie’s voice that you stop to look at him. His deep, brown eyes are staring at you with concern in them. For a moment, you falter and you want to burst into tears right then and there, but you’re so angry and so hurt over the loss of your best friend that it prevents you from asking for help.

“What’s going on?” Santiago asks.

“She’s asking for a title fight and she’s not ready.” Benny sighs.

“I thought you were gonna take a break?” Will says, seeing the way your body is slightly trembling.

“No.” You respond, your eyes finally moving away from Frankie. “Benny, get me my fight or I’m breaking our contract and going to a gym and coach that will get me what I want.”

“You’re gonna get hurt,” Benny says. “I’m not going to put you in a cage where you’re gonna get your ass kicked.”

“So, you don’t believe in me?” you laugh bitterly, sarcastically. “I thought I was your little warrior.”

“You are,” Benny sighs. “Please, I’m just–”

“Hermosa,” Frankie says softly. “Just talk to us.”

“Nothing to talk about. I want my title fight.” Then, you storm out of the gym and walk back into your car. Once inside, tears begin to stroll down your face and you hit your steering wheel plenty of times that your knuckles begin to bruise. Then, you scream and when you shut your eyes, all you see is your best friend. And it’s not even the good times you see, instead, behind closed eyelids all you see is him lying in the casket during his viewing.

Then, you hear a quiet knock on your window and you turn to see Frankie. His eyes are filled with worry and concern, but instead, you start your car and pull out of your parking spot. He doesn’t even try to rush after you. Instead, he stays in the parking lot and watches you drive away. He knows something happened, he just isn’t sure exactly what.

Benny, Santiago, and Will join him outside and they all watch your car drive further away from the gym.

“You’re not thinking about getting her that fight, are you?” Frankie asks.

“I have to,” Benny sighs.

“You said it yourself, she’ll get hurt. Why would you even entertain the idea of getting her that fight?” Santiago asks.

Will’s the one who speaks up. “Benny can keep an eye on her during the fight. If she goes somewhere else, do you think that gym or that coach has her best interests at heart?”

Frankie shakes her head. “She’s fucking upset. She’s hurting and you’re going to put her in a cage with someone who can hurt her? Are you insane?”

“What else am I supposed to do?! Will’s right. She will go to another gym and another coach will see her potential and overwork her, put her in fights that she isn’t ready for.” Benny yells. “Do you think I want to give her what she wants?”

“Something happened today,” Santiago sighs. “I think we should give her time to cool down. Maybe she’ll come to her senses…”

“She won’t.” Frankie says.

Benny nods in agreement. “Frankie’s right. She won’t change her mind. You didn’t–” he sighs, “You didn’t see the look on her face, the look in her eyes. The last time I saw that look was the first day I met her.”

“What do we do?” Frankie asks quietly.

“We can’t do anything,” Will says. “She has to want the help, Frankie. You know that.”

“So, we just let her suffer? Let her deal with this grief by herself?”

“Hermano,” Santiago sighs. “We can’t force her to come to us. It’s just going to push her away.”

“She’s already pushing away!”

“If anyone can get through to her, it’s you, Fish,” Benny says. “But if you want my advice? Give her space. She came to you once. She’ll do it again.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #garrett hedlund #garrett hedlund character #oscar isaac #oscar isaac character #charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam character #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #story: chance encounters

32 notes · View notes

makeitastrength · 1 day

Text

As I hold you for the last time

Chapter 2

Tim comes to in the back of an ambulance.

He jolts upright, tugging the oxygen mask away from his face and ignoring the EMT’s pleas for him to lay back as he surveys his surroundings, frantic. “Lucy?”

“Sergeant, I need you to…”

“Where is she?” he demands.

“She’s in the other ambulance,” the EMT explains gently, though the pressure of her hand against his shoulder doesn’t let up. “But right now, I need you to remain calm.”

“Is she okay?”

“Sir…”

“She’s still unconscious,” says a second voice, and Tim squints into the sunlight to find Bailey standing just outside the open doors. “But she should be waking up soon.”

Tim releases a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding and finally allows the EMT to guide him back against the gurney.

“You guys did the right thing,” Bailey assures him. “She wouldn’t have made it without you.”

He drops his head onto the flimsy pillow and closes his eyes as a partial feeling of relief washes over him. He won’t be able to completely relax until he’s able to see her with his own eyes. But knowing that she’s alive and just a few feet away is enough to pacify the worst of his fear. For now.

As he gradually calms, Tim begins to take stock of his own situation. There are wires attached to his chest, a blood pressure cuff on one arm, and an IV inserted into the other. He’s still cold despite being covered in multiple heavy blankets, his entire body is stiff and achy, and his head is throbbing.

“Glad to see you awake.”

Tim opens his eyes at the sound of Sergeant Grey’s voice, slowly presses himself up into a more seated position. The EMT reaches for him, a steadying hand on his shoulder, but this time she doesn’t try to stop him.

“Thank you, sir," he replies. "How did you find us?”

“That would be us.” Harper answers as she and Lopez appear next to Grey.

“When you never called in a code 4, we asked dispatch for your last known location,” Lopez explains.

“Spotted your shell casings behind a stack of pallets and searched the entire floor until we found you,” Harper finishes, extending her hand toward Angela as the women share some sort of well-practiced fist bump.

“Well, uh, thanks,” Tim offers.

"Don't mention it."

Read the rest on AO3

#chenford #chenford fanfic #the rookie #tim bradford #lucy chen #6x10 spec fic #(please note the rating change)

29 notes · View notes

ooihcnoiwlerh · 1 day

Text

Hello, Darlings! I am back with another chapter of my Feyd-Rautha/Reader arranged marriage fic. (18+ only) Strong content warning and tags below the cut.

@richardslady121 @blazeflays @wo-ming-bai . Please let me know if you would also like to be tagged in future updates!

Trigger warning for this chapter: There are mentions of and references to child abuse, sexual abuse, and incest--none of it graphic, all of it occurring in the past. There is also dubcon/the Reader finding hard limits and triggers without realizing she had them. I feel like the last couple of chapters I've written were mostly smutty fun and this chapter...is not that. I wouldn't recommend going into this blind if you haven't read any of this already. The link to the full fanfic so far is posted above, and I'll cross post the newest chapter down below.

CHAPTER SIX: HIS LOVELY NEPHEW

You don’t have to wonder for too long if Feyd-Rautha wants to train you this morning. You prepare for it with nearly as much sinking dread as you felt before your wedding, pulling on your training pants and shirt that must’ve been laundered since yesterday morning and plaiting your hair. You’re about to put on your boots when Idrisa comes in with her tray and says, “Good morning, Na-Baroness. The Na-Baron will not be needing you in the Training Halls today.”

Just dressing for breakfast, then. There’s a part of you that’s reasonably certain that Feyd-Rautha likes your old clothes from your home planet, just as he likes your hair, but since your first day as a married woman the Baron has insisted that you dress only in the Harkonnen style. You can hardly imagine what he thinks of you keeping your hair. Eventually it won’t matter what he thinks about you; he’s an old man whose body has been kept intact only due to the best of Harkonnen technology and healing, but not even that can make him immortal. At least, you hope not.

So off comes the training gear, on goes another Harkonnen dress that’s snug enough that you won’t be able to wear it for long as you wonder if you’ll be able to tell when you’re pregnant. How early will your body recognize it? Will you have a moment soon in which you’ll just know , or will it take a visit from the Bene Gesserit? You certainly couldn’t begin to guess right now.

Idrisa escorts you to the Dining Halls, probably noting your silence and the nervous set in your shoulders but, of course, saying nothing. You don’t want to go in when you reach those double doors, but would normally accept your fate were it not for a split second before Idrisa’s about to open them.

You hold up a hand. Wait. There's murmuring on the other side. You lean in, walking closer to the sound until you can press your ear against the wall a couple meters to the left of the doors.

“I trust you’ve been fulfilling your marital duties, my lovely boy?” the Baron says. He’s close enough that he must not have sat down for breakfast yet. It sounds like he’s hovering with the aid of his suspensor technology.

“I have.” Feyd-Rautha’s voice, curt and hauntingly similar to his uncle’s, makes you want to turn and walk away.

“I had no doubts, of course. I’ve heard what a virile man you’ve become.”

You furrow your brow. As much as it turns your stomach to think about it, you know that your father wouldn’t talk to your brother this way.

“Those Bene Gesserit whores want you to sire an heir immediately,” the Baron continues. “So of course you’ll have to do your due diligence and make sure your little pet is carrying your son as soon as possible.”

You flush at the insult. I’m hardly his pet, you filthy old man . And not that you expect your groom to defend you, not when he sees you as hardly more of a person than his uncle, but you almost hope that he calls you his wife. After all, he likes it when you call him your husband.

There’s a moment of silence, and even through the door you can sense the tension.

“That won’t be an issue, uncle,” Feyd-Rautha says finally.

You've finally had enough; you glance over at Idrisa, who immediately looks down and opens the doors for you.

You realize that they were looking at an old portrait of the Baron lining the nearest wall that’s either far too flattering or suggests that around the time of his coronation decades ago he must’ve been over a hundred kilos lighter than he is now. You don’t know when it will be replaced with a portrait of Feyd-Rautha, who spares you only a brief glance.

So he hasn’t forgiven you . For what, you’re still not certain. You’re still trying to figure out his anger.

I didn’t cause those scars , you want to tell him, and I wasn’t mocking you for having them .

When you curtsy towards him and the Baron, you’re certain that they know you could hear at least part of their conversation, but you’re not entirely sure if the Baron either doesn’t care that you heard or how you’d react or if he feels smug knowing that he’s reminded you of your place within this Fortress, as if he’d ever let you forget. Feyd-Rautha doesn’t seem to react at all, his face a mask of cold indifference even as you can sense the tension he keeps coiled in his lean but powerful frame.

You’re almost surprised that he continues his habit of pulling your chair out for you before he takes his seat beside you, but you realize that it’s because the Baron must have picked up on this practice from your wedding reception and will immediately sniff out something to use against either of you if he senses anything amiss.

Of course, if the Baron were familiar with how marriage typically works, he’d know that spouses tend to talk to each other, especially over a meal. They don’t sit in awkward silence barely looking at one another for an entire half hour.

It’s more of the same; the Baron oscillates between being condescending to Feyd-Rautha and complimentary, offering vague comments on Rabban’s disappointing return to governing Arrakis and mentioning a possible sighting for another planet that could provide spice without a hostile population fighting them over it. The Baron doesn’t acknowledge you in part because you’re fairly certain he forgets you’re even there; Feyd-Rautha because, well, because. Because of whatever he has buried beneath the surface that you may have awakened. In the early morning, still half-asleep, you didn’t fully realize it, but two memories jump out at you as you sit silently at the table with your husband and his uncle and sneak stolen glances at them both.

“ Guess I just wasn’t pretty enough to be our uncle’s favorite .” Hardly more than a week ago; the way the very air seemed sucked out of the room when Rabban said it, Feyd’s reaction. The seed, though, had been planted years before you understood it, before you were arranged to marry into this twisted family.

“ I can’t prove it, I can’t explain it, but Vladimir Harkonnen has something going on that he doesn’t even want other Harkonnens to know. Something fucked up ,” Father had said once to one of his generals as you’d trailed in just outside of sight. “ Worse than any of his other vices .”

When you were a little younger, but old enough to consider the realistic implications of an arranged marriage, you'd feared marrying into a family in which your father-in-law liked to sample his son's bride. The Baron is as close to a father-in-law that you're getting, and you're confident that he would never do such a thing to you. Not out of honor or respect, you’ve known that he has none for you since the moment you met, but because his inclinations lie elsewhere.

You were prepared for a lot, but you didn’t expect to spend an agonizing meal wondering how horrific the Baron’s treatment of your husband has been over the years.

You'd wondered in the past what tastes the Baron must have that the mere concept of which had disgusted your father years ago. Animals? The dead? Children? All concepts that turn your stomach and when you think about the way he talks to his nephew even now, the scars on his back, the very fact that Feyd tried to kill him during his adolescence, you’re pretty sure you have your answer. Still, it just seems impossible; the two of them sit next to each other as if everything’s normal.

If it’s true, then how? Feyd-Rautha is still so subservient to him, so deferential even if he’s about as friendly towards his uncle as he is everyone else, which is to say, not at all. The closest anyone’s gotten to bringing it up was Rabban, and that was to imply that his little brother…you can’t bring yourself to think about it… slept his way to the top of his family lineage?

The very real possibility seems too awful to be real, but it’s also the most obvious explanation.

You head back to the library immediately after breakfast, returning a couple of documents and heading back to your quarters with an armful more. You could sense the librarian’s nervousness when you specified which documents you wanted, but he complied with a quiet “Yes, Na-Baroness.” It’s a little disconcerting that he’d be anxious over what information you’ll find, but you disregard the part of you that suggests that maybe it’s easier to remain ignorant. You need to know.

The door’s been fitted connecting your bathroom to his, so you’ll be able to slip into one another’s quarters with greater ease. You would’ve been far more grateful for it yesterday, back when your new husband seemed to actually want to be with you. You don’t give it another thought as you spread everything out and start reading.

You’re pretty sure that you now have all the documents that chronicle Feyd-Rautha’s assassination attempt. Fourteen, punished severely, yes, you already have that. You try to find a cause listed, and come up empty. You do, however, find details of what his punishment was.

Three days, apparently. Three days of severe beatings only to be healed with a potent elixir before being subjected to another round, but with the Baron merciful enough to his young heir to heal all of his scars except lash marks on his back. He left them to serve as a reminder never to betray his uncle again. There are a couple of renderings of him from that time; a skinny boy with a narrow face and an angry set in his jaw. It’s the eyes, though, that make you wince. It’s the bags around them that seem entirely wrong for a boy that age, the haunted look in them. Since the moment you met him there was something calculating yet almost inhuman in them. Here there’s just pain and anger.

He was just a kid. This wasn’t some underhanded tactic to seize power; it was the desperate act of an angry boy in pain.

After being spared his life, he went missing, only to be found on Lankiveil days later. He’d managed to find passage under a fake name. You look at the date, furrow your brow, and then check on the other records you’ve held onto–the date of his mother’s death.

They match up; the day the Harkonnens found and captured Feyd-Rautha was the same day his mother was found murdered.

You inhale sharply, getting up and pacing around the room, running your hands through your hair.

Are you surprised? Why? To say that the Baron’s corrupt would be to look into the ocean and say, ‘Ah, yes. There’s water in that.’

You flinch when you hear a knock at the door, feeling silly for thinking for a brief moment, It’s Harkonnen guards coming to execute me for reading about their scandals .

“Who is it?” you ask, voice breaking, and exhaling in relief when Idrisa calls to tell you she has refreshments for you. Water, fruit, a sort of lemon-ginger sparkling water as well that she claims is excellent for digestion. She sets the tray on your end-table and you wonder–-she knows something. Even if she wasn’t present, she must know details that will never see the light of day. Word of mouth endures.

“Idrisa,” you call for her, and she turns. You can’t contain it. You’re buzzing, ready to crawl out of your skin, needing to say it. “I know about the time Feyd-Rautha tried to kill his uncle. And now I know about how he was whipped as part of his punishment and that’s why he has scars all over his back. I know how he tried to return to Lankiveil afterwards, and I know how he was immediately apprehended and brought back here around the same time his mother had been murdered with no suspects, let alone a culprit.” Idrisa glances away, fidgeting her fingers in front of her, and still you press on, the words spilling out of you. “At the wedding, Rabban said the only reason their uncle favors Feyd is for his looks. I know you said that the assassination was before your time but if all the other details are spelled out except Feyd-Rautha’s motive for wanting to kill his uncle, then it paints a certain picture, doesn’t it?” you say, wanting to recoil from your own words and the implications of them.

Idrisa looks down, fidgeting with her hands that she has primly clasped in front of her. “I cannot speak ill of my masters.”

“I won’t tell,” you say. She still can’t look at you. “I’m sorry but I need to know. I once overheard my father insisting that the Baron…” you almost laugh, because it’s so uncomfortable to say. You’d almost rather not know and never have to think about it, but it’s unavoidable. “That the Baron had certain tastes. Certain appetites, not just for food.”

The way Idrisa’s face seems to turn even paler might serve as enough of a confirmation that you’re right.

“And last night, early this morning, I,” you hesitate, stammering for a moment, “I touched one of the scars on my husband’s back. I didn’t think it would bother him but it did. As awful as it is, if,” you take a breath, clear your throat. The idea of the Baron putting hands on his nephew now makes you nauseous, let alone over a decade ago, or, oh, Great Mother, eighteen years ago. “As awful as it is, if what I’m guessing is true, then I need to know.”

Idrisa’s gaze flutters as she tries to find the words. “Na-Baroness, what is in the past…”

“Still affects the present and the future,” you tell her. “Especially if it involves something like this.” There’s more silence, Idrisa biting her lip as she can’t quite look at you. “Please,” you add.

From the way her posture almost snaps ramrod straight, eyes widening, you wonder if anyone’s ever pleaded with her before. You wait, realizing that you’ve found a small crack in her armor.

She hesitates. “I began my service here when I was fourteen. The Na-Baron was seventeen at the time. I was instructed to keep my head down and not say anything. We all were. We were told that if we saw or heard anything, that no, we didn’t.”

“So you met my husband when he was seventeen?” you ask. That was nearly a decade ago. What was he like back then? Was he cruel and efficient, or was he more emotional? Had he already been turned into a killer, or would that come a little later? How much did he change in those three years? Do you know?

Idrisa nods, not quite looking at you. “And he was starting to age out of the Baron’s…preferences, but I don’t think it ended entirely for another year or two.”

It. One word to capture the enormity of what happened. Your mind goes blank. You already knew, already steeled yourself for this, but it feels as though the floor has given way under you. You sit on the edge of your bed, needing to think.

“The Na-Baron has earned the respect of his men since he’s come of age, my lady,” she adds. “They don’t think any less of him, especially not anymore.”

Why would they think less of him? He’s not the one who’s a pedophile .

“How many?” you ask instead. You can’t say the rest, How many victims? but you don’t need to. She knows. Maybe there’s a part of her that’s been bottling this up for years, desperate to say it out loud.

She shakes her head, shrugging, as if to say, No one really keeps count . “Over a dozen that I’m aware of and he’s been slowing down as he’s gotten older, so there’ve likely been hundreds over the years. All boys, mostly between the ages of ten and fifteen or sixteen. I’ve heard that the Na-Baron was his favorite for about a decade.”

Heard that . So people just…talked about it, albeit in secret, instead of doing anything.

“And everyone knows?” you ask, your voice going into a higher register out of pure incredulity.

Idrisa shakes her head again. “Not outside of the Fortress. The general populace of Geidi Prime isn’t aware of it. The Harkonnen government has made sure that they never will be.”

“But everyone else, everyone here…” you trail off.

“We see nothing,” she says again. “We hear nothing. We keep our heads down and keep the Fortress running.”

It is what you’d feared, what he won’t discuss. An open secret that festers much like an open, untreated wound. You think you’re going to be sick.

“The Baron brings in good commerce. He’s held up and improved on everything that’s made Geidi Prime such a wealthy planet. If Geidi Prime thrives as much as it possibly can under his rule, then that is what matters.”

You don’t know how to take this all in.

“Na-Baroness?” she asks.

“Thank you, Idrisa,” you tell her. “You’ve been very helpful.”

She understands this as the dismissal that it is, the need to process everything. She leaves with a curtsy.

You don’t keep track of the time between then and when evening comes; the black sun hasn’t fully set yet; you hadn’t noticed it getting darker.

You look at the renderings of your husband as he was over a decade ago. When did the pain leave? When was it replaced by something that seems far less human, or did it just retreat so far inwards that no one will ever see it again?

Idrisa comes in. Timidly, she stands, eyes downcast and hands clasped in front of her. “Dinner is ready, Na-Baroness,” she says.

You look over at her, and down at all the documents that you’re going to need to put back together and return.

How am I supposed to eat with this person and converse over dinner like everything’s normal? How does Feyd-Rautha stand it?

“And I suppose my presence is mandatory again?” you ask, voice measured, and get up, resigned.

At dinner you’ve never been less hungry in your life. You feel a humming at the back of your skull grow louder and louder as the Baron and Feyd-Rautha make casual conversation about focusing on growing the industry on Geidi Prime to make up for the spice losses on Arrakis.

How can you sit next to this man, listen to the sound of his voice, follow his orders? How do you not want to kill him all the time? you want to ask Feyd. You poke and prod at the little food you bothered to take for yourself and stare at your plate, still trying to wrap your head around the dynamic unfolding around you. How can your husband live like this?

The Baron notices that you haven’t eaten anything. “It’s a little early for nausea, young Y/N,” he says. “Or is the food just not to your liking?”

You can’t look at him. “My apologies, Baron,” you say in as measured of a tone as you can. You’re the one making me sick, you monster . “There is no issue with the food. I just don’t have much of an appetite this evening.” You think about taking your knife and jamming it into his eye. You wonder how often Feyd-Rautha has thought the same thing while sitting poised and calm at this very table.

They usually serve wine with dinner. The Baron usually indulges, and due to his size and age can drink a lot without it seeming to affect him. Feyd-Rautha usually declines, not to your surprise. Now that your monthly courses are pretty much over your plan has been to decline as well, given what will soon be the nature of your condition. Tonight, though, you accept, hoping that the alcohol on an empty stomach will numb you to what’s happening at this table and keep you numb when Feyd-Rautha comes to “fulfill his marital duties” tonight. Neither of them comment, but both look at you as you tip your glass back.

You’re not sure if the Baron can sense it, but Feyd-Rautha can. He’s a smart man; he knows you’ve been reading about his life, about recent Harkonnen memory, so he can reasonably assume that once you set him off early this morning that you did whatever research you could as to why.

He says nothing about it; he barely even looks at you throughout dinner and the quiet tension is excruciating; he knows that you know and it makes him even angrier. He also can’t take

I’m not like the people who let it happen, you want to say. I’m not your brother who called you weak or suggested you were asking for it. I don’t think you’re less of a man for this. Maybe no one else had the compassion for you that you needed but I do.

But a man like him, one raised on brutality–you’re not sure he’d ever accept your compassion if you offered. Maybe he’d be offended by it.

The hours tick by after dinner, and then after you get cleaned up for the evening and changed into only your robe. He doesn’t come by, doesn’t demand you come to his quarters. You try reading but give up after you realize you’ve been reading the same page for the past several minutes. You’ve come to regret drinking your dinner tonight instead of eating it; the faint buzz you got from two glasses of wine on an empty stomach has faded and instead left you feeling both empty and slightly nauseous, with the beginnings of a headache.

“Maybe he won’t come tonight,” you say to Idrisa as she’s getting ready to leave for the night, and the sentiment makes her hesitate.

“My apologies, Na-Baroness, but he will,” she says. “At least until you have proof of conception.

“Would you like me to stay until he arrives?” she adds, looking as awkward as you feel at the idea.

You shake your head. “It’s fine. You’re relieved. I don’t want you to have to see this, if and when it happens.”

She lowers her head in a bow and departs without another word.

You continue reading in bed, staring at the same page as you listen for any sounds, dreading each passing second.

When you hear it, a door opening and closing to your bathroom, your breath hitches, fear creeping up your spine.

You look up, watching the bathroom door, waiting, heart pounding and your breath now caught in your throat as he silently enters your bedroom.

He’s naked. For the first time he’s not erect.

You stare, frozen, your book folded open on your lap.

He looks at you and your obvious fear in your wide eyes and it doesn’t seem to amuse him this time. It doesn’t change anything, though. He’ll get what he came for.

After a moment he says, “Strip and get on all fours.”

You stare, almost incredulous at his coldness. It had been fading so rapidly over the past week you hadn’t even realized it was gone. His cruelty before came with a level of interest. His gaze is impassive, but then there’s that glint not of lust, but anger. At you, at the Baron, at his circumstances, whatever it is, you don’t want to bear the brunt of it.

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” you tell him. “We’ve done it enough that there can’t be any doubt and even if there is, we can try again later when…”

“I won’t repeat myself,” he says before you can say anything that reminds him of his past, his uncle.

You can’t really mean this. You’re not any more in the mood for this than I am, you want to tell him, as you set your book beside you and slowly unfasten your robe. You keep your eyes on him, anticipating the attack. Maybe he’ll lunge for you, you think as your heart pounds and your robe falls open. He’ll let out some inhuman noise and pounce. Your nipples pebble against the bedroom air and you notice his gaze fall there, to the exposed skin bared, but he doesn’t move.

You don’t give his cock a second look; you don’t want to know if and how aroused he is by this. You just keep your gaze on his face, impassive as ever, as you remove the robe completely, hesitating and wanting to stop, wanting to suggest that maybe the two of you talk about this.

You open your mouth, not sure what you can even say before slowly turning over on the bed, taking a deep breath, and sinking, humiliated, down on your knees and forearms.

He doesn’t move for a moment, just stands where he is, and you resist the urge to turn your head to look at him and yet you’d give anything to know what he’s thinking right now. Soon, though, you feel the weight of knees sinking into the mattress behind you. You shut your eyes, waiting for him to say something, to do something. For a moment, nothing, but then you hear him begin to stroke himself, breath hitching. His other hand moves along your hip, briefly squeezing the cheek of your ass before sliding his cock along your slit.

You’re not wet enough for this to be comfortable, and he doesn’t appear to care in the slightest. You wince at the first push of him inside of you, a hiss escaping your clenched teeth. It doesn’t hurt as much as it has before, and yet you hate it more and you whimper as he bottoms out inside of you. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t seem to respond to your noises, just thrusts again into you, deep and hard.

He can hear you finally sob, head bowed, tears pricking up, wriggling away from him before he yanks you back onto him. His breath is harsh and his hands bruise your tender skin.

I hate this, you want to tell him. You don’t know how to explain it; it’s not even the position he’s taken nor the roughness, because you can handle both. It’s the contempt and the coldness; he doesn’t want this, would probably prefer to be alone while he’s inside of you and that bruises your ego as much as it does your sensitive insides.

If you were more experienced and more confident and not completely blind-sided by the wealth of horrific information you’ve gotten today, maybe you’d try to moan, buck your hips against it, seem like you can enjoy this to try and raise his enthusiasm but you can’t. If you knew how to play seductress to make this easier for both of you, you would.

This is what you expected on your wedding night; the cruelty in his lack of real desire, but until tonight he’d been utterly transparent about his attraction to you and it’s taken until now to understand just what a difference that makes. You’d take having your wrists tied and your ass struck and his cock cutting off your airflow any night over feeling like this.

He comes with a grunt of completion inside of you like he might as well be coming into his own fist.

The tears roll down your cheeks and as you bow your head, onto the sheets below you.

I am Lady Y/N of Y/H and the Na-Baroness of Harkonnen. I am your wife . I’m not just some hole for you to penetrate and I’m not someone you can punish for existing because you can’t punish the person who really hurt you. The words die in your throat before you can even think about saying them, and you gasp as he brusquely pulls out. Some of his seed trickles out of you and starts to dribble down the inside of one of your thighs. You don’t want to look at him. You want to slap him. You don’t understand the depths of your own anger as it builds.

He pulls away, and for a moment you think he’s going to just head back to his room as you right yourself and turn onto your side, but instead he turns back to you, sitting down on the edge of the bed and cupping your chin and cheek in one hand. He forces you to look up at him with your red-rimmed eyes, your tear-stained cheeks flush with hurt and humiliation and he sees it with that same lack of emotion that makes you want to scream. White-hot rage flares up within you, and he seems to realize what you’re about to do before you do it, before you realize you’re doing it.

You’re still crying as you spit a wad of saliva directly into his face.

He doesn’t even blink.

Instead he grabs your hair roughly, jaw tightening, and you can’t help the fear lancing up your spine, but it doesn’t completely replace your anger. He has you in his grasp and your mind draws a blank on how to apologize, maybe beg for mercy, when you’d almost rather remain in furious silence.

It’s not quite anger in his eyes, not quite lust, but it’s not that same furious look he had early this morning or the coldness he exuded before he pushed his way inside of you. He brings your face closer to his as he leans further in. He presents his cheek now coated in your spit.

There’s so much you don’t understand. No one taught you this language and this man is hard to decipher, but you’re pretty sure you know what he wants without him having to say it.

You hesitate for a moment, your lips against his cheek, before darting your tongue out and licking your own saliva off of him. They’re tentative, almost kittenish licks against his skin; you sense his breath even out and feel the fluttering of his lashes as he briefly closes his eyes, feel his jaw relax as his lips part.

I don’t get it. How does a gentle touch infuriate you but being spat on calms you down? you want to ask, as his hand relaxes in your hair and he lets you withdraw. How do you forgive a decade of being violated but not me finding out about it? How do you forgive the scars on your back but not me touching them?

He looks at you another moment.

“Your training resumes tomorrow,” he says.

“Fine,” you tell him, your voice shakier than you’d like, your anger extinguished. He seems wearier than you’d first thought.

He gets up, starts to walk away, when you remember that neither of you exchanged a word about what he’s been through, and that won’t do. Not with everything left unsaid, the horrors you’ve discovered that you know, in the quiet moments in your bed, that still haunt him.

You reach for his wrist. He looks back at you. The coldness is replaced by resignation. “There’s nothing to discuss,” he says. He’s not talking about your training. It leaks through the cold edge in his voice, the finality of it. “It’s done.”

How, though? You reopened an old wound that never properly healed, and he just wants you to quietly let it fester?

You release his wrist and he leaves, disappearing back into the bathroom and beyond to sleep in his own bed tonight.

You’re not sure what understanding you just reached. It’s not something you could have prepared for, and there’s a part of you that persistently assumes that even though he won’t talk about it, this will come up again.

You’re sinking back into bed, hoping that you’ll be able to sleep tonight after everything that’s happened, when it occurs to you: once you have a son, you can’t allow the Baron anywhere near him. Even if Feyd-Rautha has learned to live with what happened to him, and maybe even loves his uncle in a twisted sort of way you can’t really comprehend, you can’t allow the same thing to happen again. So that leaves you with several options, each seemingly more impossible than the last but no matter: you’ll have at least nine months to figure out a plan.

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x you #dune part two #dune part 2 #feyd rautha fanfic #austin butler

27 notes · View notes